After towing the shark about a mile, the captain cut the throttle. “I can’t do this,” he said. “It’s too much strain and too much weight. Get him back to the stern and see if we can pull it on board from there. If we can’t, we’ll cut it loose. I’m not going to tear my boat up trying to get it back into the harbor.” The mate and Rusty handled the rope and pulled the big fish in to the stern of the boat. They then moved the tail to the starboard side. The mate loosened the rope around the tail, moved it below the lower dorsal, over the primary fin and pulled it taut around the middle of the shark. Thomas looked at his watch. It was 11 a.m. The sun was really beginning to bear down now and he was wringing wet from head to toe. They all were, except for George. George was some fisherman. They looped the ropes around the shark’s pecs and back around his tail. Suddenly the captain was at the stern with them. He had another rope and looped it around the head at the gills. Bobby and Danny were at the tail, Rusty and Thomas were at the dorsal, the mate and Jerry were at the pecs and the captain was at the shark’s head. “Alright, men, heave!” shouted the captain. They all pulled hard and the big fish came out of the water with his back along the length of the stern, just below the top. “Don’t let him down!” yelled the captain. “Heave!” They all pulled again. The shark lifted up to the top of the stern, rolled over and fell onto the deck. When the fish fell on the deck and the rope went slack Thomas lost his balance, took two steps backwards and fell on his butt. His Ray-Bans fell off his ears and nose and hit the deck. He grabbed them and jumped up. They all five looked at each other and let out a primal yell in unison. Jerry, Bobby and Danny all were slapping each other’s backs, shaking hands and bro-hugging. Thomas and Rusty looked at one another, let out another yell, high-fived and bumped bellies like two football players celebrating a touchdown. When they high-fived, Thomas dropped his Ray-Bans again. As they hit the deck, the left lens popped out and broke cleanly in half. He picked them up and put the frames and broken lens back in the case attached to his belt, while Rusty was slapping him on the back and yelling, “We did it, Tommy, we did it!” The big fish lay in the stern of the boat, not moving. They all had indeed done it. They had caught a shark, landed it and were ready to head back to the harbor.
Rusty had moved up to the bridge and was on one of the benches facing the captain. Thomas grabbed his cooler, climbed the ladder to the bridge and sat down on the bench opposite Rusty. “I’ll take that beer now,” said the captain, looking at the cooler. “Aye, aye, sir,” said Thomas. He reached in the cooler, pulled out a Budweiser, cracked it open and handed it to the captain. “Cheers,” said Rusty. They all three lifted their cans and took a long pull. The beer was ice-cold and delicious. Thomas’s throat was parched dry. Bobby, Danny and Jerry were all sitting below talking, laughing and looking at the shark. Bobby had not been seasick since they hooked the shark. George was nowhere to be seen. George was some fisherman.
“How long have you been doing this?” Rusty asked the captain. “This is my second season,” he replied.
“How’s business been?”
“Great, so far.”
“How seasonal is it?”
“You’d be surprised. You can fish year-round here, but in the winter the seas can be rough. But, people still want to go out. Hopefully I’ll have my boat paid off by this time next year.”
“What kind of engine does she have?” asked Rusty.
“Two three-fifties.”
“This boat has two three-fifties?”
“Yep.”
“Wow.”
“How do you think we towed a fish that big behind her? “If you don’t mind my asking, how much does a boat like this cost?” asked Thomas. “I paid about sixty-five for this one,” said the captain.
“She sure is nice.”
“Thanks. I got a pretty good deal on her. I worked on her as a mate last year. The captain hit hard times and had to sell her. Went in debt up to my eyeballs, but it’s been good so far. What kind of work do you guys do?” “Printing,” said Thomas. He kind of got the feeling that the captain wanted to change the subject. “How is that industry doing?” he asked. “Okay, but you can see changes coming that are inevitable,” said Rusty. “We’re still doing well enough for the boss to bring us down here every summer.”
“He pays for all of you guys?”
“Charters the boats and pays for the rooms at the Village Inn.”
“Damn, that’s a hell of a boss! By the way, what’s up with that guy who came up here and sat the whole time?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Yeah, I heard you yell at him.”
“Did he say anything while he was up here?” asked Thomas. “Not a word,” answered the captain. “I thought about trying to talk to him, but figured I would just mind my own business.”
