Article by Capt. Franky Pettolina
I had been standing on the balls of my feet facing backwards for about three hours. My left hand working the starboard clutch and both throttles. My right working the port clutch. The Last Call has dual lever controls, unlike newer boats that have single lever controls. I have been running the Last Call for so long now that I am more than accustomed to position of the controls, but that doesn’t stop the forearm and tricep cramping that occurs after the prolonged maneuvering on a fish. The fact that my calves were joining in on the complaining didn’t help matters. The angler, Travis, was suffering worse though.
Three hours earlier a blue marlin was chasing my right long rigger bait. It was our first fishing day of the White Marlin Open. Since our primary target during the tournament is white marlin (the tournament is named after them isn’t it?) a majority of our trolling spread was geared towards white marlin. Our five rod trolling spread consisted of four thirty pound class outfits with rigged Ballyhoo on light monofilament leader (the best go to set up for whitey) and one eighty pound combination with a large artificial lure rigged on heavy leader (just in case whitey’s overgrown cousin big blue decides to join the party). The trick is to make sure the blue marlin eats the big bait.
It didn’t. What is it they say about elephants and peanuts?
So there we were several hours later. Miles of ocean had passed under our keel in reverse. At times the fish was more than three quarters of the spool away from the boat. Travis was focused on keeping tension on the line. The marlin was focused on keeping distance between herself and the boat. My focus was on the cramp in my left calf! I joke. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely noticed the cramp, but I was intently watching the angle of the hi visibility monofilament line as it entered the water. Timing when to put the coals to her and chase the fish, or when to pivot the boat to keep the line from getting under us. My eyes were locked on the shimmering blue water behind our transom.
There was movement to my left. The fish was on my right so I immediately shifted my attention to the new arrival. My initial fear was that a shark had come looking to make a meal of our potential tournament payday. Thankfully that was not the case. Our visitor was large, but not marlin eating large. The ichthyologist in me classified our guest as Mobula Birostris, the giant oceanic manta ray. In the recesses of my mind, St. Matthew’s Regional School 6th grade Franky knew it as The Sea Devil.
Mrs. Munyan was my homeroom teacher in 6th grade, and my English teacher for the remainder of my years at St. Matt’s. I had never met a teacher like her, and have not since. As a kid I liked reading, but by the end of my middle school years I loved reading. I even enjoyed writing a little bit. It was all Mrs. Munyan’s fault! She introduced us to several short stories that were a little beyond our years (although she never let us know that we were reading things intended for 8th and 9th graders). A few of them have stuck with me to this day. The Lottery by Shirley Jackson for example (which has nothing to do with this fish story, but maybe by mentioning it I will remind someone of one of their old favorites, or introduce someone to a great read). Another is The Sea Devil by Arthur Gordon.
In Mr. Gordon’s short story a man goes castnetting for mullet alone one evening. I won’t ruin the story for anyone, but let’s just say that he encounters more than a mullet. 6th grade Franky loved the story. He could relate to castnetting mullet. Mrs. Munyan even let him bring his castnet to school for a show and tell demonstration on the lawn next to the classroom. Mrs. Munyan also let Franky (the 8th grade version) write a term paper about marlin fishing a few years later. She was, and is, a good sport!
Watching the manta gracefully pirouette under my outrigger I was taken back to that moment reading The Sea Devil for the first time. I knew the power of the fish and the potential that it could swim into our line and cause it to break. I also knew that it was mostly minding its own business, and so long as we minded our own there would be no conflict to resolve. After pointing the manta out to everyone but Travis (he was otherwise engaged at the time) I put the starboard motor in reverse and the manta danced out of my life.
Throughout the remainder of the battle with the blue marlin my mind wandered back to the manta, and to The Sea Devil. Again, I will not spoil the story for anyone, but there is struggle, there is pain, there is man versus fish, both using their strengths to the best of their ability. It is a great story.
How did our Fish Story end? I guess I am allowed to spoil this one. The easiest way to sum that up is that you will not be seeing any pictures of the blue marlin in the pages of this issue of the Coastal Fisherman. After five hours Travis was physically exhausted. His left arm was limp. His right hand was stuck in a permanently cramped fist. Both legs were shaking. He did his best, and more than I expected he could do. I know “professional” anglers that have exponentially more experience than Travis that would have been beaten by that fish. We had her close to the boat, the leader was wound on to the rod several times. I guess the best way to sum it up is that the marlin just knew too much about 2020 and kept her social distance from us. At five hours Travis handed the rod to my mate, Mr. Evans, and took a well earned seat in my cockpit. Mr. Evans locked the drag up and cupped his hand over the reel. The fish yielded enough to let us get even closer to her a few minutes later. And we broke her off. Like the manta did a few hours earlier, the marlin swam out of my life. I put the clutches in forward and aimed the Last Call for home.
