Article by C.L. Marshall
On the heels of his successful release last year of “Hunting and Fishing the Chesapeake: Unforgettable Tales of Wing and Water”, local outdoorsman and author C.L. Marshall is planning to release his fifth book, “Life by the Tide: More Tales of the Chesapeake” in June 2019. What follows is a chapter out of C.L.’s new book.
Marlin Prick
For the aspiring fisherman, the Eastern Shore of Virginia is an excellent choice for a place to live. The options seem endless and often failure occurs from one not being able to decide between the myriad of choices at one’s disposal. But for us, one weekend in late July was always marked in pen on the calendar. The Eastern Shore Marlin Club’s Annual Tournament was something that we always looked forward to.
During it’s heyday, the ESMC tourney fielded a fleet of over 70 boats, many electing to stop and fish on their way up the coast to Ocean City for the “big money” tournaments. Some elected to fish from Virginia Beach, others from Chincoteague. Winning fish, however, must be weighed in Wachapreague. The marina during that time bustled with activity. There were no fewer than a dozen offshore charter boats, that number or more private boats and a host of inshore charter options, all busily handling customers from all across the Mid-Atlantic. Three restaurants fed the visitors and rooms at the Wachapreague Hotel were booked long in advance of the tournament. It was an very cool place to be.
We entered every year, more for the camaraderie and the experience than anything else. It was a fairly inexpensive way to fish a three-day tournament with friends. Our usual carriage was a diminutive Mako 224 powered by a single 225 Yamaha. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t fancy. But in it our team of Paige Linton, myself and Rick Beardmore felt as confident as the big Oceans and Vikings that ran from other ports. But this particular year the Mako was out of service due to an issue with the big Yamaha. We elected to enter with Beardmore’s boat, a re-finished 233 Formula with a new Volvo 350 that was barely broke in. The name on the boat fit him well, “Insatiable”. In the weeks and days prior to the tournament we prepped the boat, making certain that we had solutions to each possible scenario that might occur. I’d never fished on the boat, but I knew friends who ran similar hulls and they confirmed in moderate seas she’d perform well.
The fishing had been a little on the slow side and that dominated the discussion at the traditional Thursday night kickoff dinner. Now this dinner alone was worth the price of the entry fee. It was a true delight to find tables filled with steamed crabs, steamed clams, corn, oysters and fried chicken. All of the best of the Eastern Shore were lovingly prepared and served with that typical Eastern Shore of Virginia flair. Food and friends were abundant as plans were made for fishing two out of the upcoming three days. Our plan was to lay on Friday and fish back-to-back days on Saturday and Sunday. With that decision made we proceeded to relax and have a few extra beverages on a wonderous Wachapreague evening.
The night’s activities prompted a late wake-up call on Friday morning. Sluggishly we showered and made our way across the street to the tackle shop where hot coffee got our day underway. The wind was from the southwest at 15, occasionally gusting to 20, and forecasted to drop off in the afternoon hours. Light and variable winds were called for on Saturday and Sunday. We agreed that we’d made the right decision. The day was used to get the boat in her slip, to rig baits and finish up any unfinished business that would be required over the weekend. Loran coordinates were plugged in for where we thought we’d be heading, plus others for secondary and tertiary locations. Our collective effort and our unpressured pace made the preparation enjoyable. By mid-afternoon we had the boat rigged and ready for action. We retreated to the Island House for a late lunch and cold beer as we waited for the few who went fishing today to return. Information from them would be vital in making our decisions for the coming day. Few fish were caught the first day. We hatched a plan based on the best information we could glean from a variety of sources. After a few leisurely cocktails after dinner we retired for the evening. The next two days would be long and full. Or so we hoped.
The day dawned as we passed the “C” Buoy out of Wachapreague. The seven mile trek to the inlet had been a slow process following the larger offshore battlewagons which draw much more water than our little Formula. Once outside the inlet we set the cruise at 27 knots for a waypoint about halfway between the Washington and Poor Man’s Canyons. The seas had a gentle swell from the southwest and the wind, what there was of it, provided little ripples on the surface. The weather had certainly cooperated and for once the weatherman had it right. We felt confident we’d find a yellowfin tuna or two, but our sights were set on white marlin.
The ride out was uneventful. Rick pulled the throttle back at 8:15 as the old Ray Nav 580 chirped noting our arrival at our predetermined waypoint. Per tournament regulations, fishing wasn’t permitted to begin for another 15 minutes. The baits were made ready and outriggers deployed as we idled patiently looking for the perfect place to be when the call for “lines in” was broadcast by a committee boat. We could hear the normal radio chatter, and by it we could tell that most of the fleet had ventured south toward the Norfolk and just below the Washington. It appeared that aside from a few Ocean City boats we’d have the area to ourselves.
The call came and we quickly and efficiently began to get our gear out. We ran skirted ballyhoos on the long riggers, larger skirted horse ballyhoos on the short riggers and naked small baits on the flat lines. Our center rigger, or way, way, way, back bait was positioned fifty yards behind our longest offering. The long and short rigger baits weren’t rigged with traditional monofilament leaders, but rather single strand 80# coffee colored wire. These four mylar adorned Sea Witches had caught numerous whites, tunas and dolphin for us to date. This was no time to change what had been working for us thus far.