The condos along Miramar Beach were visible now. Thomas took his cooler below. He pulled his Ray-Bans out of his pocket and looked at the broken lens. It was split clean in half. There was no repairing it. He placed the frames and broken lens into the tattered old case strapped to his belt. Snapping it shut, he felt sad and guilty. The glasses were his father’s, navy issued in WWII. He wished he had put them back on before high-fiving Rusty. It was the adrenaline rush and the heat of the moment. Nothing could be done about it now. He would eventually have the lens replaced. They were never quite the same, but every time he put them on he thought about the shark.
Thomas walked out onto the deck and leaned over the port side. He could see the jetty and the opening to the East Pass. They were almost home. He checked his watch for the last time. It was almost twelve-thirty. They would be the last boat in. The captain was on the radio. “Are the block and tackle open?” Thomas heard him ask. “Good,” said the captain. “We’ve got a big one.” They chugged through the East Pass no-wake zone and turned starboard into the harbor. The captain did not pull into their slip but instead backed up to the boardwalk and the Destin Harbor block and tackle frame. The mate stumbled over the pylon next to the frame and tied off the stern. He then grabbed the rope hanging from the pulley, looped it around the shark’s tail and began to hoist him out of the boat. “Gimme some help, dammit!” he yelled at all of them in general. Rusty, Thomas, Bobby, Danny and Jerry pulled on the rope and hoisted the big fish up to the top. The mate secured the rope to the cleat on the side of the frame. They all stood and marveled at the shark as it hung there, all except for the mate and George. George was somewhere on the boat. George was some fisherman.
A crowd had begun to gather around as they were hoisting the fish. The boss, along with several of the crew from his boat walked up to the group of them. “Who caught it?” he demanded. “Rusty,” said Thomas. “It’s his fish.” The boss slapped a hundred dollar bill into Rusty’s palm and said, “Here, I hope you choke on it!” He wasn’t kidding. The boss offered a hundred dollar prize to whoever caught the largest fish. He had caught a king mackerel, the biggest one so far until Rusty’s shark was hoisted up. The boss was a very competitive man. Thomas handed his camera to Janet, the office manager who coordinated the trips. “We need a picture of this to prove it’s not a fish story,” he said to her. “Would you mind doing the honors?” “Not at all,” she said and began snapping pictures. It was then that Thomas looked over his left shoulder and saw George at the very back next to the shark, standing on his tiptoes and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Thomas couldn’t believe it. “Why the hell is he in the picture?” he thought. The harbormaster had emerged from his office on the pier. He was holding a ledger and looking up at the scale on the pulley. “Three hundred and forty pounds,” he said. He pulled out a measuring tape, extended it, hooked it to the tip of the tail and pulled it down to the end of the shark’s nose. “Eight foot even,” he said, writing in his ledger. “Congratulations, gentlemen, that’s the biggest one so far this season.” People were still snapping pictures when a man stepped up with a professional-grade camera and said, “Okay, fellows, let me get a shot.” He snapped a few pictures and then pulled out a pad. He asked them their names, where they were from and scribbled on the pad. “I’m with The Destin Log newspaper,” he said. “This will be in tomorrow’s edition.”
A few more pictures were snapped and the crowd began to break up. Thomas walked up to Rusty, slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Great job.”
“Thanks, but that was a team effort.”
“I’ve got something to ask you. What about the mate?”
“What about him?”
“Are we going to tip him?”
“Screw him. He’s an asshole.”
“I know, but he did help us land the shark. If you’re okay with it, I say we give him ten bucks apiece.” He thought for a second and then said, “Yeah, I guess I’m okay with that.” “Okay, I’ll ask the others,” said Thomas. Bobby, Danny and Jerry reluctantly kicked in ten apiece. Thomas didn’t bother asking George. Besides, George had disappeared. When Thomas handed the mate the money, he looked at the bills, sneered, muttered a few profanities under his breath and went into the cabin.
“What are we going to do with the shark?” Rusty asked the captain. “I guess we’ll load him back in the stern, take him out beyond the pass and dump him,” said the captain. “Okay,” said Rusty. “Y’all need me to help?” asked Thomas. “No,” said the captain. “The three of us can shove him overboard.” “I’ll take the stuff up to the car,” Thomas said to Rusty. “Meet us in the lower bar at Fisherman’s Wharf.” “Sounds like a plan,” said Rusty.
