Eye Stopping
No one forgets his first white marlin. Mine came 50 miles off Virginia Beach, Virginia.
We were trolling naked ballyhoo on my buddy Ken Neill’s boat. Wind-whipped cobalt water danced toward a pale blue horizon. I was standing next to the right flat line when a pair of iridescent pectoral fins appeared behind the bait.
The world went into Matrix slow motion. I picked up the rod. The marlin batted the bait. I put the reel in free spool and let the fish eat. With line disappearing, I felt the whole crew watching. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. I counted until I felt the unaware fish move off with the bait.
“Hook ’em!” Neill yelled from the bridge. I pushed the lever drag to strike, held the rod tip low and cranked the reel hard.
When the line came tight, a silver and blue missile launched. The reel screamed as the guys cleared the teasers and lines. The marlin put on an air show, jumping, flipping and surging for its freedom. By the time someone told Neill to “go get ’em,” my reel was
