A Perfect Storm & A Monster Fish

My friend Rafi invited me to go fishing last weekend. I went.

I don’t think I’ll be speaking to him any more.

Let me tell you something: if you think a fishing tournament is all about rocking back and drinking beers in beautiful calm waters with sunny skies overhead while waiting for a fish to bite, think again, my landlubber friends. What I experienced this weekend – apart from the drinking beers part – is an ignoramus’ dream when compared to the real thing!

To be fair, nobody promised me the above description of what the experience would be like, but then again, nobody warned me either.

A fishing tournament usually lasts for four days in all – two competition days, a rest day, then the final competition day and prize-giving ceremony. I wasn’t there for the first two competition days (thank you sweet Jesus, King Neptune, Odin, Thor & all concerned!). I arrived on the rest day ahead of the final competition day, and the drink in hand and balmy breezes soothing my ruffled brow falsely lulled me into a sense of serenity.

I’d known there was a rough seas warning out and heard the complaints of the anglers about the waters being too rough and impossible to fish. They’d been out for two hard days already and so far the only fish caught (well, tagged & released) were two marlin and a sailfish I think. Usually, that’s what just one boat would land in one day, but it was the sum total from all of the boats in the whole tournament thus far.

Did that set off any alarm bells in my head? Noooooooooooo…. I blame the beers and balmy breezes.

So, at four o’clock the next morning, I was blasted into consciousness from a dreamy sleep with the beautiful VRRRROOOOOOM!! of the engines in my ears and the lovely violent rocking of the boat in my stomach. Outside, the guys were already busy setting up a crisscross of rods and fishing lines with what must be state-of-the-art equipment because I can’t think how those lines didn’t end up in a tangled mess. But there were long lines and short lines, different depths and angles, and colourful ‘birds’ (plastic lures that look exactly like squid, so I have no idea why they don’t just call them that). So far, so good!

Then we set out for open water and all hell was unleashed upon us. I have never ever seen such a massive amount of water coming at me from all directions, and I never EVER want to see it again.

I was on a 42-ft Bertram – a very sleek and sexy boat ah tell ya, especially when viewed from the very safe vantage point of dry land – and it must be at least 20-ft in height. But when it was down in one of the troughs between those horrendous waves, I’m damn sure you couldn’t see the top of it! It must take consummate skill to control a boat in conditions like that (and a stomach of steel, which I have since learned I don’t have).

The scene from the movie Perfect Storm, where the Andrea Gale begins to climb the face of the massive wall of water that eventually spells death for the brave little boat and all it’s occupants, kept playing over and over in my mind – no lie. I kept waiting for the moment when, like Clooney and crew, I would know, this is it: sayonara, world.

Water was slamming against the boat from all sides and crashing through the windows on the upper deck. I, and my stomach, felt the many times we were launched into the air and slammed back down ('felt', I say, because by now my eyes were firmly shut and every prayer I know was running through my head).

I do not know HOW they navigated their way through those waters but many, many, many thanks to the skillful hands of Rafi, Michael and Rick that brought me safely back, and hats off to the captains of the other boats that took part in the tournament. I can only imagine the disappointment of going through all of that and coming back empty-handed.

All joking aside, this sport is not for the faint of heart. It definitely takes mental and physical strength and the participants have a passion for the sport that’s palpable. I’m sure that, with a stronger constitution, I would have enjoyed the experience immensely. Even under the fear, the excitement was undeniable.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see any action in terms of actual ‘fishing’, but it was not for any other reason except that the seas were so rough that even the fish didn’t want to be there. Ironically enough, the boat and crew that eventually emerged victorious was the smallest in the fleet and didn’t think they would make it in the angry open waters further out. They stayed within the relatively calmer waters of the bay area and it was there that history was made on 6 April, 2008.

The Tobago Game Fishing Tournament ended on that day with the young (15 year-old) Sean Mendonca breaking the Caribbean, and quite possibly the World, Junior Record by landing himself a monster of a fish – an 890-lb blue marlin – after only one and a half hours of fighting it.

Marlins are very powerful and fast, and can swim 100m (330 ft) in about 4 seconds (approximately 56 mph). When hooked, I’m sure they go even faster in their frenzied attempts to break free. It’s typical to fight one of much smaller size for much longer before it eventually tires out; the last record was 460+ lbs (set by my own Captain R, no less) and he battled with it for over 3 hours. It takes muscle, sweat and pure ‘bad mind’ to outlast this creature.

This was clearly Sean’s time. It's almost unbelievable to think that he did that – or maybe Mr Monster gave up, as he had to be really old to get to that size – after such a short time, walking away with nearly half a million dollars in prize money, plus trophies galore. The stats are being sent to the International Game Fishing Association to verify that a world record was actually broken, so we await word on that. Whatever the reason, way to go Sean! Congratulations and enjoy your time in the limelight darling; they’ll definitely be gunning to break your record next year.

The benefits of events like this being held in Tobago are obvious. Game fishing is an international sport and Tobago can surely sustain competitors and visitors alike. The sleepy fishing village of Speyside came alive last weekend and enthusiastically hosted the anglers and the supporters that came to cheer them on, and they welcome the prospect of Speyside being the permanent home of the annual competition. Blue Waters Inn even sponsored a smaller competition for the school children of the village with monetary prizes at the end.

A very special thanks to Rafi, Rick, Michael, Dana and Mike Jr (what a character!) and the inimitable Ken G of the pirogue Step Up (thanks for the hot wuk lesson, dude! You’re a winner!) for a very memorable weekend.

But I still won’t be giving up terra firma again anytime soon.