Article by Capt. Mark Sampson
The ride out to the fishing grounds that day was long – really long. It wasn’t because of the distance or the speed; those two variables were just the same as they had always been. Two hours at the wheel and we’d be fishing, but that morning it seemed like two days. When we finally arrived on the scene and set about the business of fishing, I thought things would sort themselves out and our day would be better, but it wasn’t meant to be. Every charter captain and guide knows that there are days when your job goes so well it’s hard to believe you actually get paid to do it, then there are the days that make you wonder why in the world you ever chose such an occupation, this was turning out to be one of those days!
I had an idea we were in for trouble before we even left the slip. At 5:45 a.m., the wind was rather brisk from the north and it was spitting rain. While digging through a locker for my rain gear I noticed a rumbling noise which turned out to be my clients coming down the dock, each one carrying a duffle bag and dragging a cooler with wheels. The sight reminded me that even though the pre-trip letter I send all my clients requests that they consolidate their food and drinks into one cooler, I still haven’t gotten around to reminding folks that coolers on wheels don’t do so well on a rolling boat. Of course, they didn’t heed the “one cooler” request, so I guess it wouldn’t have made much difference anyway.
After meeting-and-greeting the clients, I gave everyone a rundown on the weather and sea conditions and suggested that they consider holding off until a calmer and drier day. My words got mixed reviews; two in the group seemed to take my proposal into consideration, three were so hung-over from the night before that they didn’t care, and the other (let’s just call him “Expert Angler”) wanted none of it. “I fish all the time, a little rain won’t hurt us and I don’t get seasick. We’re going!” I could see that part of the discussion was over and there was no need trying to talk sense into anyone. “OK boys,” I said, “saddle-up, we’re going fishing!” After instructing my mate to try and wedge the coolers somewhere on deck so they wouldn’t roll around and then asking a couple of the clients if they could please move their duffle bags out of the way so that I could at least get to the helm – we were finally off.
Constant rain meant that six anglers, two crew, and six duffle bags were all jammed into what had suddenly become a very little cabin. To make matters worse, by great coincidence all eight of us had a chronic habit of “breathing”, which kept the cabin windows fogged up faster than my mate could wipe them clear. That pretty much had my view of the surrounding waters limited to what I could see on the radar screen, that is, when someone wasn’t standing in front of it. We had barely cleared the Inlet before cabin attendance reduced by two, as a couple of the “party-animals” clamored out of the cabin and took kneeling positions at the port gunwale. I’ll never know why seasick people always choose the upwind side of the boat to launch their breakfast; it was bad enough that the guys were both hung-over and sick, but seeing them get whopped in the face with cold salt-spray every time we hit a wave “almost” made me feel sorry for them – almost.
A mile or two out, Expert Angler took a position just off my left shoulder and proceeded to tell me about all, and I do mean “all,” of his fishing exploits. For two hours I was his very own captive audience as he rattled on about all the big fish he’d caught from Maine to Mexico. To make matters worse, this guy was one of those “close talkers” who liked to get right up in people’s faces when he talks to them. I couldn’t move any further to my right or I would have fallen out of the starboard window, there was just no escape!
By the time we arrived at our spot, the rain had let up and there were now three folks yakking over the gunwale. After I pried my right shoulder from the cabin wall, I went back on deck to help my mate get the lines set out; however, the first order of business was to relocate all the coolers which had by then rolled all around the cockpit like six little bumper cars at an amusement park. One of the coolers had also tipped over, and while I never learned exactly what was in it, I know that the deck was slippery from smashed lunch meat, macaroni salad and something green that I really hoped was pickle juice and not the product of an ill placed upchuck from one of our sickies. We stashed the coolers, splashed down the deck, got our lines out and were finally fishing. Things should have been easier but between all the coolers on the deck and the three sick guys, the cockpit was tough enough to look at let alone work in. To make matters even worse, another angler had come down sick and had pretty much locked himself in the head. I didn’t even want to think about the mess I was going to have to clean up when he finally, if ever, emerged!
Fishing started off just slow enough that Expert Angler had the opportunity to corner my mate and relay at least a couple decades worth of fishing stories to him and start a verbal assault on the four “friends” who were sick. Despite their weakened condition, the sick guys mustered enough strength to fire a few shots back at him and it was beginning to get a bit ugly when the first fish hit one of our lines. We never saw the fish but it seemed like a rather larger shark of sorts. Unfortunately, Expert Angler pounced on the rod, threw the reel in free-spool and proceeded to try and set the hook. Of course, his actions resulted in one of the biggest backlashes ever known to man, and the fish broke off on the first run.
Expert Angler tried to brush off the blame by mumbling something about thinking the reel was already in free-spool and that he was trying to engage the drag. Anyway, just as his buddies were about to bust loose on him, Mother Nature did it for them by opening up a downpour the likes of which haven’t been seen since Noah’s time. At that point, everyone but Expert Angler told me to point the boat for home and I wasn’t about to argue the decision.
On the two hour ride back, Expert Angler came up with a few more reasons why he threw the reel into free-spool and lost the shark. He spent the rest of the time telling us stories about all the sharks he didn’t lose. Back at the dock as we unloaded six coolers on wheels, six duffle bags, six clients I knew I’d never see again and no fish, Expert Angler actually quit talking about himself long enough to ask a question! “So what’s the best part about being a charter boat captain?” It’s funny, but as much as I love my job, at that moment in time the only honest answer I could give him was, “The end of the day.”
Captain Mark Sampson is an outdoor writer and captain of the charter boat “Fish Finder”, docked at the Ocean City Fishing Center.
