James Etheridge

They were trolling fairly slowly. Thomas had been watching the shark rod. He had gone forward in the cabin to the head and when he returned, he saw the tip of the rod bobbing and bowing fairly hard. “Hey,” he said to the mate, “I think we’ve got some action on that shark rod.” The mate went to the rod, tugged on it a couple of times, stuck it in the holder on the stern and, holding onto it with both hands, turned to the captain and yelled, “Hit it!” The captain slammed the throttle forward. “Get the lines in!” he ordered. “Here, hold this!” the mate barked at Thomas, “Both hands!” Thomas held tight and even though the rod was in a holder, he could feel the weight and the tug. They had hooked a damn big fish. Rusty, Bobby, Jerry and Danny got their lines in quickly. George was reeling slowly using his thumb and index finger technique. At least he had the reel right side up, but his line was drifting dangerously close to the shark rod’s line. The mate saw this, snatched the rod out of George’s hand, reeled the line in and secured the rod. “You’re a freakin’ idiot, you know that?” he yelled. George climbed the ladder and sat down up top. As much as Thomas disliked George, he was beginning to like the mate even less. All the lines were in and the fishing was done for the day, except for the big one they had on the end of the shark rod’s line.

The captain slowed the boat to a crawl. The mate threw a belt holder to Thomas and said, “Here, put this on!” Thomas strapped the belt around his waist, the mate handed him the rod and he secured the butt of the rod in the holder on the belt. “Reel!” yelled the mate. Thomas hooked his left arm around the rod, held it tight, bent over and began to reel as hard as he could with his right. Jerry, Bobby, Rusty and Danny were all standing around him. George was still sitting up top. George was some fisherman. The mate pushed through the four others, bent over and screamed, “Reel, dammit, reel!” in Thomas’s right ear. Thomas locked the reel, stood up and stared down at the mate. He was half a head taller and was not opposed to whipping this little bastard’s ass right there in the stern, shark or no shark. The others were staring at him too. Feeling outnumbered, the mate backed off. He didn’t yell at Thomas any more. As a matter of fact, he didn’t do or say much of anything the rest of the day.

Thomas reeled until his shoulder and arm wouldn’t move anymore and handed the rod to Rusty. Rusty reeled for a little while, passed the rod to Bobby, who then passed it to Jerry. Jerry passed it to Danny, who then passed it to Thomas. Thomas reeled until his arm cramped up and then passed the rod to Rusty. “Oh, man, I forgot about this,” said Thomas, taking off the belt. “Here, put this on, I’ll hold the rod.” Thomas held the rod and reeled as best he could. There wasn’t any fight on the end of the line, just dead weight. Rusty strapped the belt around his waist, Thomas handed the rod back to him and he secured the butt of the rod in the belt. The mate had disappeared into the head. Rusty reeled as hard as he could until his arm dropped at his side. “Hold onto the spool and let him run,” called down the captain. “He’ll wear himself out eventually.”

The big fish ran for a while and as he was running, Rusty looked at Thomas and asked, “You want the rod for a while?” “Sure,” said Thomas. The mate had re-appeared on the deck. “Is there another belt?” Thomas asked him. “Ain’t got but one,” replied the mate. Thomas wasn’t sure he believed him. He figured he was probably just too hung over to look. He thought for a second and said, “You know what, Rusty? I’d hate to lose the fish and especially the rod handing it and the belt over. The belt’s strapped to you. As far as I’m concerned, it’s your fish.” Thomas looked around at Jerry, Bobby and Danny. “You fellows good with that?” he asked. They all nodded. George had come down from the bridge and was sitting in the cabin. “When the line goes slack, that’s when he’s stopped running,” said the captain. “That’s when you start reeling. You’ll feel the pull when he starts running again. When that happens, let him run. Just keep your thumb on the spool. The last thing we need is for the line to backlash.” Thomas looked at his watch. It was nine a.m. “What the hell,” he thought. He went into the cabin, opened up the cooler and pulled out a beer.

