10. Big Game Fishing

There comes at least one time in every woman's life when she's got to buy a hat. The wildest, the gayest, the most frivolous, the most expensive hat she ever bought in her life.

It happens, we imagine, when her whole world is fast clos­ing in on her and there's no place to stand up and fight back, no place to run, no place to hide. There's no escape from the pileup of problems. No escape from her children, from her husband, from her home, from civilization and the things that modern mankind calls progress.

There comes a time, too, when every man has to buy a "hat," complete with blow-off valve. But they don't make them for men. He has to find a substitute.

We will suggest a man-sized substitute for mother's naughty and much too expensive hat. Go deep sea fishing. Get out on the blue, blue water. Hunt big game with a rod and a reel and a hook.

Just one deep sea safari can give you a shelf full of unfor­gettable memories to take down from the closet and dust off whenever the squeeze is on again. They'll bring you alive again, face you up to your problems again—and their solu­tion—and you'll be able to lick the world just the way you licked a fish two or three times your size with nothing much more to help than a hook and a piece of thread.

It won't come cheap, this safari, but what therapy does? If you're lucky you'll get by on one hundred dollars or so for the day, but you'll be skimping at that and you may have to pass up that second ham sandwich.

Just about the bottom fee for a charter boat on a big game expedition is one hundred dollars a day, whether it is for one fisherman or for four. More than four the charter boat captain probably won't allow aboard because that could easily end up in a mess of fouled lines, broken gear and fish that got away. He probably won't take children, so that lets out Andy and Peg and probably eliminates Mother, too. So you have two choices: find three friends and whack up the cost or go it alone and foot the bill all by your lonesome.

The best blue water gamesters to fish for are marlin, yellow-fin and blue fin tuna, the mighty swordfish, shark and sailfish.

The Broadbill Swordfish, Marlin, Sailfish

Seeking out the broadbill swordfish isn't necessarily a one-day fishing expedition and the cost of catching just one prob­ably will run closer to a thousand dollars than to a hundred dollars. Because you don't fish for broadbill. You hunt them and stalk them as you would big game in the forest. In fact, there is no sense in even putting your hook into the water until Sir Swordfish has been sighted basking on the surface.

Then you let out a lot of line and the skipper, a skillful man is he, maneuvers the boat so the carefully rigged bait will tantalizingly cross the broadbill's line of vision. He'll come up, smite it smartly with his sword and you immediately throw your reel into free spool so the bait will drift as though stunned.

The swordfish will come around to mouth his morsel and when he does you get set for a fast and furious ride to town. The swordfish has a sensitive touch and the angler has to treat him just as delicately. The least pressure on the line and it's bye-bye broadbill.

Let him peel off about one hundred yards of line, then re­engage the spool and sock back hard with your rod. Heave up on the rod two or three times more to really set the hook and away you go! You're in for a show and the fight of your life.

The broadbill will jump and leap and cakewalk the waves. He'll shake and swivel, he'll walk on his tail and he'll race off with your line like it was tied fast to nothing at all. He'll pull you forward in the fighting chair until your arms and your shoulders scream out for help and the only thing that will keep you from going over the side will be the stout leather harness lacing you tight.

Hours later—how many hours was it, four, six, eight?— you'll finally prove yourself stronger than the sword and you'll bring him to boat. The skipper or his mate will let go with a flying gaff, a heave, heave, heave on the rig up to get the beaten broadbill in position for gin pole or block and tackle to lift him out of the water and Mister, you've caught yourself a monarch. How big? At last look the record catch was an 1,182-pounder!

But why do we keep saying "you"? Our advice is not to go fishing for sword, unless you own a money tree and only if time is something you have plenty of.

To illustrate what we mean: Zane Grey, one of America's great writers and a trailblazer in big game fishing, and his brother once hunted swordfish for ninety-three straight days, sighted 140 swords, put the hook only to eleven and boated only one!

