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misscindy

05-04-2007, 08:29 PM

This article is a true story experienced by Captain Carl Roby

"We were running late. It was a slick calm summer morning with not a breath of wind. The rising sun was still half of an orange ball showing in the East and it looked like another hot day in the tropics, off shore of Vera Cruz, Mexico. I was Captain on a Mexican flagged tuna long-liner vessel for the past 13 years. I’d had a decent night, a dozen yellowfin and double marker sword fish, with about three miles of line still left in the water.

We were behind schedule by about four hours. It’s important to set the gear early and I was on deck trying to hurry things along. We came up to another fish and passing the leader to the stern I watched happily as one of the deck hands named Mini began pulling on the fish. With 40 fathom leaders it takes a while to hand line the fish to the boat.

Everything was going smoothly and the fish was fighting well. We had his head coming our way and I could see bright flashes reflected off his side from a good depth. It looked like a 80-100 lb class yellowfin tuna. The fish came closer and began pulling harder. The boat was easing ahead and the deck hands were ready with gaffs. Mini eased up the rail towards the tuna door and kept pulling the fish and leading it nicely to the gaff. The fish did a head shake and a splash with his tail. Mini dumped the leader and let the fish run all 40 fathoms back out.

Now comes the first mistake of many. “Que pasa, Mini?” I asked loudly. “Esta muy vivo todavia” he answered, kind of dog-faced. I didn’t think the fish was that lively so I walked back and grabbed hold and started pulling the fish back up. I had been on deck running the mainline reel and steering the boat and, unfortunately, I wasn’t wearing the standard orange gummy gloves, just working bare handed. Dumb, real Dumb!

My first mate stepped over to the hauling station and took control of the boat while I was pulling the fish from the starboard stern corner. The crew was giving Mini a little verbal hosing down. I wasn’t paying much attention to them. I was concentrating on the fish and laying the mono down right to avoid tangling the leader on deck.

I had the fish coming to the boat. I’m over 6’ feet tall with long arms and I was getting about a fathom a stroke and stroking pretty good. As I worked myself up to the side of the boat to the tuna door I thought about putting on a pair of gloves. I figured he was done for and I could just lead him to the gaffs and boat the fish. As he came swimming up to the boat the crew was ready, the boat was easing slowly ahead and the angle on the fish looked good. Everything was good or so I thought.

As I was leaning down to take the last wrap and get the fish’s head up I couldn’t resist looking over my shoulder and smiling a “I told you so” smile and a little grin. Wrong move Slick! In that split second of distraction, the worst always happens. In taking my eyes off the fish I was completely caught by surprise when I found myself doing a picture perfect front dive out of the tuna door with that stupid grin still on my face. Not paying attention was about to get real serious.

At the last second the fish turned down and away. I did not have any gloves on. With the mono double wrapped on both the right and left hand the fish pulled both together into in a perfect prayer clasp. I was now flying through the air like Superman behind a live tuna! When I hit the water my glasses were immediately swept from my face never to be seen again. When I opened my eyes I was looking at my hands pulled out in front of me, palms together with a crushing-squeeze and a curtain of blood washing into my face. Looking past my hands, not three feet in front of me, the tail of the tuna was flicking back and forth so fast my eyes could barely keep up with it. Looking past the fish into the very depths that seemed to go on and on with no end, the water a deep blue fading to a pitch black abyss, with a sense of infinite volume and lack of warmth, a dread feeling swept through me and the depths seemed to call to me.

In retrospect events seemed to occur in slow motion; however, things were happening pretty quick right now. I again looked past the fish into that endless dark and cold abyss and finally snapped to the fact that this was not a good idea. Like a detour sign at a road construction site, the blinking neon arrow moving left to right, so flashed a bright white light scrolling across and emblazing forever on the frontal lobes of my brain “Por Pendejo” which is quite a few notches above “Stupid” in English. I guess I have been out of the country for so long I am even thinking and dreaming in Spanish. I also have a great expression and I quote “Soy Gringo, Pero No Soy Pendejo.” (I’m a gringo but I am not stupid.)

The fish was still pulling me down deeper, cutting and crushing my hands. I needed to turn the fish but I was stretched out straight and had no leverage on the fish. I curled up into something like a sitting position. I could feel the pressure I was putting on the fish. I thought I could turn the fish and swim back up with him. I had my knees and feet in front of me now but the mono was still so tight it continued to cut and cinch down tighter.
The blood was still clouding my face. I started jerking back with four or five good strong pulls but only succeeded in creating more pain and pressure on hands that were completely useless to make any movements. I had to use the length of my arms to make a sweeping pull and jerking motion against the still pulling fish. What saved the day was the fact that I had the fish on a short leash, no more than 6 feet of 300 lb mono and a big circle hook in his jaw. It was a short leash and it was tight, all stretch gone and pulling to the limit.

I forgot all about trying to save the fish and instead tried my best to break him off. It was now or never. I knew that we were going deeper. I was pulling and jerking more rapidly now with shorter strokes. In close to my chest it seemed I had the best pull. “10 pulls?”, “50 pulls?” and the line finally broke at the hook. The tuna then proceeded to go on his merry old way, leaving me down there. My hands were still tied together, bleeding and painful.