Thomas slung their two tote bags over his shoulders, picked up the two coolers, walked down the harbor walk, took a right at A.J.’s and trudged up the parking lot to the car. The shadows from the palm trees covering the lot were cool and comforting. The breeze blew the smell of salt air and seafood across from the harbor to Highway 98. Thomas opened the passenger door, put the totes on the floorboard, the two coolers on the back seat, closed the door and locked it. He headed back down the parking lot, across the harbor walk and took a left at the scales. The boat and the shark were both gone. He walked across the hot asphalt of Fisherman’s Wharf’s back parking lot toward the sanctuary of the lower bar. He was hot, spent and happy. His throat was as dry as sandpaper. A beer would not do the trick now. He needed something cold, tropical and wonderful.
Janet was sitting at the bar along with the boss, Danny and a few of the others. The bar was cool, dark and comfortable. Thomas slid onto a barstool. “Whaddaya have?” asked the bartender. “Daiquiri on the rocks,” said Thomas. The bartender nodded, put ice in his shaker, poured in half an ounce of simple sugar and two ounces of Bacardi’s light rum. He then pulled out a container of freshly squeezed lime juice, poured an ounce in the shaker, put the lid on and shook vigorously. Then he pulled a chilled cocktail glass out of a small fridge, poured the concoction into it, put a fresh squeezed lime in the glass and slid it toward Thomas. Thomas had never been able to figure out why most bartenders, especially the ones in Florida, were clueless as to how to make a daiquiri on the rocks. Usually when he asked a bartender to make one, they would stare at him blankly and then point at the frozen daiquiri and margarita machines. This guy was not one of those bartenders. This guy was good. There were small pieces of ice floating in the drink. Thomas took a long sip of the daiquiri and felt the wonderful combination of lime, sugar and rum slide down his throat. It was a warm, cooling feeling that went all the way from his chest to his toes and made him shiver. “Perfect,” he said. “Absolutely perfect. Don’t go anywhere. This one’s not going to last very long.” He took three large gulps and slid the glass back to the bartender. “Hit me again,” said Thomas. The bartender smiled, nodded and filled the shaker with ice again.
As the bartender was mixing Thomas’s second daiquiri, Rusty walked through the doors and up to the bar. “What are you doing here?” asked Thomas. “I figured y’all would be gone at least an hour and a half.” “Damndest thing,” said Rusty. “We were going through the harbor and a shark fisherman pulled up next to us. He wanted the shark, said he was going to sell him to the market. So, we pulled back over to the scale and strung the fish back up. The captain said that the three of them could get him in the shark fisherman’s boat. I shook their hands, said my goodbyes and walked up here.” “Good,” said Thomas, sipping on his drink. “Sit down, I’ll buy you a beverage.” “Bud Light for me,” said Rusty. The bartender reached in the cooler, pulled out a bottle of Bud Light, popped the cap and slid it to Rusty. “Cheers,” said Thomas. “Hell of a day, wasn’t it?” “Yes, it was,” said Rusty.
Just then Bobby walked down the staircase from the upstairs restaurant. “Man, y’all ain’t gonna believe this, but I just went back to our room and all of George’s stuff is gone. His car’s gone. Hal said he saw him walking back up to the hotel.” Hal was one of the pressmen who had made the trip with them. “Then Hal said he came out of his room with his bag, said something about going over to Tallahassee to pick up his wife and kid, got into his car and split.” Thomas and Rusty looked at each other and shook their heads. George was some fisherman.
That evening they all went back to Fisherman’s Wharf for dinner. Some of the group had their catches cooked and served with all the fixings, fries, hushpuppies and cole slaw. Thomas, Rusty, Bobby, Danny and Jerry didn’t have that option. They had only caught one fish. It was big, but it was still only one fish. And it was somewhere on ice by now. Some of the others in the group offered to share with them, but Thomas looked at Rusty and grinned. “I know what I’m having,” he said. “Shark steak.” “Make that two,” Rusty said to the server. Then he looked at the other three and said, “You fellows order whatever you want. Dinner’s on me tonight.” Thomas ordered his steak with a loaded baked potato, tossed salad with ranch dressing and sweetened iced tea. Rusty ordered his with sautéed vegetables and a Caesar salad. Bobby had fried grouper, Danny had a tuna steak and Jerry ordered snapper. The shark filets were tender with a lemon and pepper marinade. “Well, what do you think?” Thomas asked Rusty. “Great,” he said. “I’ve never had it before,” said Thomas. “Have you?” “No,” Rusty replied. “It’s good though. Tastes like chicken.” They both laughed.
