26 North Latitude

area.

Chapter 2

THE FRANKIE BROWN TOURNAMENT

Back at the shop, the group of captains was placing bait orders for an upcoming billfish tournament in Bimini, Bahamas. This was the big league with 40 of the best gathering there to fish for marlin. But more than that were going to pay respect to Frankie Brown, a Bimini native who ran the power plant on the island. His equipment, although functional, was mostly government surplus the Navy had laying around.

Alice Town and Bailey Town on North Bimini are tight-knit communities and the tournament was planned to help the family, a family everybody cared for and loved. The jokes and ribbing started as I walked up to the counter. The first blow was how I got the position on the Striker.

It isn’t any head boat, they said. They joked, would I be able to find the island, not get lost, and then figure out how to fish when I got there?

Typical smart-ass remarks I let roll off.

I told them I was not entered in the tournament yet but was going to ask the boss about it in a phone call to his office later today. Jim at the shop was setting some case horse ballyhoo and some select Spanish mackerel aside just in case. I wished the crews there a safe crossing and good luck if I didn’t see them over there.

Yeah, yeah right, was their response.

A classy group they were.

During the month of March, the weather windows are short for crossing and fishing. Even though my boat was considered an excellent fishing platform and respected the world over, at 34 feet, she was small.

Several days passed with no word from the boss and time was getting close for entry deadlines. The stateside rep was at the office in Miami to confirm. The paperwork had to be filled out at the Marlin Club in Alice Town, North Bimini upon arrival.

Word was getting back that the fleet was growing and due to the fact that it was a memorial tournament, a cap was being put on the number of boats entered so it was put up or shut up.

After several more calls, it didn’t look good for an entry. Capt. Gene stopped by, told me the cap was reached and asked if I made the list.

Hell no, I said. The boss wanted to keep me here to drag the third reef for barracuda and bonito.

His level of frustration was obvious but it was his boat and he paid the bills so I wrote it off. Gene’s boss had a change of plans and I was offered his spot. I was hoping for a miracle when Gene got a hold of the boss on a private line I did not know about.

A few exchanges of choice words from both of them and the deal was closed. I would run the boat over solo and the boys would fly in on a seaplane.

Boys? What boys?

In a marlin tournament, it is one designated angler and maybe a second to clear rods, assist crew or be a winder for the by-catch such as dolphin, wahoo, or maybe a yellowfin tuna. Fresh fish for dinner surely, but a waste of time on a committee boat clock.

I got the ride so I was glad to take what was handed me.

A few of the boats that were already there were scouting or fun fishing, looking for some good ocean to fish in. Not too good was the word. Slow days. The mood was good just the same.

My preparation was about complete. The reels were all serviced with new drags and fresh Ande tournament 50 pound mono. Bait that was set aside earlier in the week was a good move.

The stage was set. I was under a weak but steady high pressure ridge and the seas going over were 2-3 feet. Easterly winds were 15 knots. No big issues there. I got help loading my dock freezer on the boat and filled it up with premium select baits. All was ready. It was time to run.

Clearing the jetties, the heading was 126 degrees, and I was getting a nice cruise speed under full fuel at 23-25 knots. She was running sweet with a few dips and some spray but all was well. A last look over the shoulder at the high-rises knowing the next landfall in just over two hours would be pine trees and aqua turquoise from cobalt deep blue.

Got to North Bimini with an uneventful crossing. The marinas were busy with transients from the north headed beyond to other island points jumping on down to the Caribbean. I saw a nice tide change going on. The current, as it is said, ‘Has respect from the best, screws all the rest.’

Don the dock master, hailed me on the radio, his voice was a pleasure to hear. Hey Capt. Welcome to Bimini. I have a few boys at your slip to help you, kinda short-handed for a short boat. See you after you clear Customs.

This Striker was a joy to run and I had plenty of shaft horsepower and Pannish controls. The 3-knot current in the marina with a good east wind was going to be no problem.

I lined up my slip outside the marina in the channel, sort of sized things up, then made my move. The boat snapped with ease as I picked up one of the boys to tend to the bow line while another jumped into the cockpit and secured the stern springs. One of the crusty charter boat captains I knew back in Fort Lauderdale was in a slip directly across the dock from me for the week. Lucky me I thought. The power cord was set and I switched to shore power and shut down the main engines and generator.

