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 AS SEEN IN THE NOV/DEC 2007 ISSUE
Like my buddy, after a night
of partying, I woke with a splitting headache, but I didn’t care. The weather
finally calmed and after multiple days of rough seas, the sun was finally shining
and the ocean was calm. It was another day in paradise, or so I thought.
On any other occasion, I
would have rolled over and hit the snooze button on the annoying alarm clock, but
after being landlocked at the resort for the past three days, I was anxious to
get out and wet a line. I woke my less than ambitious friend and advised him to
be ready in 15 minutes.
The captain was on his way down to the marina and we were
headed to the famous wahoo grounds off San Salvador, Bahamas. We rigged our rods
for high-speeding in hopes of capturing the elusive triple-digit wahoo that I
have heard so much about. After a short run to the bait rich pinnacles and
edges, we deployed our spread and it was only a matter of minutes before we
were hooked up with our first fish of the day. The reel screamed as my longtime
friend, Jimmy O'Brien, made quick work of the toothy pelagic. The fish made its
first appearance and was about to feel the wrath of the gaff when out of
nowhere, a second wahoo skyrocketed the lure dangling from the fish’s jaw and literally
sliced his buddy free. “$@!% happens” I thought, as I quickly deployed the
spread in hopes of hooking another high-speed 'hoo.
It took approximately 20
minutes before we connected again. This time, it was my turn to do the wahoo waltz,
and as I strapped into the harness and took three quick turns of the handle, the
line suddenly went limp. Another lost fish! I reeled in the slack and checked
the damage. Once again, a second fish had cut us off. Thinking of it as nothing
more than coincidence, we reset the spread in hopes of finally landing a large
wahoo.
With the intense Bahamian
sun now beaming down on us, we continued to work the steep edge just a few
miles from shore. Again, it didn't take long before we saw action. This time, all
three rods got hit simultaneously. Once again, Jimmy made quick work of his
fish, while the captain, Tommy Towers, and I struggled to bring ours in. Jimmy brought
his fish boatside, and it was a real beauty. My estimate was a conservative 50
pounds. Not the 100 pounder’ we wanted but certainly a quality fish. I placed
my rod in the rocket launcher and grabbed the gaff to help out Jimmy. As I was
about to pierce the gaff into the fish, an enormous brown shape appeared out of
nowhere and swallowed the struggling wahoo in a single bite. Not too surprising
as the area is notorious for attracting hungry tiger sharks. I quickly returned
to my rod, only to realize that my fish, too, had fallen victim to the monsters
below. Our focus now turned to Tommy and his fish. Halfway through the fight,
the line once again went slack. To be honest, I would have been happier if my
knot slipped or if I forgot to close the snap swivel - anything but another
cutoff!
By now, to say we were
completely frustrated is a vast understatement. I was about to reach into the
cooler for a bite to eat when I thought to myself. “I’m a homosapien - the
smartest animal on the planet. Our ancestors constructed the pyramids, created
electricity and killed giant woolly mammoths with a spear equivalent to a tooth
pick. I think I can handle a stupid fish.”
I was not about to give up.
I retreated to the bow, but not for a sandwich, I was set on outwitting these
fish. I wanted wahoo!
After a brief search through
the tackle arsenal, I returned to the cockpit armed with the heaviest rod and
reel I could find – a big Penn International loaded with 130lb. test
monofilament, an outfit generally reserved for deep-dropping. “Giving up
already,” said the skipper, thinking I was over the wahoo and ready to land lunch
one way or another. “Not quite yet,” I said. He obviously had no idea of the
trick I had up my sleeve.
I broke out the rigging box
and quickly got to work. While perspiring and nearly on the brink of heat
exhaustion, I mumbled to myself, “These stupid fish won't get the best of me!”
I staggered five lures onto
a 50 foot piece of heavy multi-strand cable. The captain must have thought I
was still intoxicated, because this idea was so silly, it couldn’t possibly work.
Halfway through the rigging, I, too, was starting to doubt myself, but not one
to give up on anything I continued to make my modified ‘super rig’ and deployed
it into the depths.
As I sent the rig on its
way, the action of the five lures dancing and diving on the same line was super
intense, almost too much for the heavy outfit to handle. Everyone on the boat
was giggling, except for me. While the wahoo seemed a bit leery of the ‘super
rig’ at first, I knew they were hungry as the full moon and outgoing tide combined
to create ideal conditions. We trolled by the edge where we hooked our triple
header, and without fail, the drag on the heavy outfit started to scream “Ha! I
got one!” I shouted. Sounding as shocked as I was thrilled, I began cranking
and slowly winched the fish toward the boat. Halfway through the fight, I got
whacked by what seemed to be another monster wahoo. A minute later, the line
got even heavier. I thought that I had finally hooked into my trophy hundred pounder!
With the drag set on full strike, I could barely gain line. Finally, after close
to 30 minutes, the ‘super rig’ came to the boat. “Wahoo!” yelled the captain
from the helm. As the commotion ensued, we realized that there was more than
one fish on the rig! I had hooked into a quintuplet!!!!
No one on the boat was ready
for this, including myself. The disarray that followed was one for the record
books. Picture five 50-plus pound wahoo thrashing and head shaking, each with a
cable leader dangling from its jaw. Needless to say, complete chaos was an
understatement. After we boated all five fish, I looked at the captain and shouted,
“Betcha’ never seen anything like that before.” He shook his head in amazement
and replied, “Just another beautiful day in paradise!”
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