Bimini Twist: Bimini Twist Adventures

By Patrick Mansell

The quaint island of Bimini in the Bahamas Islands is a fisherman's paradise, a place to kick back, where no one cares what you do as long as you're bahaving yourself, having a good time, and spending a little cash.  Beneath the peaceful and friendly facade of this tropical paradise is a sinister organization that deals in human misery. Ex-con Rohan Pinkney, known as Rooster, leads a band of criminals whose brand of commerce includes drug running and refugee smuggling.

Virgil Price is the top cop in all of the Bahamas Islands. He and his highly trained, squared away troops launch a plan to infiltrate the crime syndicate and take down the organization along with $100 million in illegal contraband. 

Max Carson and his teenage sons, Gaffer and P.J., are frequent visitors to Bimini. While P.J. spends his days playing video games and beeching it, Max and Gaffer are addicted to the lure of fishing and spend their days practicing their skills. Their sport fishing boat, Bimini Twist, is loaded with sophisticated fishing equipment  and is capable of "tickling the bottom " a half mile deep. 

When Max is asked by the Royal Bahamas Defense Force to help keep an eye on things offshore and report any observations of Rooster's activities, the action begins and never lets up. Drug smugglers, shark attacks, offshore powerboat races and high speed chases over the waves keep this story moving along at breakneck speed. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Binimi Twist Adventures, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201009168

Book preview

Blue Marlin

On a good day they could make the fifty-eight mile crossing from Boca Raton to Bimini in two hours. This was a great day. The sea was flat and the wind was a mere whisper at five knots out of the southeast. They cleared Boca Inlet at 8:00 a.m. and set the Global Positioning Satellite on 138 degrees. No water came across the bow and the windshield stayed perfectly dry for the entire trip.

At 9:30, the tops of the pine trees at the north end of Bimini were visible ten miles away. This would be a new record for Bimini Twist, an open fisherman powered by twin outboards whose top speed was fifty-two miles per hour. The average speed on this trip was close to forty and the video display on the GPS told fourteen year old Gaffer Carson that his destination was only nineteen minutes away. They would make the trip in a little more than an hour and three quarters, ten minutes off their previous record.

The moment they saw the school of bright blue and green schoolie dolphins jump out of the water, they knew this would not be the day to break any speed records. It might, however, be the day they would break a record of another kind. For all of their fishing experience, they had never caught a blue marlin. The sight of the dolphins jumping was a sign that there could be one in the neighborhood.     Without a word Gaffer pulled back on the throttles. His father, Max, untied the outriggers and began securing them in their brackets while Gaffer hurried around the cockpit unwinding leader lines and letting out the teasers. This would be a six-line spread, with two fixed teasers off the transom and four artificial lures rigged to the International 50's. He would have liked to use skirted ballyhoo for bait but he knew the dolphins would go after them. This day he was after bigger game. By the time Max had set the outriggers, Gaffer had two teasers and two lines out. He was ready with the outrigger lines before Max could move back to the helm and take control.  Max looked around for the school and found that it was still nearby, only seventy-five yards to the north. He steered the boat in a wide arc to prevent tangling the lines and teasers and continued chasing the school. He accelerated to twelve knots until he was within twenty yards of the school and then slowed back to seven. Gaffer put the remaining two lines into the release clips and sent them out to the far ends of the outriggers. The spread was ready and they were in a perfect position. Driving at slow speeds in open water required no attention, so Max walked up front and picked up his favorite light tackle spinning outfit. He shook P.J., Gaffer's older brother by two years, who was sleeping on the fitted vinyl cushions in the bow. P.J., ever the sound sleeper, stirred slowly. Max told him to stand by as they might be needing his help. He returned to the helm and snapped a bright yellow jig onto the swivel at the end of the rod. If a marlin didn't hit, they would have to settle for a few schoolies. 

Twelve minutes into the chase the hunch they had followed paid off. The line on the left rigger snapped out of its clip and began screaming off the reel. Max slowed to three knots and rushed around the leaning post to join Gaffer in the cockpit. Gaffer picked up the violently shaking rod while Max sat on the port gunwale and reeled in the nearest flat line. With that line in, he quickly got the two teasers out of the water and placed them in a bucket on the deck. There was no time to reel in the other two lines as he had work to do at the helm.

P.J.! Get up here. Quick, P.J., we need your help! Are you ready for me to stop? he asked Gaffer.  We're going to have to back down pretty soon, said Gaffer. The line is flying off this reel.

P.J. was not that much of a fishing enthusiast but he knew what he had to do. He moved to the pit and began reeling in the two remaining lines, first the short line and then the long one. With that done he carried three rods and reels to the bow to get them out of the way and returned to the cockpit to watch his brother in action.

