Family marlin mission

Readers Story

STEVE O'HALLORAN

I can categorically say that my marlin fishing quest began in earnest on March 23, 1991 – the same date (my wife Karen reminds me) we got married.

Formalities dispensed with, off on the honeymoon we went – and, of course, packed in the station wagon along with the usual, were the necessities of the trip: enough land-based and terminal tackle to cope with any type of fishing emergency.

Nope, no flash overseas holidays for this crew – not in prime marlin fishing season – we headed for the Bay of Islands, where my stripie was waiting (oh, I mean ‘our stripie’).

After arrival we boarded a charter boat, along with another couple and a single Canadian tourist, our crew sorting and tidying until everything was organised, and then we were off.

Following a full morning on XOS kingfish, the skipper asked who was keen to chase a billfish in the afternoon. Obviously the vote was cast, and before the count was in we were heading for blue water.

The first shot and a miss came a couple of hours later, followed by another half an hour later – but this time when the port ‘rigger line snapped free, we were hooked up.

“Steve, you’re on!” the skipper yelled. I piled off the flybridge and was met on deck by a wide-eyed Canadian, who looked as if he’d taken too many No-doze pills and asked if he could fight this fish. Well, that was my first mistake right there! I figured I’d have plenty more chances to catch one, so handed it over to him. Some 20 minutes later a 70kg stripie was at the boat, so I guess I didn’t miss out on much, really.

Thinking back though, I really blew a prime opportunity. Some five trailerboats later, accompanied by 29 lost marlin, my quest had become a personal nightmare and an amusement show for my fishing buddies. I had chosen to attempt to catch my first marlin by myself and on my own trailerboat, so by hook or by crook that’s what I was going to do – within reason. (I’m finding out this is quite a common scenario amongst Kiwi trailerboat fisherman.)

Yes, plenty of opportunity and plenty of advice was offered, along with attempts to get me on other boats to hook and land my fish. But I have discovered stubborn pride can be a bit of a hindrance in the marlin-catching game. Expensive, too.

You may ask, “How’s the marriage?” Well, many happy anglers have managed to escape a lifetime of ‘marital bliss’ thanks to fishing! But I’m not that lucky – Karen has hung in there until the end, standing beside me and, more often than not, sharing in the excitement of large fish smashing our gear, breaking lines, straightening hooks – you name it, we have probably seen it or done it.

However, on January 26, 2011 (you do the math), all that was about to change. The West Coast was flat and a phone call to the New Plymouth boys indicated that warm currents were north and 45 to 50 metres were showing all the right signs. Sighted tailers added to the excitement.

No encouragement needed, standard chief mate Scotty Randell was contacted – but couldn’t make it. Second and third mates were also called… Where is everyone?

“Right you kids, get ya mum.”

Yeah, kids – had to do something between marlin seasons. The results were Stacey, 13 years, and Megan, 11 years.

“Ready the thermos and bacon and egg pie – we’re off marlin fishing tomorrow.”
As usual, Karen was keen for a ‘family day out’, so Kawhia boat ramp here we come!

A short, 40-minute trip south to the 45-metre mark in my seven-metre Marco was enjoyed by all, with dolphins, skippies and gannets all heading in the same direction. I spotted a definite current line and watched the water temperature gauge as it jumped from 19.2 degrees to 21.9°C in less than 150 metres.

With all the fish indicator boxes ticked, all five outfits were deployed: two Makaira 80-Wides on the ‘riggers and two Shimano 50-Wides on the short corners, along with a lone Tica 30 running shotgun.

In the time it took to set the gear and tempt Murphy by pouring a cup of coffee, the right ‘rigger snapped free and the 80W was smoking! Not to be outdone, the left ‘rigger broke loose and was on its way to the horizon, too.

“Awesome!” I thought. “Double hook-up – it doesn’t get any better than this!”

“What’s that ratchet sound? Oh bugger – the shotgun’s hooked up as well! This can’t be good…”

Through all the chaos and watching rods, lines and crew, I managed to see the first suspect’s tail, which I identified as a mako, so that rod went straight to Karen (after all, it is ladies first!). The second one was obviously a marlin, as it was greyhounding all over the place (so no problem as to who was getting that rod!).

The shotgun, however, hadn’t been seen, so Megan was soon on the roof fighting it from the rod holder.

Stacey was automatically promoted to skipper and, lucky for me, had paid attention to previous helm-handling lessons. Any professional skipper would have been amazed at how she managed to keep the boat in the right place, going in the right direction at the right speed – every time. I know I was – and so proud, too.

Thirty minutes saw my stripie at the boat, the leader within reach, and with me becoming increasingly aware that this was where things often went pear-shaped. So gloves on, the rod placed in the front holder, leader wrapped and drag released, then a gaff shot via the left arm in… See, simple as that – fish boated. Now why did that take 20 years?

Celebrations weren’t in order yet, though. Remember Karen had also been toiling with me for years to catch this fish – and it so happened her mako had mysteriously turned into another marlin!

So it came as no surprise when the fight continued for another half hour, as she’d only been holding her fish until mine was boated. (And, every now and then, a noise from above – where Megan was – reminded us that she was still up there too, battling her own nemesis.)

I finally managed to get a wrap on the leader, but as luck would have it, Megan’s fish had gone and the line was tangled with Karen’s fish. Megan thought this was fine, because in her mind, that meant she had some bragging rights as well, technically speaking.

With Karen’s fish at the boat and one of the hooks buried deep in its head, the decision was made for us, and that fish joined us in the boat, too. (Now don’t go all save the whales on me – putting things into perspective, it’s two fish in 40 years, so I don’t really think we were being greedy.)

It’s about then the realisation of what we had just achieved began to set in. The kids had grins from ear to ear, Karen was so exhausted she couldn’t lift her arms – I’d told her to clip the harness on – and I was wondering what we were going to do with all this fish.

We covered the marlin with wet towels and headed for the Kawhia Game Club. I managed to find weigh-master Kevin Houchen, who happened to be out snapper fishing. So he abandoned the boat he was on, joined us, and we headed for the scales.

Karen’s marlin weighed-in at 92.7 kilos and mine was just touching 80kg. (Yeah, I know, okay! Nothing has to be said – I still have the heaviest snapper.)

Both fish were bought back to Bayne Johnstons, my neighbour, and smoked to perfection, along with a nice feed of snapper, as Kevin had been out with his brother Steven and Bayne.

So an awesome day had by all, topped off by a bunch of great guys always willing to help.

- © Fairfax NZ News