The Dance of Tuna Tom and Dan
First of all my apologies to Popeye. Yes I'm a bone head and frankly I'm not sure what I did, but I knew an "oops" was in order once I clicked in a little too fast.
Next I want to thank Nula for his story. It was both colorful (literaly) and motivated me to get off my a#* and contribute. Seems puking is the topic for the day so here goes:
My life long fishing buddy Dan and I have shared many a fishing trip and stories for well over 30 years. On this particular trip we traveled 10 hours out in about 8 foot seas. It being a trip of 2 days the captain took his time so all aboard were not completely pounded on the way out before we even got to fish. None the less, some aboard had already begun to turn color. You know the type: "Gee I've never been on a trip like this before." Somehow that big greasy sausage lunch with those three cups of oily coffee weren't sitting quite right. Or was it the case of beer they finished off at the docks with their likewise now green pals along with a few shots to boost their bravery. At any rate we set anchors in about 700 feet of water and proceeded to set a slurry chum slick up.
As is usually the case, a few of these guys are not far behind in setting a slick out themselves. I always wondered who of them was the brightest. Those that had never been in large seas before, soon to learn which direction the wind was blowing but too sick to adjust as they give themselves an expensive facial or those that proudly proclaim they have put themselves in this position before and knew exactly where to stand. This information they stuttered out inbetween bouts of their intestines flying out of their mouths...at least it sounded that way. None the less, Dan and I had learned to stand clear of these guys and get about the more important business of fishing.
Usually, we first gigged up some live squid and immediately hooked them up to our Sword rods which were already rigged with the drag set at 19 pounds pull, but set back to about 9 pounds with the clicker on. We would send these down to 170 to 200 feet along with a glow light and just put them in a rod holder to dead stick them. Then while everyone usually started to drift flat lines out from the stern, Dan and I would both grab our 20/50 Shimano Beastmaster two speeds with 60 pink Ande and with a little lead on we would fish under everyone else. Our theory was that these fish (Tuna) would come into the slick from deeper water as opposed to the possibility that they were swimming on top and would come into the slick from the top angle. Frankly sometimes we were wrong and those that flat lined out the stern would hook up first. If fish continued to come in, we didn't wait too long and switched over. Still and all the high hook seem to start with sending butterfish down a little deeper.
On this particular night the flat line baits were screaming out the stern and we started to switch from one ounce to four once to eight ounce before we were getting proper presentation. Yes! the seas were building and building throughout the night. I started to ask myself if the symphony of retching was getting to me as the seas still continued to rise. Naw...no way...at any rate it was kind of nice as the rail continued to clear of fishermen actually fishing. Deck space is always a plus when fighting standup with two or more Tuna in the 100 pound plus catagory.
By now, even though more than half of the "fishermen" were down, Dan and I still kept bumping into each other while attempting to remain both standing and working our Tuna baits.
On one of these dances along the deck, Dan gets a hit! Now I love this guy, but at 320 lbs., twinkle toes he is not. It was hard enough to get out of his way when he was just holding the rod. Whoaaaa!!! All of a sudden Dan is spewing across his rod. Oh but Dan is a trooper and never misses a beat. "Turn the handle...turn the handle!!" I start yelling at him. It is sort of an inside joke because when that Tuna hits their is absolutely no turning of the handle as the fish screams out line. Still we always scream it out at one another. It seems to get the blood up. Indeed some of the now motionless bodies moved a bit, but no one picked up their rod.
Just then my dead stick went "click...click... click, click." I run to my rod and freeze. Now I'm focused and ready. Heaven help Dan if he and his fish come crashing into me and screws up my sword fish bite. I don't care if he is 320 pounds I'm prepare to defend my space to the death, just don't touch that rod! "Click,click, click, click, click...get the pole out! Lock down and set! FISH ON!! Now I don't know if you have ever hooked a Sword Fish on standup gear, but when you do, you go where the Sword wants to go...there is no choice. Thus the dance of Tom and Dan begins ducking each other and our lines. Oh, and ducking Dan's puke as well.
Honestly, I get sea sick. Not all the time. It usually takes days out at sea, but I do. Once I feel asleep below deck with my boots kicked off. Seems later on into the night someone down with me had dropped to their knees and proceeded to get sick. Unfortunately, while on his knees, he filled my boots. Everyone ran up top for their lives. I know this for a fact because Dan was on deck and witnessed the panick'd evacuation. Unfortunately I sleeped through the whole episode. I'm still alittle annoyed that Dan knew I was still down their and never checked in. None the less I eventually woke up feeling like I was chewing on fresh chunks and confused because geee... I didn't remember being sick. At anyrate I swung off my bunk and slipped my boots on. The rest is history. Bloody Tuna fish trips.
So here is my pal Dan doing his best when splat...a bit of his spew slaps into my face. Specifically it went up my nose and into my mouth. Did I mention that the seas were still building? Well at that point in time I didn't care...I stopped careing that Dan could crash/crush into me...I didn't give a #*%! if he lost his #*%!ing fish or not...I DID GET SICK...and the sword made another run. What a bunch of clowns we were. Once I had finished with the first few heaves we actually laughed and got back to the dialogue of where each other's fish was and where was the mate? "Clear those #*%!ing rods! Those guys aren't fishing anyway...Coming down...coming down...UNDER the boat...no I can't move...your under me, your under me! Oh sorry, over me." At anyrate, after about fifty minutes Dan had a 140 pound Yellow Eye to the boat. My Sword was still on.
Now don't kill me but my buddy has just showed up to help me replace my dishwasher. This I must do. Keeps my wife happy if the kitchen floor is not flooded two nights in a row. I promise I'll finish this story tonight, after which a few of you might ask me to never post a story again...I know...I ramble.
Tight Lines
Tuna Tom
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Tuna Tom
:grin:
the only fish that get caught are the one's that open their mouth...
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