Max shifted the throttles into neutral. He retrieved a fighting belt from the storage compartment of the leaning post and fastened it around Gaffer's waste. He then returned to the helm and took over the controls. Are you ready to back down? 

Yes and you'd better be fast. Whatever this is has taken out at least a thousand feet, maybe fifteen hundred. I need to get some of it back. I still haven't seen what it is.

Max steered the boat around so he could chase the fish in forward gear. As the boat moved forward at a conservative five miles per hour, Gaffer moved to the bow and began reeling as fast as he could. He was beginning to gain on the fish. He kept the line as tight as he dared. As he leaned back to let his weight help him stop the running fish, his question was answered. Three hundred yards behind the boat a mighty blue marlin, at least seven feet long not including the bill, broke through the water and leaped into the air. Gaffer heaved against the rod and flipped the fish in mid flight. Its first reaction was to turn away from the boat and run. Another fifty yards of line screamed off the reel. While Max drove forward, Gaffer held the line against the fleeing fish.

There was a good chance this would be the biggest fish they ever caught. From a distance, it looked like it might be 400 pounds or more. Gaffer heaved backward again to turn the fish toward the boat. It took all his strength, but with this great effort the marlin stopped running and gave back some line. Tugging with all his might against a line as tight as piano wire, Gaffer was able to haul the fish back thirty yards. Again the great marlin broke the water and showed itself ten feet above the surface. It was full of life and ready to give Gaffer as much fight as he could take.  

Gaffer, what can I do for you?

Just keep driving! The only way we're going to catch this guy is to run him down. He's way stronger than I am.

Max continued in forward, turning in whichever direction the marlin took him, making certain not to go any faster than Gaffer could reel. Once again the marlin broke into the air and this time skittered across the surface as if running sideways.    He's tail-walking! exclaimed Gaffer. Did you see that?

Beautiful, replied Max. How's it going? You need anything?

The fighting belt is too loose. Help me out.

P.J. cinched the belt tighter around Gaffer's waist and closed the Velcro strap. Gaffer was feeling good and set to finish what he had started. The marlin was now only 200 yards ahead them.

For twenty more minutes, Gaffer reeled in what he could while Max drove as fast as he dared. P.J. kept out of the way. Gaffer gave a mighty heave on the rod causing the marlin to clear the surface again. As he jumped for a fourth time an eye the size of a baseball looked back at them. The fish reentered the water and came up again, thrashing and shaking like the wild animal it was. As Max drove, Gaffer reeled. The fish turned directly toward the boat and gave Gaffer back another twenty yards of line. It was thirty yards away when it jumped for the last time. Eye to eye, magnificent animal to ambitious young fisherman, the marlin shook its great head one more time and tossed the hook away. Gaffer's heart sank as the fish swam off. Max stopped the boat and turned off the engines.

Gaffer was surprised at the feelings he was experiencing. He had always dreamed of catching a beautiful fish like this one. He dreaded the thought that something like this might happen. He had imagined that fighting a blue marlin and having it get away before it was a catch must be awful. But it actually wasn't that bad. It was a wonderful animal that had challenged him and Gaffer had put up a good fight. The fish would be back some day. Gaffer would be back. Perhaps they could play again sometime.

Deep Drop

There are almost as many techniques for fishing as there are species of fish in the sea. Not for centuries, but millennia, men have been hauling their food from the oceans, seas, bays, lakes, and rivers. With everything from two-pound test ultra-light fishing tackle, to 900-pound commercial long lines and everything imaginable in between, each method has its own purpose and each angler has his own preference.

A typical extended weekend of fishing in the Bahamas for Max and Gaffer was driven by objectives. Their first objective was to make certain they would return home with an impressive quantity of tasty fillets. So, for their first couple of days, they would spend time using the fishing technique that was always certain to bring results. Deep dropping required the use of specialized equipment, like their high tech Garmin depth finder, with state of the art GPS technology, and a Lindgren Pittman electric reel, which itself was mounted on a custom, 500 pound class, bent-butt rod. The drum of the reel was loaded with 2,000 yards of 200-pound test braid. They could tickle the bottom more than a half-mile down.   After they had traveled across the Bimini waters to a dozen spots and found that the bite was on, and there was no question about whether they would achieve objective number one, they would start playing around with lighter tackle. They enjoyed challenging seventy-pound nurse, lemon, and hammerhead sharks with eight and twelve pound test spinning gear. This was fun and was a great test of skill. The fish they caught would be released unharmed, as this was sport and these beautiful sharks were usually quite harmless. It was conceivable that on one of these adventures Gaffer would bring home a Junior World Record in a light tackle class.     Occasionally, conditions made trolling the preferred technique. If they wanted to catch large dolphin, wahoo, tuna or bigger game such as marlin or sailfish, dragging teasers, lures and rigged baits would get the job done. They usually got around to trolling several days into a trip as it provided variety and kept things interesting. Max was not fond of trolling because of the continuous running of the motors and constant motion of the boat. Ten hours a day of that routine could be exhausting and could even become boring. 