George had moved to one of the benches outside the cabin and was watching Rusty. Thomas cracked open the beer and took a long, deep swallow and looked up at the sky. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat was. There were a few clouds, high and wispy. The sun was shining bright. It was a perfect day for fishing. He walked over to Rusty. “The line is slowing down,” said Rusty. “He’s getting ready to stop. A couple of minutes later the line went slack and Rusty began reeling furiously. “Slow down,” called the captain, “or you’ll wear yourself out.” Thomas looked around for the mate. He was nowhere to be seen. After Rusty reeled for about ten or fifteen minutes the rod began bending and the line tugging. “That’s it,” said Rusty. “He’s running again.”

Thomas went into the cabin to go to the head. George was still sitting on the bench outside the door. The mate was passed out on the floor in the cabin. Thomas stepped over him and made his way to the head. On the way back out he grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler and, resisting the urge to deliver a good swift kick, stepped over the mate and walked back over to Rusty. Jerry and Danny were standing with him. Bobby was at the stern, staring out at the line and the Gulf. “Beer?” Thomas asked Rusty. Rusty looked at him and laughed. “At this time of the morning? Why not?” Just then the line went slack Rusty began to reel. “Thanks,” he said, “but on second thought I’ve got work to do. I’ll definitely catch up with you later.” Thomas walked to the ladder, climbed up to the bridge and sat down next to the captain. “Beer?” he asked. “Can’t,” said the captain. “I’d love one, but regulations. I could lose my license.”
“I won’t tell anybody.”
“I know, but thanks. Maybe later.”
“You ever caught a shark before?”
“Small ones, a few bonnetheads. Nothing like this one.”
“How do you know to let him run until he wears himself out?”
“It’s basically the same as with the big game fish, marlin and sailfish. The only difference with them is that they fight a lot more, come to the surface and break water. That shark’s not gonna do that. He’s running deep.
“What if he gets caught or tangled?”
“We cut the line.”
“You ever caught any marlin?
“Oh, yeah,” the captain grinned. “That’s where the big bucks are.”
“How far out do you have to go?”
“At least fifty.”
“How many miles are we out now?”
“About twenty.”
“Wow.”
“That’s why if you’re seriously fishing for blue, it’s best to do a few days and nights offshore. Where’s Johnny?”  Johnny was the mate’s name. “Down below. Passed out on the floor,” said Thomas. The captain shook his head in disgust. “As soon as we get back in, he’s fired,” he said. “I’m not tipping him,” said Thomas.
“I wouldn’t blame you. My regular mate decided to go back to college. Can’t blame him for that. A friend of mine recommended this guy. Gee thanks, buddy, I owe him one. This is only the third time I’ve been out with him. Been the same thing each day. This is the last straw.”
“And all along I thought it was just me.”
“Trust me, it ain’t you.”  Thomas laughed and looked down at Rusty. He was reeling again. “Guess I’d better go back down,” he said.
“The fish ought to surface soon. Save that beer for me.”
“Aye aye, sir.

Thomas climbed down the ladder, walked through the door to the cabin, stepped over the mate and put the unopened beer back on ice. Rusty was reeling and George was standing next to him. As Thomas stepped out of the cabin, Rusty turned and screamed, “No, George, we’re not going to let the shark go, so leave me the hell alone! You can either help us or go somewhere and stay out of the way!” Thomas stood on the deck and stared at the two of them, along with Bobby, Jerry and Danny. None of them said a word. George climbed the ladder and sat down on one of the benches on the bridge. He did not move for the rest of the day.

They all gave Rusty some space for a bit. He quit reeling and let the fish run. It didn’t run as much this time and Rusty started to reel. “He’s wearing out,” he shouted. Danny, Bobby and Jerry were standing at the stern, peering out to sea. Thomas stayed beside Rusty. “How are you holding up?” he asked. “Fine for now,” said Rusty. “Once the adrenaline rush is over, I probably won’t be able to move.” He kept reeling and then said, “He’s tugging again. He’s close, but wants to go again. I think this is it.” He took his hand off the handle, put his thumb on the spool and let the fish run. The line ran off of the spool for only a couple of minutes, then went slack and Rusty started to reel again.