From inside the shaded open salon of his Norseman sport fisherman came the greeting I expected from a sour dog like him. See you found the place and looks like you know how to handle that tin can. Good for you boy! I found no need to respond.

After the Customs and Immigration paperwork was done, a stop to Don was in order. I had all my dockage paperwork ready. Gene had set me up with a tall, well-built Alice Town local that went by the name Blinky.

Good to meet you, mon. Let’s get to the boat, got t’ings to get ready. I had some fresh-baked cookies made up and several gallons of milk to wash them down with. Blinky asked for a cookie and I gave him the whole bag. He responded with a big smile and let me know that he was going to save them. Good call.

It was 3:00 p.m. The last seaplane was landing in the harbor so I borrowed the marina’s golf cart and head to the seaplane ramp. First out of the plane were two ladies from Bimini who had done some shopping in Miami earlier. They stepped out with bags full of store-bought treasures. Their floral printed dresses flowed in the tropical sea breeze as they were helped out of the Grumman Mallard.

I heard the New York accents before I was greeted by the boss and three of his key construction foremen. None of them had ever been to Bimini let alone flown in a World War II seaplane.

How you doin’?

Nice island here. Where’s da action around here, you know, da party?

After the pleasant intros, we collected the luggage and immigration cards and loaded the golf cart. I let Blinky drive them back to the hotel marina. The boss and I did, as he called it, a walk-n-talk back up the road.

Glad to be out of New York, he said. How did the boat run? Did you have a good crossing over?

Could not have been better, Morris, ran well but our slip is on the opposite side of the marina so you will be walking some.

I walk in the city every day, everybody does, so I’m used to it. Kinda hot here today. It was snowing at JFK airport when we left there. Miami was nice to see coming in, flew over a lot of swamp on the way in, no houses there.

That is the Everglades. No houses will ever be there, I said. We don’t care for developers.

You little basta’d. I am a developer. How do you think I can have the boat you floated over here on? Don’t forget that, alright? He smiled at me, and in the same breath, asked where he could find a cold beer. To the Compleat Angler we went.

Chapter 3

GETTING READY FOR

THE TOURNAMENT

The courtyard of the Compleat Angler greeted you with a coral stone wall and a vast assortment of tropical plants and palm trees that spoke of the rich history of the area. The ground we walked on spoke of a time where the early pioneers of sport fishing would come for a stay. Ernest Hemingway had his place here. Papa’s pictures on the walls well-documented his early conquests. His boat, Pilar, was a familiar sight as was his adventurous spirit. The sounds of his reels screaming with blue marlin and giant bluefin tuna were in competition with his Thompson submachine gun.

During the war, he was on a mission with or without the US government’s help to hunt down the German U-boats that were sinking allied shipping in the Straits. I gave him credit for his spirit and to this day Papa is remembered here.

The Compleat Angler Hotel is sort of the common place to be watering hole in Alice Town. Where else can you see the titans of capitalism rub elbows with the common rummies and still have everyone smiling? There were no bosses in this bar. Even a CEO like Morris was just one of the guys. And he didn’t seem to mind that concept.

Back at the Marlin Club, the New York boys got checked in and were already poolside, drink in hand, when we arrived. The sea breeze on the palm trees and the crisp clear blue skies were all being enjoyed.

Poor basta’ds back home, da snow and ice are freezin’ their asses off right about now, one of them said. Ha!

I left the New York crew behind and headed back to the boat. I had enough for one afternoon. Blinky was already setting things up. A box of hooks and file were on the tackle locker shelf. I had a small bench vice I had fabricated to the shelf to get a proper angle to file the hooks. Blinky said it was a nice idea but he preferred to use his well-worn hands instead. I had already pre-cut and coiled the #12 wire haywire twists to perfection and had all the leaders in plastic sandwich bags and baby powdered. A personal touch of mine.

For the rest of the afternoon, the marina was operation central for the tournament. The best of the best were all accounted for, all having well-tested bait rigging and rules of order. A measured success of any sport fish boat and crew is team effort and spirit. This is a time-honored tradition and many hours are invested with wins and losses.

