fishing stories
The Ultimate Cast, A Short Fishing Story
It was another beautiful day in Playa Del Coco, Costa Rica. The usual early morning sounds were beginning to stir, melding with the waning sounds of nights creatures outside the dew adorned window. The aroma of strong and delicious costa rican coffee dominated the air ways, but it was the excitement and anticipation that filled the room, after all it was another day fishing the bat islands in northern Guanacaste. Gear was checked and re-check, special attention paid to every knot, hook, and florocarbon leader. No fish were getting away on a technicality this day.
The morning ritual continued to take place, involving a myriad of loose traditions until it was time to depart.
“Do we have everything?” Jeff said,
A last minute rustle and the green packaging of wasabi sliding into a bag pre-empted the answer
“Now we do!” said Ben as the dock locked with a loud ‘clink’
The walk wasn’t a long one, as rarely there is along an empty beach. The few people out were a variety of fisherman, beach runners, and borracho’s from the night before debating the impact of sunrise. The waves laped up calmly inthe semi protected bay which made it slightly more easy to board the tiny panga. The blue and black hull with a white johnson 140 on the back distinguished Captain Geraldo Reyes’, other wise known as ‘Comi’ to his friends, boat from the other pangas. The smell of the beach and ocean fueled the anticipation making for a quick departure.
The ride to the bat islands from playa del coco is not a short one, but when the wind dies down and the swell is low it only takes slightly longer then one hour, watching the splash and wake of the boat in relative silence a few beers were drank. The farther the boat traveled the more life was to be seen, turtles locked in a 24 hour tango of love, porpoise playing in the wake, and even distant humpbacks breaking the surface.
“Its going to be a great day!” Ben yelled across the rumble of the johnson and slap of the boat on the sea. Smiles around and a ‘salute’ brought us close to the end of one and beginning of another journey. The smell of fish was heavy in the air. Arriving near low tide poppers began to hit the water, the sound of braided line peeling off, splashes. chugs, and “fish fish!” replaced the now silent hum of the motor. It wasn’t long before blood was in the boat, it was breakfast time.
Already a decent day of fishing building, Jeff took to the bow of the boat hooking a jack travel, a frequent companion this day, the fight had begun, Comi also had a fish on as Ben steadily video taped both men in a double hook-up. The jack sounded and Jeff felt the lure slip from the fish The agony of defeat taking verbal form “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck”. Begrudgingly jeff begin to wind in his remaining line. Less then 5 rotations on a shimano 20,000 reel the line gave a sharp tug, and then a screaming run was heard around the boat
“Fish On!” Jeff yelled, the former agony quickly usurped in a boost of adrenaline.
“Whew! Big fish man!” followed Ben as more and more line continued to barrel out the drag whining a reminder of the struggle just beginning. Seconds to minutes, as the initial rush subsided the true battle had begun. Retrieving some ground Jeff fought the unknown fish only to see it vanish bank into the blue minutes later. As the white water of a splash against the rocks blew over us caught on the wind the fight began to reach the hour mark. The violent shaking of the head could be seen by even a novice fisherman, and following the 3rd gigantic bounce came… nothing. The sudden slackness of the line revealed the last effort of the fish won it its freedom.
Silence came over the boat frozen for a moment in time, shock. The shattering came in the form of foot pounding on the deck and a slurry of cussing that was apropro for the moment. One cast, Two fish hooked, two fish lost. The only redeeming aspect to the whole situation being that it would make a good fishing story.
This tale however, had a third act. On a slow retrieve, competitiveness like fire in the veins, and a myriad of what if’s in mind, the unimaginable happened. The rod tip bent and the front of the boat broke into shouts of excitement.
“Another fish! Fish On!” Jeff yelled back half bedazzled, but all excited.
The rest of the boat’s stupor quickly melted as for one more time on just one cast a fish was tugging at the lure
“Remind me to write williamson a letter” Said Ben while video taping the final moments of a cast that last over an hour and a half and cycled through three different fish. Laughter turned to cheers as the third fish broke the surface, a beautiful dog tooth snapper, or in these waters, pargo! Fish on board, and dinner settled for the evening the lure waas examined. 2 completely crushed treble hooks and one nearly straightened.
The hooks received and upgrade, the snapper made the table, but its the story of the Ultimate Cast that made the day.
By Ben George
Monsters of The Deep, A Short Fishing Story
Be careful what you wish for, especially when fishing on the Hannibal Banks of Panama
The rain was pounding down leaving the sea awash in millions of tiny ripples. The water seemingly vibrating with anticipation as the pounding sound of the heavy rain drowned out the low hum of the twin motors idling in neutral. The boat was drifting slowly in the current of the seas around The Hannibal Banks off the coast of Panama. A relative calm before the reel storm.
The day had been an exciting one and the boat had tasted her share of blood, laying below deck in their shallow temporary grave, the catch of the morning, a large Red Snapper, or ‘Pargo’ in these parts, Amberjack, and Dorado lay still.
The rain pounded on.
Captain Shane positioned the boat expertly
“Here Here, look at that mark!”
The sounding equipment on the boat, rating the density of fish below, showed solid black from 70 to 120 feet down –A very good sign!