A swordfish, like all big gamesters, is an ocean-going or pelagic fish. So a good skipper may know where the swordfish ought to be, but that doesn't mean a broadbill will be there just because, on that particular day, you decided to invest one hundred dollars—at least—in a deep sea fishing expedition. It's something like a destroyer seeking out a sub.

So you'll probably have more to show for your money and far, far more to remember it by if you get three buddies to make a day of it with you and divide the cost four ways. Four into one hundred is twenty-five dollars and, at those prices, you'll be able to go blue water fishing more often.

The Boat, the Tackle and You

The best place for your light spinning tackle on a big game safari is home in your cellar. The charter boats provide the heavier and sturdier tackle that you'll need. In most ports, their use is covered in the charter fee. But some captains charge extra.

Clear up that point before you leave the dock. That point and one other. Who owns the fish caught during the day? You, the fisherman, or the boat and the captain? It isn't funny to pull back into port after a day on the water and discover you have to buy the fish you caught. But some skippers insist that's the way it has to be. So make him say so at the time you make charter reservations. That gives you time to shop around for another boat.

Don't jump back in shock when you first set eyes on the block-and-tackle type gear the skipper will break out for the four of you to use. After your light spinning tackle, that's about what it looks like—block and tackle. But it won't be. It will be finally made reel, rod and line, and you'll need every bit of strength that's been built into them to handle the fish you'll hook into.

All the reels will be revolving reels, which come in a variety of sizes coded by the manufacturers, from 1/0 through 4/0 and then 6/0, 9/0, 10/0, 12/0,14/0 and 16/0. The smallest you'll use will be the 4/0. The spoke-like wheel positioned on the right side between the reel and the handle is the drag, called "star drag" because of the spokes that give it a star-like appearance. Get acquainted with it because you'll use it a lot before the day is done.

Many charter boat skippers are turning to monofilament line, which you've already met and whose strength you know by pound-test nomenclature. But many skippers never will switch from the time-honored and fish-tested braided linen lines. Their wet strength is told in threads and what you have to know is that each thread has three pounds of pull. There­fore a 15-thread linen line and a 45-pound test mono line have an equal amount of muscle.

Rod strength is measured in the ounce-weight of the rod-tip; the entire length of the rod up to the ferrule that joins the butt is known as the tip.

Put rod, reel and line together and what have you got? You've either got a mish-mosh of mismatched pieces that will give you lots of trouble, lots of aches and bruises and over­worked muscles and maybe, if you're lucky, a fish—or you've got a finely tuned set of balanced tackle that will practically handle a fish by itself if you'll let it.

That's where the know-how of the skipper enters the picture for the first time—and you'll find out as the day gets along that you've chartered more than a boat You've also obtained a full day's exclusive use of a lifetime of experience, knowledge and Cm Do. Do what lie says, exactly as he says it, and it will be a great day.

What is balanced tackle for blue-water foiling? Your cap­tain probably will follow these match-ups that have been found best by the experts.

1. For bluefish, small school tuna, bonito, albacore, dolphin, sailfish up to 100 pounds—4/0 reel, 10-ounce tip, 300 yards of 15-thread line.
   
   
2. For sailfish, tarpon, wahoo, marlin, school tuna up to 150 pounds—6/0 reel, 12-ounce tip, 400 yards of 18-thread line.
   
   
3. For white marlin, tuna, tarpon, swordfish up to 250 pounds—9/0 reel, 14-ounce tip, 500 yards of 21-tbxead line.
   
   
4. For blue, black and striped marlin, swordfish, tuna up to 300 pounds—10/0 reel, 16-ounce tip, 600 yards of 24-thread line.
   
   
5. For blue, black and striped marlin, swordfish, tuna over 300 pounds—12/0 reel, 22-ounce tip, 600 yards of 36-thread line.
   