I knew I was young and that this was my first boat and first tournament I would be in as a captain. I knew that I had everything to gain, and I intended on leaving my mark here on this trip.

As the day came to a close, the late afternoon sun made way for a fine star-filled evening poolside for the tournament captains meeting. A table was set up to display the awards for the top boats. Beautiful sterling silver cups, platters, and winner’s trophy were on hand.

To be sure that no one forgot the reason for this event, the family of Frankie Brown, along with his Dr. Parks and the church elder, were all in attendance. A book was placed at a small wooden table next to them where we all took the time to line up and sign a few words. Just before the meeting was to start, Dr. Parks stood before us and, on behalf of the family and the people of Alice Town, gave thanks. No other words were needed as a silent prayer was offered. God Bless.

Chapter 4

DAY 1 OF THE TOURNAMENT

The early morning sun greeted the island with a promise of blue skies and calm seas. The atmosphere was alive with the sights and sounds of the tournament excitement. The sound of powerful diesel engines starting carried through the air as boats prepared to get underway. Radio checks from the committee boat were complete.

As I waited for my anglers with my engines in idle, Blinky and I discussed a game plan since we had not fished together before this trip. Both of us were excited and shared a common goal: to get on the board and give the other boats a good run for the money.

Walking down the dock toward us, the boys were slowly making their way to the boat.

Good morning, gentlemen, I said.

Sun-squinted eyes and smiles were what I got back.

Once aboard, Morris gave them the tour of the boat, the head location and how to operate it correctly. The boat parade leading out of the harbor in a single-file line had a military precision to it. The rods were at the ready as the day’s bait selection was laid out in the iced-down cooler. Wedge head swimming mullet, Panama rigged Spanish mackerel, and select horse ballyhoo were there. The drags on the reels, all scale set, the double line to the stainless ball bearing snap swivels complete. We were ready.

The fleet took its position just outside of the cut. We all sat idle as the church elder offered a prayer over the VHF radio. Then the committee boat spouted out a few last-minute rules for us before the famous countdown to the Bimini Start. All the boats went to take off from idle at once when the committee boat counted down – five, four, three, two, and one!

This is the committee boat to all boats in the All Billfish Tournament, lines in at 0800, have a great fishing day. Committee boat standing by channel 68. Good luck.

The boats were underway to distant grounds going in all directions as we headed south. I saw some nice current rips and color changes just off the edge in addition to several other boats running near me. I was due west of Turtle Rocks, just south of South Bimini, and decided to slow down and get the lines in since it looked too good to run over.

Others were well south and north of us but a few boats decided to work the same general area on the first day and the color changes were classic that day.

I was careful not to stray in too close to the edge because the razor boys would make short work of our hand-rigged baits. Always biting just behind the hook, one pass and the bait was finished. A wahoo would have been a welcome treat for the BBQ back at dockside but it would take time catching it. The clock had no friends in a billfish contest at all.

It was 0930, no action on the radio. The morning was pretty quiet as we all settled into the groove of marlin fishing. Long hours of boredom followed by minutes of total drag burning all-hands-on-deck fire drills.

On my port side, running about 500 yards or so from me, was a Bertram who had the same game plan as I had. When I made a turn on the long rip, he would follow. Then I did the same. A slow dance it was.

In a total surprise attack, his outrigger bowed back with the snap of the pin! We saw a large explosion behind the boat and a fishing rod bent over all in one quick motion. Blue marlin hooked up for them! The mate quickly cleared the other rods as the angler took his place with the rod into the fighting chair; his wife clipped the bucket harness to the reel.

There was no immediate radio call to the committee boat so I called in and asked, Is there a red-striped 46’ Bertram in the tournament?

The response was, Yes, there is.

Well, I said, He is hooked up to a blue marlin next to me and time was 0930. We are west of Turtle Rock, over.

Who are you?

This is the Marty 1, back to you.

Thank you, Capt. Committee has the Bertie hooked up, blue marlin.

I doubled my efforts at that point because I knew that marlin sometimes traveled in pairs. I was in a good area to test that theory. Over the next 15 minutes, I kept my eyes trained on the bait spread; the boys were watching the show with the other boat.