“There he is!” Bobby yelled. “I see him!” said Danny. Thomas peered out over the crystal blue water of the Gulf but did not see anything. “He’s turning around!” said Bobby. Thomas still could not see the shark. Rusty stopped reeling, but the fish didn’t run. Rusty started reeling again and Danny shouted, “Yep, there he is! Man, look at him!” Thomas climbed halfway up the ladder, looked and saw the big fish floating just beneath the surface on the port quarter. Thomas hopped down the ladder, jumped over the mate into the cabin, grabbed his camera, climbed the steps again and began snapping pictures of the shark. The long black body was clearly visible now and was hardly moving. “He’s not going to run again,” said the captain. “It’s just a matter now of reeling him in.” Rusty reeled furiously. He was soaking wet with sweat. It ran down his face from the top of his head, under the strap of his turned-around ball cap, down his face and dripped off his chin. He kept reeling until the fish was right beside the boat. That was it. The fight was over, so they thought. In reality, it was just beginning.

“Johnny!” screamed the captain. “Get your ass out here!” Thomas jumped down the ladder, almost knocked the mate down as he ran into the cabin, stashed his camera in the bag and then ran back out onto the deck. The shark was up against the side of the boat by now and not moving. Thomas stared at him. He had never seen a fish that big before in his life, at least not up close and personal. “That really is a big one,” said the captain. “What kind of shark is it?” asked Rusty. “Bull shark,” the captain replied. Then the thought struck Thomas. “How are we going to get that thing in the boat?” he said out loud. “Johnny, grab the ropes from below,” ordered the captain. “See if you can pull him in.” The mate disappeared into the cabin and then came back out with three three-quarter inch yellow nylon ropes. He tied them into loops and put one around the shark’s tail. “Pull it up over the dorsal fin,” he said to Rusty. “We’ll pull it tight, then hook one over the tail.” Thomas helped Rusty loosen the loop, slip it over the lower dorsal, over the primary dorsal and pull the rope taut. Bobby and Danny slipped their loop over the fish’s tail and pulled it tight. The mate then slipped a loop over the shark’s nose, slid it back to the pectoral fins and tightened it. “Now,” he said, “the six of us ought to be able to heave him up and over.” Maybe the mate wasn’t so useless after all. George didn’t budge from his seat on the bridge. George was some fisherman.

The mate and Jerry were on the rope around the pectoral fins. Thomas and Rusty were on the one over the dorsal and Bobby and Danny were on the rope around the tail. “Alright,” yelled the mate, “Pull!” They all pulled, but the shark hardly moved. “Pull, dammit!” screamed the mate. The six of them heaved mightily. The shark came about a foot out of the water before they all gave out and dropped him back in. “Man, that son of a bitch is heavy!” said Bobby. “That’s alright,” said Jerry. “We’re gonna get that shark in here.” At least he was being positive. “Can we tie him to the side?” asked Danny. “Nothing to cleat him to,” said the mate. There was one cleat on each beam and on the port and starboard sides of the stern. “Get the ropes out from around the dorsal and the pecs,” called down the captain. “Johnny, tie the tail rope to one of the stern cleats. We’ll tow him backwards. That’ll drown him and maybe we can pull him back to the harbor.” Bobby and Danny loosened the rope around the pecs and pulled it over the shark’s nose. Rusty and Thomas loosened the dorsal rope. They both leaned forward and brought the rope up around the pecs. “Be careful, don’t fall overboard,” said Danny. “Aye, aye sir,” said Thomas. “Loosen it up as much as you can,” he said to Rusty. “We’ll have slip it over one pec at a time.” Leaning over the side as far as they could, they slipped the loop over the left pec, then loosened the rope and managed to slip the loop around the right pec and over the shark’s nose. The mate had tied the tail rope fast around the cleat on the stern. “Are we good to go?” called the captain. The mate gave him a thumb up and the captain hit the throttle. The rope unwound and snapped tight. The fish rolled and tumbled in the spray of the boat’s wake.