   
6. For all fish over 400 pounds when fishing under bad conditions—14/0 reel, 30-ounce tip, 600 yards of 54-thread line.
   
   
7. For all fish over 400 pounds when fishing in extremely deep water—16/0 reel, 30-ounce tip, 750 yards of 54-thread line.

We didn't bother to list the names of all the big game fish in the sea, but the same balanced tackle specifications work best for any other fish you may be after—shark, giant sea bass, halibut, to name just a few.

Aboard the charter boat, you'll see a couple of seats in the cockpit that look like sea-going barber chairs. They're fighting chairs, built for comfort, yes, but built more to give you every bit of help possible in battling a monster to a fare-thee-well.

What appears to be a footrest actually is a foot brace and you'll need it when you lean back to turn a fish or pump it to the surface. The leather harness is to be strapped around your shoulders or waist and snap-fastened to the rod or reel. That hookup helps you put the whole weight of your body behind a heave and a haul, eases the strain on your shoulders or kidneys and helps to keep you and your tackle in the chair— and in the boat. In the space between your knees is a gimbal —a rod-holder to take still more of the strain off you. After a couple of hours of wearing a fish down or vice-versa, all that harness might enable you to let go long enough to grab a sandwich and a swig of ginger ale. Speaking of ginger ale, it's the best thing you can drink on the water. Beer and whiskey are the worst things.

A good fighting chair will swivel, tilt and turn with every movement of your body, fish or boat. It will be just as maneuverable as a barber chair. But this time you're the bar­ber and the fish is your customer. The idea is for you to shave him close.

Poking up into the sky on either side of the boat will be a couple of slender spars made of wood, cane or metal and run­ning anywhere from ten to forty feet in height. They're out­riggers and the four of you in your fishing party will use them constantly during the day. In fact, they're what make it pos­sible for four of you to go along and fish instead of just one or two.

Pelagic fish live and feed mainly on or near the surface and the best way to seek them out is by trolling. There, too, the outriggers perform a definite service, because they keep the bait out of reach of the wake kicked up by the boat as it moves along at deep sea trolling speed.

In a foursome, two of you will fish over the stern, or tran­som, of the boat; that is called straight line, or flat, trolling. Two will fish from the sides with their lines threaded from their rods and through the outriggers. A clothespin-holder ar­rangement will allow the line to pull free from the outrigger the moment a fish takes the bait and it becomes just rod, reel and fisherman against the fish.

Once there is a strike, the lucky angler moves himself into fighting chair from yacht chair or wherever he may be perched, the other three lines are reeled in to give him and the fish all the fighting room they'll need and then may the best man—or fish—win.

The fisherman will have all of the built-in power of his balanced tackle on his side, but he'll have far more of an assist from the skipper and his skill in handling the boat. And all the artistry that the skipper has mastered over the years will be called upon to outclass the battler on the other end of the line. When the fish runs, the boat must run with him. When the fish turns, the boat turns with him. When the fish stops to catch his second wind, the boat backs off and doesn't let him. When the fish dives and digs deep for the bottom, the boat races forward then swiftly reverses course, giving you precious slack to retrieve and bringing Mr. Fin closer to the surface.

Sounds uneven, doesn't it? But that fish has Mother Nature and all the strength of the sea going for him. So the odds are at least equal and probably will tip in his favor if you show just one little sign of buck fever. And that goes whether he is a world's record broadbill or a hundred-pound marlin or sailfish.

They're all sensationally alike, these spear fish, in the way they hit the bait, the way they rip your reel bare of line if you and the skipper let them, the way they sound, the way they leap and somersault and dance on their tails, the way they'll do a fast 180-degree reverse so you'll think you're the pursued instead of the pursuer. They'll zig zag like unchained lightning and just when you have them to boat—watch out or they'll be off again!

There's no forefinger control to back you up with a revolv­ing reel and you'll have to play the braking tensions of the star drag like Heifitz plays his violin, giving a little when it's that or a broken line, taking up a little when the fish shows the least signs of tiring.