Watch the show behind us, I hollered to them. Good for them and all but we are in the hunt too.

The mate and I were trained on the baits with eagle stares when suddenly I saw a shadow behind the left long rigger.

I yelled, Watch the left rigger! Snap goes the outrigger pin; we are hooked up, billfish big time!

Committee boat, committee boat, Marty 1, come back.

Marty 1, committee boat.

We are hooked up, marlin.

After a short pause, Roger, Marty 1, hooked up at 0945, good luck.

The boys helped clear the rods but left the lines in the outrigger pins to hang just out of the water. Morris was in the chair. I was all over the ocean backing down, chasing the line to keep it close. The Bertram was on the horizon, still hooked up.

We were very much alive with our fish, a solid hook up, and it was close to see below the surface next to us. A few adjustments with the boat and the fish was at the corner for Blinky who already leader wrapped and was reaching for the bill. Someone asked him if he needed a gaff and his answer was to stand clear as the fish came over the covering board and dropped to the cockpit.

Committee boat, one small marlin for Marty 1. Committee Boat back.

Is it a blue marlin?

That’s a good question, I said. The length and tail look like a blue but the dorsal, anal and pectoral fins say white marlin. Either way, small blue or big white.

Roger, the committee boat responded. We will have the guys at the Lerner lab take a look at the weigh-in this afternoon but your boat has first billfish in the tournament in the boat, congrats.

We were on the board early with a nice billfish. More important, we had passed the trial by fire in a sense, because it was a 15-minute fight time from the strike to the capture. The drill of testing a new crew went smoothly. We got the spread back out and worked the area for several more hours with no luck.

Committee boat, committee boat, Bertie.

Bertie, this is the committee boat, go ahead Capt.

We have one blue marlin in the boat, over.

Committee boat, roger, one blue marlin for Bertie, congrats to Charlie.

This was the call we all had hoped would not be heard from the competition aspect but it was also good for the boat. The call was weak, meaning they had to chase this fish a good distance. I was next to them on the hookup and saw a quick head shake. We were all fishing 50 lb class tackle with maybe 600 yards to work with so it must have been a nice fish. We would see later back at the docks.

It was late afternoon on the first day when the call came over the radio.

Committee boat to all anglers, 4:00 and lines out. There are two billfish caught today. Marty 1 has a marlin on board at 9:45 which is first fish and the Bertie with a marlin on board at 11:30. Congrats to the boats, several other boats saw fish but no hook ups. This is the committee boat, channel 70, standing by.

The run time was not too long; we were north of the cut off the Pines and were with a group of other boats making good time. The mate got out the flag with a printed marlin and ran it up to the starboard outrigger for the run to the docks. A sense of pride for us; only one other boat in the fleet would have earned the right to ‘fly the laundry.’

Back at the Marlin Club, the boats were either back at the slips or were at the fuel dock getting topped off for the next day’s efforts. I was good on fuel for the day because I fished out front more or less.

The Bertie was already at the scales; their blue marlin hanging by the tail. Don was about to call out the weight as I idled just off the dock in the channel. The call came out 326 lbs. With some help from a few crew members, one of the dock boys lowered the fish on the block so Don could write its weight on the side of a yellow paper and stick it to the fish. Alongside Charlie stood his wife, Sam, Freddie, the first mate and Capt. Henry.

Lots of handshakes and smiles as Dan took the pics, never missing a single moment. The fish was a first place for them. After the fanfare was over, it was lowered down and the locals proceeded to process the marlin for their dinner.

We rolled in to the dock, tied up, and handed our fish up. Several scientists from the lab were there, looking at this billfish, thinking it was a small blue, but the fins were more of a white. They carefully studied this feature as a side bet got started by the famous Bimini Capt. Bob Smith, who ran an old sport fishing boat named after his wife.

Come on now boys, I got $50 says it is a blue marlin, who wants in?

Another voice with a noticeable southern drawl said, Hell no, that ain’t no blue. It’s a big white and I got $100 that says so.

From there a betting frenzy fired up and Don’s voice chimed in.

Take it over to the side, please.

