A Place Like No Other
The thrum of the diesels, a tropical sun and the boat’s gentle roll had worked me into a mild hypnotic state. I was sitting on the port engine box early that afternoon, sun-blasted, daydreaming, brain on pause, when a blue marlin pushing 400 pounds surfaced in the spread and snared a 3-pound tuna bridled to an 18/0 circle hook as easily as a tall boy plucks an apple from a tree.
The line snapped from the rigger, and I rocketed into the glorious, chaotic here and now; the sleepy cockpit erupted in a chorus of indecipherable English and Spanish.
I was on my feet, rod in hand, pushing the drag lever forward on the 50-pound outfit. The next thing I remembered was standing in the port quarter of our Bertram 31, facing the fish and yelling, “Yeah, baby!” as it ripped off 400 yards of line.
The mate cleared the rest of the lines, I got into the chair and 50 minutes later