Our first bite occurred about an hour into the day. A single white appeared behind the port flat line with pectoral fins lit up in bright cobalt blue. Rising from under the bait, I watched as his dorsal broke the surface and his bill swatted at what he thought would be an easy breakfast. Popping the line free from the flatline clip the bait fell perfectly into it’s open mouth. Resisting the urge to set the hook prematurely is key to getting tight on billfish. With the reel in free spool, the line left the reel at an accelerated pace. It was evident that he had the bait as I pushed the lever drag of the TLD 25 to strike. We called in the first hook-up of the tournament.
The drag did it’s job and the barb buried in the fish’s jaw. I passed the rod to Paige and waited for a minute or so before clearing the other lines. Seeing no other customers, the other six lines were quickly cleared as the battle ensued. Twenty minutes later, I secured the leader and had the fifty pound white by the bill. After a few quick pics the fish was released unharmed. A release time was duly recorded by the committee boat and on our catch report. Quickly we reset the lines with hopes at an all time high.
As the day wore on we stayed in the same general area and scratched two more whites out of four bites. Radio contact was spotty throughout the day, but on the way in it became obvious that we’d be tied with another boat going into the final day of fishing. Knowing that ties would be broken in the second day by the first fish caught and released, we discussed our plan for the second day. We felt that our piece of water held a few fish, but was moving south quickly. Our plan was to move south with it, starting just above the Washington in about 50 fathoms.
Day three dawned just like it’s predecessor and we again found ourselves rigged and ready for the call for “lines in”. Right along the 50 curve, in the vicinity of a line of lobster balls with “Toots” spray painted on them, was some of the prettiest water that any marlin fisherman could ask for. A dozen or so Ocean City boats had been fishing for a bit, but we had heard of none caught by the time that day 3 began.
Just after nine we noticed some activity on the surface near an approaching lobster ball. Passing it on the inshore side, the source of the commotion was soon evident. The sickle like dorsal fin was unmistakable. It didn’t have the gentle rounding of a white. The small blue marlin accelerated swiftly toward the green and yellow Sea Witch that ran just ahead of a swimming horse ballyhoo on the short rigger. It didn’t miss it’s mark as the bait was inhaled just prior to trashing across the surface of the ocean for a hundred yards or so. Rick was standing beside the rod as the whole event took place. With the rod in his hands and Paige at the helm we began to track this beast down. The fight didn’t take long. Within four minutes I had secured the leader and the official release was called in. Still a little green at boatside, the fish darted under the boat and I pushed the wire leader around the transom, but couldn’t get it around the outdrive quickly enough. In the millisecond that it took to attempt to free the leader, the fish turned and accelerated again toward the port side of the boat. Emerging from under the boat I clearly saw the 125 pound marlin’s eye fixed on the what appeared to be me. His anger was evident and I’m sure he had plans to do me as much harm as possible to ensure his escape. As the leader came tight the fish exited the water, coming back toward the cockpit much like a yo-yo on a tight string. This fish was inbound and I ducked in an attempt to get out of harm’s way, but it was too late.
Striking me solidly in the arm with it’s bill, the fish and I tussled for a bit on the engine box. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only about five seconds, the fish was pushed across the transom and was back in his element.
Blood was everywhere in the cockpit. Some of it belonged to the marlin and undoubtedly some of it was mine. With the adrenaline pumping I knew that I’d been hit, but wasn’t exactly sure where or how bad. The answer came instantly as I tried to get up off the engine box. My left arm had gone numb from the impact. A deep puncture wound in my shoulder oozed blood and slime. It hurt like hell.
Quickly, we went through all the gauze and isopropyl alcohol that we had on board. After ten or so minutes we had the bleeding under control and began to access just how bad this injury was. The arm wasn’t broken and the shoulder, though sore, wasn’t dislocated. It just hurt like no other. Rick was down below looking for additional first aid gear as Paige applied pressure and tried to clean the wound. The only additional first aid equipment that Rick could produce was an opened quart of Jim Beam. It worked wonders for the pain, and moderately well as an antiseptic.
After a few nips off the bottle I decided that the injury wouldn’t get any worse over the next few hours. I’d relinquish my position in the cockpit in exchange for a seat at the wheel and the remainder of the bottle of Beam. We fished along for the next few hours picking up a pair of gaffer dolphin and a fat yellowfin tuna. Nearing two o’clock we decided to head for the inlet. At the dock we were met by a team of paramedics that surveyed the wound and did their best to clean it. A visit to the emergency room provided the required shots and prescriptions for infection control. I’m sure that the medical staff were glad to see me leave due to my intoxicated state. I’ve been told it was quite comical.
That fourth fish sealed the win for the “Insatiable” team in dramatic fashion. Though many billfish had been caught before and after that small blue, it’s still the one that sticks out in my mind as the nastiest. I’ve got the scars to prove it.
You can purchase “Life by the Tide: More Tales of the Chesapeake” and C.L.’s other books at clmarshallpublishing.com.