Rusty paid for all five of their dinners with the hundred-dollar prize and they all made their way back over to the hotel. Some of the group sat outside the rooms in lounge chairs, having a few drinks and talking about the day’s events. “Man,” said Rusty, “I can hardly lift my arms. My shoulders are killing me.” “What time did y’all hook that shark?” asked the boss. Thomas and Rusty looked at one another. “I don’t know, it was early,” said Rusty. I’d say about eight-thirty.”
“What time did you land him?”
“About twelve.”
“Eight-thirty until twelve. Man, that’s a hell of a fight. Did you pass the rod around?” “We did at first,” said Thomas. “We only had one belt, at least according to the mate. We all agreed it was Rusty’s fish.”
“Were you trying to catch a shark?”
“Yeah, the captain said they’re thick as flies down here right now.”
“Damn,” said Hal. “That’s why we kept catching snappers and pulling up nothing but the heads.” “What did you use for bait?” asked the boss.
“The mate fileted a bonito Tommy caught. We were trolling and he hit pretty quick.”
“Did he fight hard?”
“Not really, we mostly just let him run, then reeled in as much as we could. It was like trying to reel in a Volkswagen.”
“It took us three tries to get him in the boat,” said Danny. “We thought we were going to have to cut him loose.”
“How’d you get him in the boat?”
“Three ropes, seven of us and the old heave-ho. Just like picking up a ream of paper.”
“Seven of you?” “Yeah, five of us, the captain and the mate,” said Rusty.
“So it really was a group effort?” “Yes, sir,” said Thomas, then added, “Well, almost. One of us refused to participate.”
“You mean George? Say, what the hell happened to him?” “He left,” said Bobby.
“Why?”
“That’s something you’ll have to ask him Monday morning.” “Hey, let’s walk over to A.J.’s!” said Bobby. A few chimed in. “We’re going down to Hooters,” said Hal. A few others, including the boss, said they were with Hal. “Come on, guys, go with us,” said Hal to Rusty and Thomas. “Y’all go ahead,” said Rusty. “I’m going to turn in, I’m toast.” “Yeah, me too,” said Thomas. “It’s been a long day.”
Thomas and Rusty laid on the separate twin beds talking for a while. “Boy, this was a hell of a day, wasn’t it?” asked Rusty.
“Best day of fishing I’ve ever had.”
“Sorry about your glasses. And sorry you didn’t get to man the rod more. Thanks for giving it to me.”
“Hell, thank you for bringing him in. For one glorious day, I was Ernest Hemingway.”
Rusty laughed. “I was glad that shark fisherman showed up,” he said. “At least it’ll wind up as steaks, not just caught, strung up, then hauled back out and dumped in the Gulf.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Hey, what did get into George today?”
“I don’t know. You know how he is about reptiles and stuff.”
“Well, if that’s the way he feels, then why the hell does he come deep-sea fishing?”
“That’s what I thought. What’s the difference in catching a yellowtail and catching a shark?”
“Well, he caught that yellowtail on the boss’s boat last year.”
Rusty laughed. “How were we supposed to let the shark go if it was already hooked?” asked Thomas. “I don’t know,” said Rusty. “I felt kind of bad after I yelled at him, but he wouldn’t leave me alone.” “I had no idea,” said Thomas. “I was up top with the captain. “Bobby and Danny heard the whole thing,” said Rusty. “Every five minutes he came to me and started up with, ‘Rusty, don’t you think you should let the shark go?’ ‘Rusty, why don’t you let the shark go?’ ‘Rusty, I really think you ought to let the shark go.” After the third time I lost it with him.”
“Well, he sat on his ass and wouldn’t lift a finger after that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You want me to Photoshop him out of the picture when we get back?”
“Nah, he did catch some cigar minnows, even if the reel was upside down.”
They both had a good laugh. George was some fisherman.