Finally, the determination of this fish was revealed. One of the biologists announced to all of us, Gentlemen and ladies, this is a fine example of a mature white marlin. I’ll let Don weigh it for us.

The tail rope was looped and the fish was hoisted up. Nobody was saying much at this point as Don fingered the lead counter weight to the last possible point.

He turned toward the crowd and said with a big smile, 106.5 lbs for the Marty 1!

A round of atta boys and a small victory for the side betters.

Drinks are on me boys, one of them announced.

After the fish was lowered for pics, permission was asked for a few sample incisions to determine the sex and other scientific data. Morris said he wanted to mount the fish and not to screw it up for the taxidermist. He was told the cuts were going to be small and on the belly near the anal fin and would not have any impact.

Yeah, yeah sure, he snapped. Go ahead, do your thing.

Blinky and I tagged the fish and we placed it in the big walk-in freezer the marina maintained. We took our walk to the boat, started the engines and went back to our slip. The late afternoon sun just above the hotel roof provided a nice amount of shade for us during the cleanup and rigging for tomorrow.

A good sea breeze had developed and was not letting up. It was hard going for me with the water hose as I tried to spray down the tower without spraying salt on the boats next to me. It isn’t a very neighborly thing to do after they have already wiped down.

As with any gathering, there is a social separation between employers and employees. It’s no different between a boat’s owners and the crew. Nothing personal really, it’s just that the owners discuss Wall Street and other corporate issues and the boat crews talk about the owners, their personalities and habits, good and bad. Oh yeah, and we talk about our boats, their performance, and who doesn’t have room on the dock.

Finishing up finally, I had a chance to chat with Blinky, and was able to thank him for his efforts.

He said, Capt., you are a young guy, a nice guy and a fisherman first. I think you will be alright wit’ me here in my island home, mon. I think I have a nickname for you. All famous captains who have been here over the years have a name to be remembered by...not so much da boat.

With a smile I thought, what an honor. To have someone want to give me a nickname already, on my first trip as a captain in my first tournament here in the Bahamas. He helped himself up to the dock. Then he turned and looked down at me standing next to the fighting chair.

You, Kyle, he said. Will be known to all of us as Capt. Fishbones.

What a way to end a pretty good day. I retreated to the galley and surveyed the stock of deli meats, cheeses, and breads. There was more than enough there to feed a small town. And definitely enough for my imagination to create a masterpiece. I put together a well-built sandwich and set it aside. With the air conditioning running at peak efficiency, I took a quick shower and then sat down to a quiet dinner.

By that time of the day, the boat’s owners were already in their second round of after dinner drinks, all smiles and placing gentlemen’s bets. You know… sportsman’s fair play. Mere pocket change for them could buy a lot of groceries for us. Such is the division of the social classes. The accountants back at the office would turn the whole trip into a write-off anyway.

I did a last check of the dock lines and shore cords. The wind was not letting up and shifted from an ENE to more of SE during the afternoon and was now more of a SSW. I decided to take a walk over to the other side of the island to have a look around. I met up with several other crew members who were thinking the same thing.

Through the Iron Gate, we made our way across and up the hill. The trees were in motion and the smell of salt spray was in the air. Foam could be seen on the high tide line and a chop was building.

Looks like we are going to earn our pay tomorrow, boys, one guy said. All of us already put in our day so we walked back to the marina.

Chapter 5

DAY 2 OF THE TOURNAMENT

The early morning greeted the island with NW winds gusting to 30 knots and the channel was awash with foam and seaweed from the incoming tide. Flags were straight and rigid. The VHF radios on the boats were tuned in to the Miami weather radio. The day’s forecasts were not in our favor. Skies were showing the signs of a cold front passage, streaks of gray, patches of hazy blue, and rays of sunlight.

The crew members gathered on the docks and discussed the latest developments and weather. Because I was the smallest boat out of the 40 boat fleet, I had more at stake than the others. The final call would be up to the weather committee. The boys sort of walked and stumbled down the dock to the boat that was pitching in the slip.

What’s your word captain? the boss asked. What do you think about the weather, go for it or not? Well? What’ll it be? He crossed his arms, Say it.

I am one to say, God makes great days for fishing and this doesn’t look like one of them, I stated.