And, oh, what a feeling when your pumping and heaving and reeling finally brings the long stainless steel leader within sight and reach! But now, more than ever, you must not get careless. Because not only can the fish be off again, but he can do physical damage; perhaps only to the costly tackle, perhaps to the skipper or his mate as they reach down for the spear.

To guard against last-second accident, the smartest thing for you to do is throw your reel into free spool, hold your rod tip high and prevent line from falling loosely off by exert­ing gloved-hand thumb pressure on the reel. Then, if the fish suddenly acts up and moves out, you ease up on the pressure, re-engage your spool and the battle is on again. Most im­portant, he hasn't smashed the rod against the gunwale nor has he slashed anyone with his spear.

What's the reward when" the fight finally is over and you've won the victor's crown? Certainly not meat, for marlin and sawfish aren't good eating. The only reason for keeping him would be to stuff him and mount him on a wall. If you want him for that, then just one is enough. As for all the others, let the skipper release them—perhaps first tagging their tails —when you bring them to boat. The glow of the conqueror is your reward. The thrill of accomplishment. The proof that you're the better man. The selfless satisfaction of seeing him swim off to fight another day. Let your memories be your mantle. That's reward enough.

Tuna

If it's food that you want along with your fun and if you don't mind working (laboring would be a better word) for them, then it's tuna that you ought to be after. A trip to the corner grocer and a look at his shelves will remind you of the tunas' excellent taste and food value, a look at any sweating gang of ditch diggers will give you an inkling of the labor involved in landing a tuna big enough to keep a do-it-yourself, cellar-sized cannery humming.

Giant blue fin or big yellow fin, Pacific Coast, Gulf Coast or Atlantic Coast, the technique for catching him is the same. Any tuna under one hundred pounds is considered a schoolie so, you see, when you go after a big one you have your work cut out for you.

If you're smart, you'll use a rig no smaller than the one we dubbed Number Four—10/0 reel, 16-ounce tip, 600 yards of 24-thread line. But if you're very smart you'll go at least one step higher to the 12/0 reel, 22-ounce tip, 36-thread combina­tion.

Great tunny, horse mackerel, leaping tuna, Allison—call them by any of those names or one of a dozen other collo-quials—can be taken either by trolling live bait, strip bait, large spoons, feather jigs, metal or cedar squids; or they can be taken by anchoring and chumming and letting out a live line baited up with a whole fish that's very much alive and kicking.

Since we trolled for the billed fish, let's anchor for the tuna. The business end of your line will be doubled back for about fifteen feet to add strength, and to the double end will be swiveled a twelve- to twenty-five-foot length of stainless steel leader, either wire or cable. The hook will be a 12/0 sobey.

The mate will have handy a flying gaff for handling the horse after you've brought him to boat—five, six or seven or more hours hence! A flying gaff is a boating hook held in place two ways: (1) by a light, breakable piece of string that ties it to the long wooden handle and snaps free when the mate sinks the boating hook into the tuna, and (2) by a strong length of line which he then uses to pull the fish into position for gin poling aboard.

What is a gin pole? A gin pole is a short, sturdy chunk of mast rigged out with a block and tackle. When you, mate and gin pole have the fish in position, he slides a sling under the tuna's tummy, makes it fast to the block and tackle and winches him aboard.

When you get to the known tuna grounds, you'll see the mate scurrying around hooking up a mysterious contraption and you'll discover that there's a trick to anchoring for tuna. The purpose of the trick is to be able to get the boat underway in a hurry when you hook into Mr. Fin. So the anchor cable is tied into a mooring buoy for a quick breakaway. The anchor remains on the bottom but the buoy keeps the cable visible and marks the spot for you when, fish boated, you return much later to retrieve the iron.

Okay, at last you're anchored. The mate starts dipping out chum, big globs of it and plenty of them. You wet fifty feet or so of line, put baited hook over the transom and let the line run out with your reel in free spool.