I turned in the water and looked up, focusing on a light and started toward it with a joy singing in my heart. It appeared to be far off. I felt a real sense of distance but had a sure feeling I could make it. As I kicked up I noticed the hull of the boat but it was so small and off at an angle like a postage stamp. While everything seemed so fast before now I felt I was in slow motion. Kicking and kicking, up and up, but it was still just a silvery light and not getting any closer. Finally I did break the surface before the building panic broke in. A finer breath of air I have never had.

Well now I was on my back at the surface and just easing toward the boat which was maybe 100 feet away but it seemed like a very long way. My hands were still tied together and my right hand was bleeding quite a bit. This caused me to anxiously look around and slowly start toward the boat. Swimming on my back with my hands on my stomach I was off toward the boat when suddenly my hands were pulled up and over my head and I was being towed through the water backwards. NOW Mini gets the urge to leader something and it was me.

Papa, the Deck Master, who had been with me for 13 years, had a throw ring ready and he threw it to me. Perfectly, within two feet, but my hands were still tied and Mini was still pulling. There was a small circus for a minute there. I told Mini to calm down and give me some slack so I could reach the throw ring and get in it. The aluminum ladder that we use to get in and out of the fish hold was hung over the side of the boat in the tuna door. It worked great as a boarding ladder. The main problem climbing the ladder was my hands were still tightly cinched together, but I could use my right hand like a claw. I did this maneuver for three or four rungs. My crew was then able to pull me up through the tuna door. They sat me on a piece of carpet that covers the deck where we dress the tuna. I sat on the carpet with my hands still in the prayer position with blood freely running. There was an even greater level of pain and squeezing/crushing feeling. I was fearful that bones might be broken and I was a long way from port without a trip in the fish hold.

Papa had a pair of mono snipers but the line was pulled down so tight and covered in blood that we had a hard time cutting it without cutting me. Finally I was cut loose and was able to spread my hands. Such a relief swept through me when the pressure was released and I tried to flex my hands. Though very painful I was able to move all fingers and felt relatively sure that nothing was broken. At the conclusion of this ordeal my whole body turned into a goose bump. The chill that ran up my back was far stronger than any body rush I have ever had in my entire life.

The telling of the tale takes far longer than the doing. Total time? Maybe 1 minute 15 seconds but the longest minute of my life. Of all the thousands of fish that I have caught and all the fish that I have lost, I thank my God every day of my life that the one that got away this time was me. Words of advice from lesson learned, “For your sake be careful. You might not be as lucky as I was.”
CAPTAIN CARL ROBY
TUXPAN, VERA CRUZ MEXICO
F/V MARLIN

chris harris

05-12-2009, 03:12 PM

Hi guys. Ok this story is not in the same league as the one above, and it is a story from freshwater fishing (if you will forgive the jump from saltwater fishing)
Its a true story, concerning a good friend of mine who worked in London as a printer for one of Britain's top newspapers. As such, my friend worked nights and had the custom to stop off in the wee small hours for a couple of hours pike fishing on his way home.
So this particular freezing cold winters morning, still dark, he was throwing a big jerk bait around for the big pike known to inhabit this park lake on the outskirts of London.
Eventually, he had a good hit and played the pike into the edge of the lake. So far so good. here's where the trouble starts. He had left his landing net in his car, quarter of a mile away.
The fish was around ten pounds so my friend decides to hand land the fish. as he stoops to pick the fish out of the water, the pike decides to fight back, and launches itself vertically out of the water. Straight into my friend's face. Needless to say the razor sharp treble hooks on the lure sink neatly into the flesh of his cheek, leaving him with an extremely upset 10lb pike hanging from his face. My friend's thoughts at that precise moment defy mere words of description. Lets just say it was a matter of EXTREME urgency!
He screamed for help (well you would wouldn't you?).
Now things improve (a bit)
There is an early morning passer by walking his dog. It is probably the first time he has ever seen a raving angler with a 10lb pike stuck to his face in the dark at 2am in the morning.
The question of unhooking the pike is 'discussed" . Maybe that does not fully describe the scenario, but you get the idea!
It then emerges that my friends wire cutters are on the front seat of his car along with his landing net! So off goes the dog walker with my friend's car keys (yes the story could have taken a horrible twist for the worst at this point-but it did not-sorry), returning with his wire cutters and after some struggling, released the hooks and the pike.
You might try to imagine the picture now. My friend in the waters edge, reviving the pike with blood pouring down his face, and the dog walker walking off shaking his head. " No one will believe what happened to me walking the dog this morning".
And so to the happy ending: the pike eventually swam off apparently none the worse for his experience, and like the previous story, all this happened in the space of a couple of minutes.
There are lots of morals and lessons to be drawn from this story, but we'll leave those for another day!
And my friend? He took it all very well (including the visit to the hospital for some stitches to his face). He is a very keen pike fisher to this day.