Showing Off the Guns

Sometimes a man has to show off for his woman. You know, flex some muscles. Perform some fearless act. Do something dangerous to attract her attention. It usually comes along with phrases with predictable outcomes like “Hey honey, watch me pick up this snake”, “That bull doesn’t look to fast”, or “Would you like to come with me to do some shark fishing?”  Not sure which bit of the DNA molecule drives that need, but it is in there and you all know it is. And for as long as men have been doing this, there seem to be women willing to watch and pretend to be impressed with their men while suppressing an eye-roll. “Oh yeah, that was really impressive, you big hunk of man you”.

This week I decided the weather was right, the tides were favorable, and the ladyfish I had been storing in my fishing refrigerator for a week or so was at the point of being used for shark bait or to be returned to the sea from whence it came before things turned ugly. Since the red tide has really crushed the normal sea life around the island, even catching the normal fish used for shark bait has not been easily obtained. And even when the odd Ladyfish or Jack is caught, the idea that there are sharks around to fish for seemed to be a distant hope. I had gone out by myself a week before with the first chunk of this particular Ladyfish and landed a large Stingray. While somewhat adrenaline producing because it was a really big one, not the most fun to beach and unhook – and certainly not anywhere as exciting as doing battle with a shark.

I figured that it was a good time to invite Teresa to the beach to come watch the shark fishing and enjoy a nice sunset (refer to paragraph one above). I do really like to have Teresa along as she is great company and is always willing to apply first aid, take me to the doctor, or whatever else might happen when the adventure is over (ask her about the church league softball, city league basketball, or YMCA emergency room trips…). Anyway, I said “Hey Teresa, would you like to go with me to the beach and do some shark fishing?” and she said “Why sure my big, handsome, strong, man. I would go anywhere with you”. I think that is how it went. Anyway, off we went in the golf cart (Snookie, formerly number 2, if you are wondering which one – regular readers will get the joke there) with the beach chairs, surf rod, sand spike, bucket of gear (hooks, wire, wire cutters, knife, cutting board, etc.), and a half-frozen Ladyfish in tow. 

Once we got the chairs in place, gear ready to go, it was time to make the most important decision for shark fishing – what size chunk of bait and which section of the bait to use. It has been my experience that the size of the shark you catch is proportionate to size of the bait used. So when I do not really want to take on the biggest shark, but still want to have a little fun, then a two inch section will do. If I am feeling a bit feisty, then a three inch section will do. But if I am in for a no-holds-barred fistfight with the larger sharks, then there is nothing more critical than using the head of the bait. I am not sure why, but whenever the head is on the hook, there is no telling what size shark will pick it up. They must see the eyes of the dead bait and know it is the good stuff – or maybe the head has all the good smells that draw them in, not really sure. So given my goal of impressing the woman and dangerous adventures, off with her head!

The sand on the beach where we set up was a bit shell-filled, so the sand spike (the tube of PVC that we put down into the sand to hold the pole upright while waiting for something to take the bait) was not really solid. But after a bit of landscaping around the base, I figured it would be good to go. And since I am not more than a couple of feet away in my chair waiting, what could go wrong anyway? So I hooked up the bait, flung it out, placed the butt of the pole in the holder, set the bait runner setting on (lets a fish taking the bait pull line easily until you are ready to set the hook) and returned to my seat to enjoy a beautiful sunset with my beautiful wife, on a beautiful island, living a beautiful life. The sun was warming our faces, the breeze was blowing softly, and the fresh salt air was filling our lungs. All this tranquility would soon be broken.

As I closed my eyes enjoying the warmth, I was stretching out my arms to really savor the moment, Teresa whacked me and pointed toward the pole. It was not a normal kind of whack, but more of an urgent “do something” whack. This is the same kind of whack parents give to each other when you have a bunch of kids and one of them is doing something that will quickly turn into something everyone is going to regret. So since I have had a lot of experience with this kind of beating, I instinctively knew to reach out to catch the pole, which had already been laid down and was beginning a slow drag to the ocean. Fortunately, the bait runner feature of the reel had not clicked to direct drag, or my fishing rod and reel would have been forever lost. In an instant, my razor sharp mind made a deduction – there was something on the line, and I should grab that pole, and quick!