The bait can be anchovy, mossbunker, mackerel, sardine, herring, butterfish, balao, flying fish, ling or a tasty critter that West Coasters call hake and East Coasters call whiting. Or you can use just about any fish that swims in the sea and that you can catch on rod and reel.

And, to really add fun and sport to the day's trip, that's what you'll do—catch your bait. After all, on any other day you'd take a party boat and go after fish that today you con­sider only bait.

So while you're fishing for tuna, let the captain break out light rods and reels and let your three buddies fish for "bait." But don't be surprised if they end up having more fun than you do what with your aching back, sore muscles and bruised knuckles. And don't be surprised if they tell you to catch your own bait, they're taking their fish home to eat!

But the bait fishing is good that day and there's plenty of fish for all. Your friends hook into a mess of ling 'way down there on the bottom and they're bringing them topside one after another. So they let you have a big ling for bait. Hook him up just under the dorsal fin, just as if you were hooking up a killie, so he'll be able to swim around in the water and act natural.

What'd be natural for a ling? Why, to head quickly for the bottom that he calls home, of course. That's the reason for your reel being in free spool: so he can take out all the line he needs to get him there. But look, he's trying and trying but he can't go down.

You forgot to burp him. That's right. Burp him. Just like a baby. But you don't have to put a ling over your shoulder and pat him on the back to burp him. Since the ling is a deep water fish he ends up with a distended bladder when he's hauled unceremoniously to the surface. Something like what divers call the bends. You don't put ling in a decompression chamber, however. You poke his tummy with an ice pick and let the gas escape. That's how you burp a ling.

Now he can swim like a fish again.

He swims down to the bottom with your line. You reel him back up, almost to the surface; free spool again and down he goes again. It's something like mooching.

Pow! There's a strike! It's like Goliath smiting David. Your tip goes down like the pendulum of a clock. The mate frees the anchor. The captain kicks over the engines. You lean back hard against the straining harness and set the hook. It digs deep and firm into the giant's mouth. He's fighting mad and he takes off. Your back muscles bulge. The skipper backs the boat off just enough to keep him from fouling up on the anchor chain far down below.

The drag is set so the horse has to pull and pull for every precious inch of line. But he rips it off the reel like it was ribbon at a dime store counter. You hang on. Hang on and watch the line just go and go. Your fingers, curled tight around the rod, start to feel like they'd been frozen there. And the fight's just begun! Still the tuna digs for the bottom, digs like he'll end up in China.

At last he stops. But for you there is no stopping. Now you pump. Lean back in the fighting chair and reel. Lower the tip to make slack. Then lean back and reel. Pump, pump, pump. It wasn't too hard there for a moment. Not too hard, if you've ever hoisted a piano to a third floor window. Not too hard . . . but only for a moment. There he goes again and the preciously retrieved line goes with him.

At last the reel is still once more. Even a tuna has to rest. But you must pump once more. Your shoulders swell in the harness. Your hands and your arms—who has hands and arms anymore? Your back—never again will "oh, my aching back" be just a figure of speech.

But now the skipper brings the boat to your aid. He starts planing, the trick of reversing course swiftly while you reel in the precious slack. So now it's plane and pump. Plane and pump." Plane and pump. Now you know why that 12/0 reel seemed big as a winch. That's exactly what it is, a you-powered winch.

Time ticks off but you don't know it. You're beyond all sense of anything, especially of time. Two hours? Four? And where's the fish? He's off and running again. But he doesn't run as far and as fast. Finally, the scales are tipping in your favor. He doesn't fight as furiously. But still he fights.

At last it's over. There's been the count of ten. The giant is in the boat. And you, the man who beat him, are beaten in every muscle. They ache and they burn, they're bruised and they're blue, but you'd have it no other way. Tomorrow the aches will be gone. But the memory of that battle! Let's just warn you that Mother and Andy and Peg will have trouble getting you to go flounder fishing anymore.

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