Understand Kyle, there is wisdom in those words. I respect your call and you are my captain. The boys would be just as happy to go back to bed or find a Bloody Mary and some breakfast in the hotel dining room.

The VHF radio was on and we heard the committee boat’s announcer’s voice.

To all boats in the All Billfish Tournament, as the weather has not shown us any grace, we will go and stick our nose into it and make a call with the weather. Committee boat standing by, channel 70.

The 8:00 a.m. lines in time had passed and no official call as of yet.

One sign we all got before the committee boat decision was made was from the seaplane. The morning Chalk’s seaplane was making his approach to land in the channel. A good crosswind was his greeting as he skillfully worked between the anchored sailboats and trawlers that dragged anchors in his landing zone. I said there was no question that he earned his pay with that landing.

Those aircraft were also equipped with VHF radios for emergency and to communicate with the terminal on the island. One of the boats hailed him up when he was in a taxi mode back to the ramp.

How you landed that plane in that pathetic display was worth a round. Can I offer you one?

The pilot responded with a laugh. Still on the clock, but thanks anyway. If you all are thinking about fishing today, it is solid white caps to about two miles from the island and big swells to the rock. Glad I make my landing in the harbor.

That is what we were thinking here, thank you for your report.

A few minutes later the sound of the tournament director’s voice was heard.

To all boats, this is the committee boat. We took a look out front. The cut will be dicey, better not use the native cut, go out the main entrance. The swells are firmly on the quarter, short and steep. In our opinion, the conditions out to a few miles are sporty but fishable. Further west and it won’t be worth the effort so we will not call due to weather and adjust the start time to 9:30 and will close today at 2:00 pm. A short day gentlemen, but 40 boats here and two fish on the board so far, let’s try it. Committee boat standing by.

With the word passed down, there was some discussion on the docks that it would not be one of the better days but we should at least take a look. A few of the boats were getting underway and I was one of them. As we got closer to the channel entrance, the wave sets that rolled in looked more like Hawaii than Bimini, lacing up at the sand bar finger on the seaward side. Standing off in the relative safety, I waited for the right time and faced the music.

Go below and hold on. I want the cockpit clear, understood? I instructed.

The sets were short and steep. The troughs were sucking the remaining water depth as they drew up. Coming in groups of three to four, the wait for the lull seemed long but when the window opened, you ran. I saw mine coming so I went for it. I brought the engines up to speed as I made my dash! Got through a few before another big one came as I held the wheel. My anchor pulpit pierced the face as the green water broke over the foredeck, shuttering the boat. But we made it. Looking back as the wave remains trailed behind me, another boat had committed to running the cut and he took a clean shot as well.

Now we were all facing NW into the strong wind and seas were an easy 6-8 feet. We were in shallow water and the mountains a half mile to the west were waiting for us.

This is the committee boat to all boats in the All Billfish Tournament; the time is 9:30, lines in, lines in. We will be having lines out at 2:00 pm today and if needed, should conditions get worse, we may call the day sooner. Best of luck, stay safe out there. This is the committee boat, standing by.

We all slowly made our way out to the edge where the banks bottom does a sudden wall-like drop at 140’ to several thousand in total vertical fashion. The deep water to this wall was enhancing the sea conditions. We had to either fish into the head sea or have it follow us. Any hook up today would be a test for all of us.

On the edge, I had a short spread on the rigger baits. There was some seaweed that wasn’t helping the situation. But I could not see too many open holes out here. One of the boys came up to give me a report from below. Nobody hurt, everything stayed in place, but two of them were very seasick. The boss was cleaning the mess after them. I would see it later.

It was mid-morning and we were still working on and off the edge. A few boats got cut-offs from the razor boys who liked to work the edge as well. All of a sudden, an outrigger pin popped. Blinky was right there as the boss got in the chair with the rod bending over; the line smoking off the 50 lb reel.

What is it Kyle, can you see anything? Is it a marlin or what? asked the boss.

A few seconds later between the swells we got our answer. Wahoo!

It was always a treat fun fishing these blue water torpedoes, but this fish was taking up time we didn’t have. Blinky kept the spread intact as I skillfully worked the boat between the mountains. One of my outrigger tips dragged a wave face on a turn.

