ONE SUNDAY

Unlike our usual summer weekend routine we slept in this particular Sunday. Mid-morning, wanderlust set in and we decided we could not waste this gorgeous summer day and it behooved us to cruise outside the harbor for a while and see what was going on. I called my Dad and asked him to join me and my two oldest kids.




While cruising through the harbor at the mandatory 5 knots, I called a good friend on the marine radio (this is before cell phones) and asked him if he had any bait. He lives on the bay front and keeps a bait receiver in front of his house stocked with live mackerel. Mackerel are great marlin bait and also for the rarely sighted swordfish. We also had aboard a couple of squid we always kept in the freezer for swordfish as well. We transferred a half dozen mackerel to our bait tank and headed out the jetty.



Boat traffic can be quite dense around Newport Beach on a summer Sunday and this day was no exception. I decided to go south to Laguna Beach and then out from there to some of the underwater seamounts that often attract baitfish which in turn attract marlin. There are a couple of deepwater canyons that come in close to shore in this area and it is not unusual for billfish to follow these canyons in quite close to the beach. It is not common but it does happen.



About 4 miles down the beautiful coastline is a rocky point that juts out into the ocean called Abalone Point, aptly named, because the point has a hump to it in the shape of an abalone. We were about 3 miles off shore here when I saw the tail and dorsal fin of a swordfish dip below the surface a few hundred yards ahead of us. I slowed the boat down, idled up to the spot, cut the engine and waited. About 10 minutes later he surfaced close by. You’ve seen babies with a wide open mouth trying to scream but nothing is coming out. That was me. This fish was in the 450 to 500 pound range and loaded with attitude. He laid on the surface with his sword pointed at us in that regal manner they have.



We baited our heaviest, 80 pound test line, outfit with a live mackerel, dropped it back about 50 yards and began to circle the fish with the hopes of getting the bait directly in front of him. At that point we would cut the engine, hope and hang on. We did this for close to an hour. During this time we do not make any noise that might spook the fish. We changed bait from the mackerel to the squid and even tried a brightly colored marlin jig. Mr. Fish just kept turning with us, never allowing us to get our bait right in front of him. We made one last pass with the squid, he turned towards it, then dropped below the surface. We watched our squid descend from view. Sometimes they strike like a freight train. This one took the squid and began a slow deliberate run. My Dad set the hook and the fight was on.



Fighting big fish standup style, which is the norm on the west coast, requires a belt and a harness. The belt to stick the butt end of the rod into and a harness that goes around your shoulders and is attached to the reel in order to allow your arms to rest while your shoulders, back and legs absorb the enormous force exerted on the rod and angler by a fish of this size. The bad news for us and particularly for my Dad was that we did not have a harness with us on this day.



My Dad gets it when it comes to fishing. He gets that it is only partially about the fishing. Teaching your kids how to bait a hook and the hours spent in their company were priceless excerpts in an all too brief period of our lives. I was fortunate enough to have spent countless days on the ocean with my Dad and on this day two of my kids were sharing in one of the more memorable days of all of those.



Over the years we had several encounters with the gladiator of all fish. He had never caught a swordfish and here we were with a chance to fulfill a lifetime dream for him. He had great strength, tremendous will and was tough as nails. Knowing where we were at this moment, he was ready.



One hour went by. The fish would descend hundreds of yards below the surface then rise again. It was as if he was toying with us, annoyed. Boats were standing off to the side of us, watching the battle. He would cavort on the surface, as if showing off to those watching, then spool of 400 yards of line straight down into the depths. All of my Dad’s hard work to get him to the surface for naught.



In the second hour the wind came up and it was hard to stay upright. My Dad, standing braced against the rail with his arms hanging on to a rod bent double. The effect of fighting this brute without a harness was beginning to take its toll. His arms became like noodles. I asked him if he wanted me to take over for a while. I knew the answer but I had to ask.



In the third hour it was all he could do to keep from dropping the rod altogether. Brief spurts of hope kept him going as we now had the mighty fish close to the boat on several occasions. As the fish got close we could clearly see his enormous size in the crystal clear blue water. Each time I felt he was close enough to gaff, I would come down the ladder from the wheelhouse, grab the leader and try to pull the fish close enough to gaff. Each time, with the leader in hand and the fish so close, a wave would knock us away and the fish would take off on another run.



Each time my Dad was that much closer to complete exhaustion. You cannot imagine the stress on the entire body, particularly the back, of a standup fight with a fish this size. Fifteen minutes in to the fourth hour, we had the fish up to the boat again. My kids, 8 and 10 years old at the time, stood off to the side and watched. I did not want them anywhere near when we sunk the gaff into this fish that was nowhere near being subdued. In fishing circles they call this a “hot” fish. This dude was the hottest of all hot fish.



I put the boat in reverse one last time hoping to surge close enough to allow me time to get down the ladder, grab the leader and take a couple of pulls to get within range. I shifted the boat from reverse to neutral and headed down the ladder. I got a couple of good turns on the leader, reached for the gaff and “pow”. There was a loud noise like a rifle shot as the line broke. We watched as the fish slowly swam deeper and deeper, out of sight. My Dad and I were speechless. We sat on the rail for a long time without moving.



Not a word was said as I climbed the ladder, put the boat in gear and headed to port. My Dad’s resolve to prevail was such that his back was never the same. He fought back problems for the rest of his life because he would not give in to that fish. In no hurry, we cruised slowly back to Newport Beach. I will forever have etched in my mind the image of my Dad. As I looked down from the wheelhouse he was sitting on the stern, shoulders slumped over, staring nowhere, still in disbelief.