Once I set the hook, and my opponent set off on a long run taking more and more of the line from the reel, I felt the power and weight of the fish and knew this was not a Stingray. As the line continued to come off the reel, I suspected that the animal on the other end was headed to San Antonio Texas and may not stop at any rest areas along the way. At least I had hooked up with a shark, I thought to myself, and not some little wimpy fish. In the unlikely event that this one does stop before the end of my line rolls off the reel, that I could really take off the gloves for a street brawl (that was just the adrenaline and testosterone talking). Fortunately, the shark did finally turn – or at least pulled into rest area on his trip to Texas. Given that I could not move him one inch after he stopped, I could tell this was a very large shark, and given the distance he ran before stopping the first time, that he must also have a bad disposition.

From there the battle lines were drawn, and I settled into my shark fighting mode. With only 90 pound test line, and wire, and the fairly light weight surf rod I use, there is only so much pressure that can be applied. The rest is sheer endurance, a bit of muscle flexing (refer to paragraph one again), and instinct on how hard to pressure the shark to eventually tire him out. I had told Teresa that in the event I hooked a shark, I would end up moving down the beach in one direction or another as that is how these battles go. When a big shark makes a run down the beach, you just have to go with him to take up the line lost in the tug-o-war. The posture to fight a shark with a surf rod, involves a lot of leaning back with the butt of the rod lodged into the inner thigh for leverage. All of the muscles get involved, and soon my arms were burning, and my lower back was as well. It became clear that this battle would be longer than any other shark I had hooked, and I was determined not to give up the fight.

I was aware that the time was clicking by, and wondered what Teresa was doing while the battle dragged on. Apparently, as it turns out, she was texting others about the ongoing battle. She was also taking some nifty video which, of course from the outside looking in is very boring – man holding pole with large object on the other end. Mexican standoff. But with continued pressure, the shark with begin to move toward the beach. And with continued pressure, the shark would get angry about this and move away from the beach, with great speed, and taking out line that had been hard fought, inch by inch. A mental battle was at work in addition to the physical struggle. Never, never, never, never give up, never give in.  Yeah, well tell that to my burning muscles. What did I sign up for here anyway?

A few people gathered on the beach behind me. A shark from the beach will tend to do that with the people who, about an hour before, were in or near that same stretch of ocean. And then, out of nowhere, Jason showed up. Teresa had texted him, and he had come to see the action. As the shark tired and neared the beach, his dorsal and tail fins broke the water, and the size of the fish was apparent. He was a big bull shark. A particularly nasty and angry bull shark as it turns out. The shark was near enough and tired enough, I thought, to get him on the beach. I handed Jason my pole, and I went in the surf to grab the shark by the tail to drag him onto the beach to cut the leader and release him. Now grabbing a six foot bull shark by the tail is not to be done carelessly. I dragged the beast onto the beach with the last of the energy left in my muscles. Those gathered there seemed quite impressed with this nasty fellow (the shark, I mean, not me). I looked up and realized I was 100 yards down the beach from where my wire cutters were sitting on the arm of my beach chair. Fortunately, Jason has just come from doing some work and happened to have a pair of wire cutters in his pocket. After a quick snip of the wire leader, it was time for a few quick pictures, and then helping the exhausted shark to revive and return to the ocean.

Just as the grabbing and dragging of the shark onto the beach is a bit tricky, the dragging the shark back into the water is more tricky as the dragg-or is going into the water where the drag-ee can begin to move around in his natural element and has the potential to reach the dragg-or with rows of sharp teeth and exact revenge for the trouble inflicted by the battle. While this shark exhibited endurance and power in the fight, his nasty disposition continued to show as he continued to try to arch around to bite me while I was pulling him by the tail back into the water. It was a slow process, but eventually, I got him in enough water and got his head pointed seaward, and he swam off in a huff, but health and revived.

I was not however, revived. In fact I was now aching all over. Not just from muscle fatigue, but also from the pressure for the hour long fight of the butt of the rod alternating in my upper, inner, thigh muscles. As I trudged back on the beach, the spectators clapped briefly, and I even received a handshake and high-five of congratulations. As I walked up the beach, I found Teresa back at the starting point and sat down for a rest. As the sun set, it was the end of a beautiful day, and she was a part of the longest fight I have had with a shark so far. After all was said and done, I think I had shown as much muscle, determination, and manliness as I could. And after all, that was what I was going for. I think she liked it.

David