I said, Let’s end this right now. I was watching the clock. I hollered to Morris. Cut it off or Morris, you crank like you never have before.

I’ll get the fish. You drive da boat! he replied.

The leader was just outside of reach when Roland, the one referred to by the boys as ‘Long Iron,’ grabbed the line and started to hand-line the rest. One swipe with the gaff, a perfect shoulder shot, and the fish dropped to the cockpit sole.

You see? Dat’s how we do it in Noo Yawk! Morris boasted.

It was a small victory at sea for us, but it was a victory. The decision was made by the crew to head back in since they had had enough. We brought in the lines and we were headed back to the beach. The ride back was a bit sporty with the quarter following sea but it was manageable. The channel entrance was the real issue. The tide was falling on the way out and was slack. Good and bad things could happen in those conditions. The channel was shallow but the sea conditions were far from forgiving.

One of many good things about the boat was that it was Norway built, bullet-proof solid construction. I had plenty of power and my draft was shallow at 2’4" so I had an advantage over some of the other boats. I watched the palm trees on the beach leaning into the wind. Sand was blowing across the sea grapes.

The entrance looked like a confused washing machine. I lurked slowly just outside the cut in deeper water and was relieved when I saw a few more breaks than I expected. That was a good sign. As a wave set ran across, I was already on the power and then advanced to full open throttle as I went for it. The turbo chargers were screaming in a high-pitched whine as the boat surfed into the safety of the deeper depth of the channel. We cleared the bar and we were safe.

The early afternoon brought more breaks in the clouds and the winds shifted to a more NE direction. We were already washed down and put away as the battered fleet returned to the marina. No flags for the boats today but an honest effort was put in by all.

Not to be outdone by the weather and lack of marlin, several other boats did get lucky with some wahoo and a few large dolphin. In true Bimini fashion, after the late afternoon wash down and bait prep were complete, the charcoals were getting hot at the coral barbecue pit. The tables were set up by the club and the boat drinks were assembled.

It was a long standing tradition. Each boat mixed up their favorite concoction and poured it into one of many pitchers arranged in a row on the long table. The object was to have a shot of each and see who could make it to the end of the table without falling down. I saved this for the pros, thanks.

Chapter 6

DAY 3 OF THE TOURNAMENT

The winds had receded overnight, but there was still a slight chill in the air the next morning, remnants from the front passage. The conditions were more reasonable as the fleet lined up outside the cut for the start of another day.

Good morning, said the now familiar voice of the tournament director. This is the committee boat to all participating in the All Billfish Tournament. We still have only two fish on the board, Bertie with a 326 blue marlin and Marty 1 with a white marlin. There have been a few hook-ups reported but only two on the boat. It’s a better day, slightly cloudy but shaping up for good fishing conditions. Let’s give it a go as it is 8:00, lines in, lines in. Good luck. This is the committee boat, standing by.

The seas were not as bad, at four to six feet with a ground swell. It was nice for us so I decided to head back south a little toward Cat Cay.

Almost immediately, two boats called in the committee boat with billfish hook-ups! I backed down the engines and we got the baits out. No telling where the two boats were. It didn’t matter, we had some action.

Several long minutes later, one boat said he lost his fish on a jump. But there was still one out there hooked up. And who knew? It could be a heavy hook up in progress. For now, I had some big ballyhoo on the long riggers and a pair of swimming mullet running third wave, just behind the teasers. It looked good. The seas were spreading out some so we were making adjustments looking for the best presentation. I made larger turns so I could sink one rigger bait and skip another. I also used engines in different settings during the turns. I was willing to try anything to give us an edge as we stayed on the hunt.

The previous day’s wahoo was grilled to perfection the day before. Mike served it up for lunch with a delicious salad with fresh onion and celery that he had bought at the straw market. He was our hidden master chef. The wahoo was delicious on a bed of Bimini bread from Zack the baker. The fancy crackers the boss picked up back at the deli in Fort Lauderdale completed the meal.

Just as we were enjoying the delicious fare, the mate standing next to me yelled.

Right rigger marlin!

I looked and I saw a shadow behind the left and yelled, Left rigger, watch the right!

