Editor’s note” This is part two of a two-part story on Mark Swearengin’s recent fishing adventure to Guatemala.
As mentioned in part 1 of my story, weather was a big concern on my last day. I asked some of the more experienced fishermen if they felt the guides would still fish under the circumstances, and they assured me that they would unless it was too dangerous.
As we motored out of the harbor the captain pushed the throttle forward, stormy seas be damned. We were holding on for dear life as we bounced across the ocean. I watched the 50-pound bait cooler fly 6 inches off the deck and crash back down. The captain cut the power, and we proceeded at a much more manageable pace with several boats behind us doing the same. Eventually we drove through the storm, and although it was still overcast and windy, the rain had stopped, and the waves were smaller. Our guides wasted no time getting our rigs into the water.
Twenty minutes later a big fish took one of the smaller baits, but it was just another dorado which I quickly reeled in. I was frustrated but knew we had a full day of fishing ahead. Twenty minutes later shouting erupted from the back of the boat. A sailfish was slashing at one of our baits. On the 4th pass he hooked up, and I grabbed the rod determined to not make any mistakes that could result in me losing the fish.
Its power was amazing! Every time he’d get up on his tail, I’d hold my breath praying he wouldn’t throw the hook. I worked it very slowly to the side of the boat and breathed a sigh of relief when the leader came out of the water and the guide grabbed it and eased the sailfish up. I leaned over to help support the fish, and they took pictures before clipping the line. My body was still coursing with adrenaline, and it was difficult to walk back to my seat as I was shaking so badly, plus my pants were around my ankles.
My boat mates had told me if I caught a billfish they were going to de-pant me. I thought I had it headed off at the (p)ass by announcing that I’d decided to go commando. It was only a bluff, but it did not stop them on their mission. I couldn’t have cared less. I told them that if I never caught another fish the rest of my life, I could die a happy man! I pulled my pants back up and settled back into my seat, had a shot of bourbon, and lit a cigar.
Over the rest of the morning, we caught a great variety of fish. At one point I went into the cabin to wash my hands. Before I could, the entire back of the boat erupted in screams, with my name being shouted out multiple times. A huge blue marlin was slashing at the teasers. One of the guides grabbed the bait from the cooler and cast it toward the teaser as another frantically reeled it up. The strategy worked as the marlin immediately switched from the teaser to the bait. After several attempts it snagged it, and the rod doubled over.
My mind was running one million miles an hour. While I’d known there was a slight chance I might get to battle a marlin, after catching the sailfish I’d figured I was done. I also wondered if I was physically up to the task or had the skills to land this incredible fish. After a particularly violent tug that pulled me toward the edge of the boat, I realized it had the power to potentially pull me overboard, so I sat down and placed the butt of the rod in the cup of the rod holder on the front of the seat. I felt a presence to my left, and Robert had stepped forward and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at him, and he gave me a look that said, “you got this!” I could not have imagined it at the time, but his hand would remain on my shoulder for over 25 minutes, his steady, experienced comments giving me the willpower to continue the battle. Ten minutes into it a large blister appeared on the side of my thumb. Five minutes later it popped. It hurt, but I’m no quitter.
The goal with a marlin is to reel the rod tip down to it, then pull him up and reel back down again. This is a fish that’s 11 feet long and weighs 350-400 pounds and can easily swim over 60 mph peeling off 100 feet of line from the reel per second while leaping 10 feet out of the water. He’s the one in charge, you’re just along for the ride. The first 10 minutes are fueled by adrenaline.
When it goes away you experience the agony of the physicality it takes to try and land a fish of this magnitude. For every 10 feet of line you reel in, he pulls out 30. When he shoots out of the water you just hold on for dear life, praying he doesn’t throw the hook or break the line. He can go from the surface to 150 feet below you in seconds. Reel down and pump, forearms blazing. Reel down and pump, your mind is numb. Reel down and pump, will it ever end? Reel down and pump, is this Hell? It sure isn’t Heaven!
Twenty five minutes into it there was a thrashing at the back of the boat as the marlin surfaced. Was the battle over? It responded by taking off across the water with the blazing speed they are famous for. I looked down helplessly watching the line peel off the reel so fast it was a blur. I wanted to cry! All the work I’d done over the last 25 minutes disappeared in seconds!
We were sure he’d gone deep again, when off to the right I saw a giant fish leap out of the water. Dumbfounded, I asked if this was another fish? “No, he’s yours.” He had moved so fast that my rod was still bent straight down even though he was now 150 feet to my right. As he pulled the slack out of the line, I reeled as fast as I could. I learned firsthand about the dreaded 4 o’clock reel handle position.
It’s when you are transitioning from pushing the reel handle to pulling, and when your arms wear out it feels like the reel is stuck in this spot. How I cursed it. When that didn’t help, I sweettalked it while blinking away tears. None of it had any effect on the reel. It did not care. The marlin went deep again, and it felt like I was losing ground every time I’d reel and he’d pull. My body screamed “you’re done,” but my brain shouted, “don’t give up!” At one point I asked Joel to support the rod while I shook my hands and arms out. I wondered if I was making any progress at all. Thirty eight minutes into the battle when I was just about to break, I had my answer when the edge of the leader appeared. A guide grabbed it in his gloved hands as he eased the marlin up to the back of the boat. I did not even have the energy to lean over and look, I was so exhausted. As the giant marlin went on his way, I found a couch and collapsed. In deep sea fishing, there’s no shame in handing off a rod to another fisherman when you’ve done all you can do. Somehow, I’d avoided that, but had the battle gone on much longer I might have given in.
There is a tradition that the marlin boats that sail out of Puerto Quetzal Harbor on the Pacific coast of Guatemala have. If a marlin is caught during the day, upon their return they fly a blue marlin flag from the rigging to let everyone know they were successful in their endeavor. Yesterday I’d watched them fly a flag for my boat mate Robert. Today the flag being flown was for me, and I was damned proud of it. It was gratifying to see the smiles and thumbs up from the fishermen in the other boats as they motored into the harbor. There is a bond forged with other fishermen who have done the same that brings with it a sense of accomplishment that has to be experienced to truly understand.
Bucket list items can be tricky, and as the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for. I’d always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, but 3 years ago when it was finally right in front of me it didn’t move me in the ways I’d anticipated. For some it’s climbing Mount Everest, and pushing a body in ways it wasn’t meant to be pushed. That particular adventure isn’t on my list, and while I know catching a marlin isn’t comparable to the difficulty of the trek through snow at high altitudes with a brain that’s starved for oxygen, I do feel it’s given me a small taste of what it feels like, and an appreciation for why something that sounds like misery can be so exhilarating. It also makes me realize that you can have it right in front of you and somehow have it slip out of your grasp, but for the grace of God.
I don’t yet know what my next adventure will be, but I would like to think I’ll go back again to Guatemala, 40 miles into the Pacific, where sailfish and marlin roam along the continental shelf looking for an easy meal, and dolphins congregate by the thousands putting on their acrobatic display for those lucky enough see it, far away from human civilization and foolishness. It has been this way since the dawn of time. And for me, that’s enough.
