Article by Capt. Franky Pettolina
A couple of weeks ago I told y’all about my first experience with a charter client known as the “Little Guy”. After that first day, which consisted of my mate and I winding in all the fish and the Little Guy and his friends drinking or sleeping throughout the whole trip, I wasn’t especially looking forward to the second trip. But charter fishing is about the entertainment as well as the fishing so my mate and I put on our happy faces as we prepared the boat for the second coming of the Little Guy, about a week after his first trip with us.
On that first trip we went chunking for tunas. Since the Little Guy and his two friends didn’t seem too excited about catching a limit of tuna on that trip (actually his one lady friend was dead set against the idea of hurting those poor little fish, and totally repulsed when we put them in the kill box) my mate Joey and I decided that we would target marlin on the second trip and hopefully release a couple. Excitement without the bloodshed. Should make everyone happy, right?
Well it turns out that we didn’t need to worry about the bloodshed after all. When the minivan taxicab pulled into Bahia Marina carrying the Little Guy and his entourage with him, Fish Hugger Gal was not a part of the group. I guess she had seen enough fish cruelty to last a lifetime. Other Guy came with the Little Guy again, and he was slightly more sober than the first time, and the rest of the group consisted of a bartender from the old Dutch Bar on the boardwalk and a couple of random guys that the Little Guy had met while showing support for the bartender a few hours earlier. Other Guy was toting the now customary trash can full of beer, and this time there were some subs from Fat Daddy’s sub shop to go with the beer. A serious trip this time I guess.
As we were loading the Little Guy and his troops aboard the “Last Call” I noticed that Little Guy was not wearing any shoes. I asked him if he lost them on the way. He said no, but that he was having some foot issues and wanted to know if I had any rubbing alcohol aboard. Knowing his drinking habits, my first thought was to not give him any, but I went down to the first aid kit and gave him our bottle of rubbing alcohol. He proceeded to sit on the cockpit floor and pour the whole bottle over his feet and rub it in. Joey and I just stared in disbelief and tried not to laugh.
Little Guy wanted to know what we planned to fish for, and much to my surprise he became excited when I said we were going to go chase marlin. My surprise quickly transformed to concern when he said, “You are going to need my help then. I will be upstairs with you today.” I was not quite sure what kind of help Little Guy was going to give, but we pulled out of the slip and Bartender, Other Guy and New Guys went right to work making sure the beer didn’t get warm or shaken up during the ride out. Little Guy climbed up to the fly bridge and sat on the bench in front of the helm and started studying my electronics and other helm instrumentation.
When the “Last Call” was new in 1980, electronic aids to navigation were not quite as advanced as they are today. Over the years, Dad replaced equipment as it became outdated or obsolete, but some of the original equipment was still in place because it “filled holes” even if it wasn’t working. Such was the case with an analog sea temperature gauge that was mounted on the starboard side of the bridge next to my life jacket storage locker. The dial on the gauge always read 70 something, but the needle only moved because the boat rocked, there were no sensors hooked to it. When we slowed down in the Poormans Canyon I lowered the outriggers and Joey deployed our spread of squid chain teasers and ballyhoo. Little Guy walked around to the helm chair and pulled at my sleeve. When I turned to look at him he told me his plan. “Captain,” he said, “marlin are very temperature sensitive. I know you need to watch the water and the baits, so I am going to watch the temperature gauge for you and point you in the right direction. Just steer in the direction I wave my hand.” With that he went back to his seat on the bench and began staring at the non-working gauge and pointing to either port or starboard while doing so.
A short while later, I spotted a wooden pallet floating and trolled over to it. A school of small mahi-mahi were under it and several came out and were hooked up as we passed. The Little Guy was still fixated on the gauge and aiming his finger this way and that way, never looking up. I calmly informed him that we had fish hooked. He shook his finger and just kept pointing. Bartender and the rest had a good old time catching the little mahi and barely spilled any beer while doing so. Baby steps I guess. Somebody associated with the Little Guy actually caught the fish instead of just me and Joey.
After a few hours of pointing me in the direction of the marlin, but still not catching any, the little Guy abruptly stood up and said, “I know the problem.” Down the bridge ladder he went. After a few minutes went by, up the ladder my mate came. I raised my eyebrows in question. His reply, “I have nothing to do with this.”
I looked downstairs and what do I see but the Little Guy coming out of the cabin with a large artificial lure with a handful of roast beef impaled on the hook! He looked up at me, and in his loudest voice proclaimed, “I think they will like the scent!” And out into the spread it went.
About ten minutes later I decided to join in the fun and told my mate to check the beef lure and see if anything took the bait. We both already knew the outcome. Soft lunch meat + fish hook + boat moving forward at six and a half knots = washed away meat and empty hook. When Joey wound the lure in the Little guy showed as much interest as I had ever seen him show in anything coming over the transom of the “Last Call”. Upon seeing the empty hook he shook his head and became dejected. I asked him what was wrong.
His reply? “We don’t have any more beef, might as well go home now.”
And so ended my second trip with the Little Guy. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen on the third… and I wondered how much lunch meat would be on top of the beer in the trash can the next time.
Capt. Franky Pettolina is Co-Captain of the charter boat, “Last Call” and President of the Ocean City Marlin Club.