A long minute later, the fish that had faded away moments before came back on the right again. This was a classic white marlin tactic, window shopping the baits and a lot of times knocking down everything to go flat lines and swim away! I did a series of turns to try to tease this fish, looking for what would get a strike. After trying for a minute or two, I did a straight course and snap and the right rigger went off. Roland, who was standing next to the rod, picked it up and did a hook set Hemingway would be proud of!

Morris yelled, Get in da chair, and sit your ass down!

Long Iron called back, Nuts to yous, I’ll stand wit’ dis fish.

Mike found the leather rod belt and put it around Roland’s waist. The fight was on, New York style.

I was on the radio as fast as I could be.

Committee boat, committee boat, Marty 1 come back.

I heard a pause, then a voice jumped in and said, Look you punk, you caught a nice white already. Why don’t you just head on back to Ft. Lauderdale and let the pros get this done?

I made a second attempt to raise the Committee boat. A short response came back, This is the Comm… Dead air.

Someone was holding the radio mike open so I could not transmit my hook-up. After a short pause, another voice came over.

Committee boat, this is the Francis M. I am off his port side and I saw the hook-up. Looks like a white marlin, and he is all over the ocean with that boat of his, hands full. As witness, I’ll call the hook up at 1:30, over.

Francis M., committee boat. Roger that. We got the first call at 1:30 as well and he got stepped on. This is the committee boat. Hook-up calls are important and this kind of stunt will not be tolerated. We have a hot boat among us, most of us never heard of or seen before, he is also in second place. Maybe you should fish instead of cause trouble. Committee boat standing by.

After all the commotion settled down, Roland piped up.

One of yous guys get me a beer. Dis fish is makin’ me thirsty.

That got a response from Blinky, Plenty time for cold beer, mon. You need two hands to handle a whopper. Keep the rod up, line tight, reel, reel. Let’s go. He close now, Capt. Kyle, almost here.

What about dat beer? asked Roland.

Wind your ass, get dat fish first like Blinky said, and hurry up, too. said Morris.

With the boat in slow turn and one engine in gear, snap swivel to the rod tip and leader in hand, the fish was billed in one motion. Artist in motion I might say. Smiles all around and a nod from the boss.

To the radio, I announced,

Committee boat, committee boat, Marty 1.

Marty 1, Committee boat, yes, go ahead.

Marty 1, back, one white marlin in the boat.

Committee boat, roger, one white marlin. Congrats. Committee boat standing by.

Marty 1, Francis M comes from the VHF.

Go ahead Capt., Marty 1.

I had a front row seat for that one. Outstanding job with the boat and congrats to the angler. Well done. I would like to ask, can I read the book you wrote about white marlin fishing in Bimini when you are done or are you doing research on it now? he asked with a chuckle.

Thanks for that, I replied. A beautiful boat you have and respect is given to you and all the boats in the tournament. The best on the east coast is here and it is still wide open for everybody. Marty 1 standing by.

The Committee boat announced, Four o’clock and lines out, fishing is done for today, I’ll give the standings shortly.

The same voice that cut me off on the hook-up returned again, You got lucky and found another white. What are you trying to prove anyways?

I didn’t respond and neither did anybody else. No point to.

Back at the docks, I was the lone ranger for the scales. Several boats were in a line for fuel and I needed some myself. But for now I returned to my slip. The white needed to be weighed in and the golf cart was being used so I had help getting it on the dock. Then I picked it up and carried it to the scales myself. The fish was about half of what I weighed. Maybe I should have asked for help! Dade was snapping pics as fast as he could. I hoped they would come out.

The fish was on the scale and da boys were all standing by, Roland with his cold beer in hand. The weight was announced - 68 pounds for Marty 1, Nice marlin mon!

We were in solid second place out of 40 boats at mid-week. Three fish weighed in and I had two of them. Atta boy! The fish was lowered; a tag was placed on the tail, and it was put in the freezer next to Morris’ white caught on Monday morning. That catch flag that flew all alone this afternoon, was looking good on my rigger.

Good fortune does have a flip side. This trip was an example of that. During the fishing day, I had noticed the generator had on occasional misfire and surge. After I let things