There were times when everything had been tried, the cooler was full to capacity, and the father and sons would go looking for another kind of adventure. At times like these, they usually sought the shallow waters of the flats. A day on the flats was always interesting and it tested their skills in a variety of ways. For one thing, vision was key. They had to see what they were casting to before it saw them. Beyond that, their casts had to be precise or they would spook their prey. Some men based their entire fishing careers on chasing bonefish around the flats. It took a very high degree of skill to be a successful bone fisherman. Max and Gaffer played at it from time to time, but never took it too seriously.

Today they had accidentally proceeded to one of the more advanced forms of fishing by battling that blue marlin. That was just one of those opportunities that came along every so often. If a fisherman spent enough time in the Bimini waters, practically anything could happen. It was now time to seriously get down to meeting their current primary objective – dinner.

They cleared customs and immigration, checked into the Sea Crest Hotel and grabbed a quick lunch at the Big Game Club. P.J. disappeared to call on a few of his native friends while Max and Gaffer spent the rest of the day visiting some of their favorite spots on the water.

By early afternoon, the wind had picked up to twelve knots. Cutting through the three-foot chop, the only way that Gaffer could bait his hooks was to sit on the deck. Standing and kneeling were impossible at twenty-eight knots. Sitting down and taking the shock in his backside was the price he would pay.

They completed their twelfth successful drop. Or was it thirteen? Or was it fourteen? He couldn't keep count. All he knew was that the cooler was loaded with queen snappers, at least twenty, or maybe twenty-five and not one of them was less than five pounds. They had a solid hour of cleaning ahead of them, but Max still wanted to go back for another drop on Magic Mountain.

The Mountain was what geologists referred to as an underwater seamount. The surrounding area was 1,600 feet below the surface. The mount rose from the bottom until its top reached to 1,200 feet below the surface. This 400-foot bottom structure created an environment of its own. Microscopic bait fish attracted small bait fish, which in turn attracted some of the most desirable of all bottom fish, a school of queen snapper numbering more than a thousand. There were always great possibilities in this location, including green snapper, grouper, and shark.

Dad, isn't this enough? My back is killing me, I've already hooked myself twice and we've got plenty of time left to load up. We won't be done cleaning these fish until after dark.

The fish are turned on. It's the payoff for all the times we dragged ballyhoo through the weed lines for days at a time and came home with nothing but a stinkpot kingfish, or nothing at all. Besides, I have a feeling about this drop. One more and we're out of here. This is the last one for the day. We've got plenty of sunlight left and Alicetown is only twenty minutes away. We'll be at the dock and cleaned up in no time. Just one more drop. It'll pay. Don't forget, if the bite turns off, or the weather craps out, this is all we are going to take home. We've got to catch 'em up while they're biting.

The GPS was reading off the numbers as Bimini Twist closed the distance to Magic Mountain. Twenty-seven hundredths straight ahead, twenty-six, twenty-five... the quarter-mile to the Mountain, according to the GPS, was straight ahead, fifty-five seconds away.

Gaffer, how's it going back there? Less than a minute to the site.

One more hook to bait but the light died and I have to switch it out. There's one in the cup holder. See if it's working.

Trying to drive with one hand and reach for the light with the other, Max decided the only way to do this would be to slow down and let go of the wheel. Slowing down to 2,000 RPMs made sense anyhow, because Gaffer was probably not going to be ready in less than two or three minutes.

When the top of the casing was tightened, the light came to life with an intense white glow. Max turned it off again and handed it back to Gaffer. In less than the time it took to slow down, Gaffer had the last hook baited and was ready to attach the light.

Dad, my hands are dead. I don't think I can open that snap swivel one more time today. Help me out. Max brought the boat to a stop and walked around the leaning post to where the terminal rigging was attached to the deep dropping gear. He twisted the light and it came on again. He wedged himself between the gunwale and the rocket launcher to keep from falling on the slippery, unstable deck. Hand-over-hand he made his way along the gunwale until he was kneeling in the stern reaching for the snap. He opened the 300-pound test swivel without an effort. He threaded the end of the swivel through the loop at the end of the light and closed the snap. They were now ready for the final drop of the day.

When he turned around to make his way back to the helm, Gaffer was leaning on the rocket launcher and slipping the twins into gear to guide the boat the final eighth mile to the drop site.  