The boat came alive as rods and reels left their resting places, blue runners bridled on the other end returned to the sea all be it a bit farther from their home they were wrestled from the previous night. It was a routine familiar to all on board, Jeff from Addictive Angler and the mate, Steve free spooled their blue runners down to depth.
Ben from Addictive Angler, who had lost 4 fish that day, stepped up to the bow of the boat hooked with a 200 grain jig. The storm eased up slightly as the the lead jig hit the water and began to sink, 50 feet, 100 feet, 150 feet, then the line slacked as the metal found its home 175 feet down resting on ‘The Hump’
Clink
The bale of the shimano stella 10,000 rod clicked over
Ben, feeling a bit dejected from his losses of the day and the good natured ribbing from his crew mates said more to himself then anyone, “I’ll show everyone, I’m going to hook a fucking monster”
One hard jig.
Two.
Three.
The rain paused almost as to take a deep breath as a familiar sound of the day filled the air, nearly every fisherman’s
favorite sound, a screaming reel. “Fish Fish Fish!” Ben yelled triumphantly as he sunk the hook deep with a quick and hard jerk up on the rod. The fish, not as enthusiastic, swam away hard and fast. Everyone brought in their fish to let the battle begin, the sound of winding lines in the stern of the boat combined with a still screaming line on the bow into a beautiful arrangement of fishing symphony.
Raindrops began to trickle down.
Congratulations and attention was thrown forward as Ben held fast on the bow, hoping for a little extra glory of reeling in a fish from the front of the boat. As the first minutes clicked by and the initial adrenaline rush began to subside a realization slowly began to set in. First, with Ben as he was opposite the business end of the rod followed by the rest of the crew. This wasn’t your average size fish.
The pouring raid returned.
Time slowed in the wave of water from the sky as neither angler or fish seemed keen on giving up anytime soon. The boat rocked gently on the waves, a slow roll, a solo voyager this time of the day on the banks. Ben dropped his bravado and retreated to the stern of the boat as the monster on the other end began to take more and more line, a constant clicking through a tightened down drag. A slow almost poetic pulling that painted a small glimpse of the beast at the other end slowly treading through the water with barley a care to the struggle going on 200 feet above.
The pulse of the storm slowed after an hour of painstaking back and forth that didn’t seem to be wearing on the fish, but was sapping the energy from Ben as his hands, arms, and legs began to tremble with the weight of the fish on the other end. Knowing his limits were rapidly approaching and feeling no give of the sea creature he handed the reins to Jeff for a respite.
The chatter on the boat was a myriad of laughter, jokes, and curse words as the fish seemed to not want to bow to anyone. A wonderment took hold as the minutes continued to creep by. The chart plotter, a normally opaque yellow, now housed lines of red akin to a child on an etch’a'sketch. Jeff expertly and as gently as possible fought on. The size of the fish grew by the minute as everyone began comparing past experiences.
An audience began to appear on the top of the water as other boats drifted in for an afternoon of fishing. Jeff fought on, his slow and methodical pumps occasionally bringing the fish up to 75 feet only to see his effort forfeit as the line was repeatedly taken out time after time, more boats as the clock continued its ever steady climb.
The wind that had been a companion all day vanished as did the rain. The sea calmed. Other boats realizing that this herculean battle would not be over quickly took to their respective courses to find their own fights of the day. Jeff fought on. The chorus of amazement continued to grow as the second hour creeped by. The fish began to assume names of possible species and hated nemesis, Jeff fought on.
“how can it still be going?”
“what the hell is this thing?”
“Its not the bottom thats for sure!”
“you just had to hook a monster huh?”
“it must be huge”
The shock of the fight was setting in, as was the fatigue. Jeff, despite his skill and determination, was beginning to wear.
His hour and a half on the rod had everyone impressed, except the fish. For at least the 30th time that day he sounded back down over 200 feet. Ben, rested and ready, reassumed the rod set to put the pressure down and at least see this beast that had enveloped the afternoon.
“Come on Ben,lets get this fish in the boat” Nancy offered up as moral support.
“Nice and easy” Ben said shallowly as he focused on easing up the beast. It would have none of it.
The rain returned consistent with the force of the fish.
Rain enveloped the vessel once again as Ben’s regained stamina was fading much quicker then his first bout. A fresh set of arms was brought in, Steve. The 3rd angler set his mind and body to the task, with encouragement from all Steve stepped into the fray, but he too was overtaken by the weight of the fish after a time succuming to the power of this monster he passed the reins off to a shortly refreshed Jeff intent on ending this war on the Hannibal Banks.
The mental and physical strain was being felt by all aboard as the 3rd hour of battle rolled close. It would be the last minutes as the rain subsided for the last time that day the rod shot suddenly up! The fish had won. Not without a scar however as a chunk of meat on the end of the hook revealed the painful end to a brutal fight.
The agony of defeat that usually accompanies a lost fish was overran by the awe and majesty of one of the oceans mammoth creatures that beat an array of experienced fisherman and won his freedom for the day. T.O.P Cat altered her course and returned home with her prizes and crew en tow, weary, but fulfilled.
By Ben George
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