All right, go ahead and take us to the site, Max called. I'll wait here. Let me know when we are on. In fact, let's go two clicks beyond the site and let the current bring us back. By the time the lead hits the bottom we will have drifted over the top of the Mountain.

Sounds good, Gaffer replied. Only one thing, how about you drop and I maneuver the boat?

Gaff, one more drop today. Who knows, with the weather possibly moving this way, this could be our last drop for this trip. You fish, I'll hold the boat. I don't know why, but I have a feeling about this drop and you are a much better fisher. And if you don't mind my saying it, I'm a better driver.

I agree about the fishing part but I'm not so sure about the driving part, grinned Gaffer, as he moved around the leaning post to take up his position on the gunwale while Max took over the controls. 

Gaff! I'm coming back to idle. We're already three clicks past the Mountain. Are you ready? 

Dad, let's drift back to zero and drop. If we drop at zero three, I'm afraid the lead will hang up when we drift across. The stream is only one knot today. The lead is dropping straight down.

Then I'm going back around and coming up to zero. I can never seem to drift exactly back to zero.

No, let it drift. I don't care if we're a click or two east or west. I only don't want us to be past zero to the south when the Stream is running north. That's how we get hung up.

Well, the GPS says the Mountain is two clicks at sixty-five degrees and the depth finder says we are coming to the drop off. Give me a second to set us up and then drop when you're ready.

This part of deep dropping was critical and always caused the most arguments between the father and son. The line had to come off the rod tip on the stern at as close to a ninety-degree angle as possible. At that precise angle the least amount of excess line was released and there would be less danger of losing their tackle. At the wrong angle in one direction, the rig would glide along the bottom until one of its six circle hooks caught on bottom structure and hung up. At the wrong angle in the other direction, they would lose the rig in the port propeller. Gaffer and Max were experienced at losing rigs by both methods. Several times they had lost their tackle from the boat to the bottom. With 700 yards of braid at twelve cents a foot, a six hook leader, k-light and lead, they often reminded each other about how much that added to the cost of a day's fishing. It was not a welcome thought.

Max wanted to get a little closer to the top without going past it. He was already off it and drifting away slowly. The wind out of the east was his indication that he needed left reverse and right forward power. He executed this maneuver with 1,200 RPMs to port engine and 1,500 RPM's to starboard. The boat responded like a well-trained racehorse. Moving her bow to the forward left and stern to right, in five seconds she was set up perfectly for the drop.

Are you ready, Gaff? Let her rip.

But Gaffer was already ahead of him. His lead was ten feet below the surface, barely visible. He could see his six strips of squid appearing as flags on a windy day. At the surface was his brightly glowing k-light. Taking his seat on the port gunwale with both hands firmly gripping the reel, he released the locking lever and watched his rig head to the bottom.

Dad, watch what you're doing! The line is going under the boat.

Calm down, the line is not going under the boat. I see it. Just a little port reverse and we'll be fine. I'm on it. Don't worry. We haven't lost a rig all day.

In spite of his father trying to make light of the situation, Gaffer was entirely focused on his drop. His concentration made him edgy whenever they were in this situation.

This wind is a bear. Right off the port bow while we're trying to hold still, fishing off the port stern. I'm doing the best I can to hold it. It's fine, Son. Don't get up-tight if the line runs out a little. The wind is picking up and the water is flooding the engine bracket and splashing over the transom. This is the last drop today. We'll be out of here in a few minutes.

No sooner had these words been spoken then the line went slack and the reel started in free spool. I'm on. Hold it still. Back it up. More, back up more. I want to get straight up and down and the line is going out. Now you're overrunning it, Dad. Reverse starboard, forward port. No! The other way! Forward starboard, reverse port.

Gaffer, calm down, we're perfect. Just watch your line and stop yelling at me. I know what I'm doing. We're perfect. Gaffer, watch your line, they're biting.

In spite of the 1,200-foot distance between the boat and the bottom, there was no mistaking the fish bite. As the lead scraped the bottom, or bounced off the bottom, the rod tip rhythmically moved up and down. A bounce was a smooth motion as the tip arced up and down. When the fish started biting there was a definitive tugging motion. With experience, the two fishermen had learned to distinguish between being hit by one big fish or several smaller ones. By knowing their coordinates they could also tell whether to expect yellow eyes, queens, or grouper.

You're hooked, what do you want to do.

Whatever it is, it's nothing big. I'm going back down. I'm only thirty feet off the bottom.

Instantly the rig was on its way back down and within three seconds the lead hit again. Only now the lead was going through its arcing motion while the fish on the third hook from the bottom was struggling to get free. As more of his brothers were