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Ever since I read “The Old Man and the Sea” as a kid I’ve wondered what it would be like to catch a massive fish. Don Rodrigo the Magnificent may not have been the underwater giant Hemingway describes. But he surely was enormous.
The handline took off like a rocketship. Oftentimes it starts with an aggressive spin and then slowly calms down, but this one was different. My heart started beating the rhythm of a war drum. I put a hand on the spindle to try and slow it down. As I did, I looked up towards the horizon and scanned for signs of a jump.
“This is big,” I told Autumn.
Was I full of shit? Maybe he wasn’t so big and he was just running hard. “I guess we’ll find out,” I thought. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dark break the water.
“I wonder if the big bastard even knows he’s hooked…” I was able to put pressure on him more evenly with the gloves on, and I started to sock it to him. I looked down at the spool. “He must’ve taken at least two hundred yards already,” I reckoned from the dwindling amount remaining.
The boat was pitching around in the swell, and it was tough to keep a solid stance to work him from. After running another 30 yards or so, he broke the surface of the water and I saw something I had never seen before. A bill.
The tension in the line was high, but I managed to get a few feet of it back. He didn’t like that one bit and took off running again. The boat was pitching around in the swell, and it was tough to keep a solid stance to work him from. After running another 30 yards or so, he broke the surface of the water and I saw something I had never seen before. A bill.
“You see that thing?” I yelled at Autumn. “Nope,” she answered as she continued to maneuver the boat. “He’s got a bill on him,” I hollered back to her. She responded with a giggle.
The sweat was starting to build on my brow. I kept fighting him. Perhaps fifteen minutes of this tug of war. He got a wild hair and the line started rising again. He was heading up for a jump. “Maybe he wants to get a peek at us,” I speculated to myself.
“Sheeeeeit!” I yelled, “He’s bigger than I thought!” He was still a little more than 100 yards away and I revised my earlier estimate to 5 feet. I looked at Autumn. We were both wide-eyed. “That might be the only good look we ever get at him,” I reasoned.
She shrugged her shoulders, but gave me a look that instilled confidence. “Better get the gaff out just in case,” I told her. I could feel my hands starting to tire from gripping the handline, but I knew this was no time to take a break. Each wrap brought him closer to the boat. He started swimming sideways, sliding his way around the port side, then the starboard, and then back around to port. Each time he passed a rigging wire, I’d transfer the spool between hands. I was mighty nervous that I might drop it.
I managed to keep the pressure on him. About 45 minutes into the fight I got him to within 50 yards of the boat. I could tell he was starting to tire—slower runs, less vigor. The line started rising to the surface and this time he really took to the air. The spray leaped off him and he cleared the water entirely, with a mighty thrash of his tail and a fearsome shake of his bill.
I had heard a few weeks before of a marlin that had stabbed a hole in the hull of a boat with his bill. “I better be damn careful,” I thought to myself.
There was no mistaking that he was a monster. I could see his body, a dark purplish blue back and shining silver sides. “How are we going to land this thing?” Autumn asked, “Is it dangerous to get him on the boat?”
I knew it would be really difficult to try and land him into the cockpit, so I slowly worked him around to the side of the boat. He was exhausted. It was finally clear just how massive he was. He easily took up a third of the length of the 30’ boat.
He gave a few final thrashes beside the boat and I called to Autumn for the gaff. My hands were trembling with adrenaline. He looked up at me with his big dark eyes and gave me a look of obstinance. He knew he was defeated. His body came around broadside and I gingerly slipped the gaff into the meat of his big back. He didn’t make any sign of noticing. With a grunt and yank, I managed to hoist him up onto the foredeck of the Rascal.
I stepped back for a moment. I couldn’t believe how enormous he was. Truly an incredible, downright gorgeous beast. His body caught the sunlight and violet spots glimmered. Bright blue accents on his fins. His massive dorsal sail was extended, seawater splashing from it.
People pay thousands of dollars to sport fish, I thought. I managed to land this beautiful sailfish—with a 5 dollar handline and a .69 cent rubber squid—from the deck of my home.
After such a valiant fight, I felt that he deserved to return to the sea. I bent down to remove the hook. I half-hoisted, half-bear hugged his hundred pound, nine foot body up for the camera. Then, I lowered him back down on the deck, gave him a pat on the tail, and slid him back into the sea that was his home.
I sat down on the front hatch, in shock. People pay thousands of dollars to sport fish, I thought. I managed to land this beautiful sailfish—with a 5 dollar handline and a .69 cent rubber squid—from the deck of my home.
I read “The Old Man and the Sea” when I was a kid. Ever since, I’ve wondered what it would be like to catch a massive fish. Don Rodrigo the Magnificent may not have been the underwater giant Hemingway describes. But he surely was enormous.
And every bit as beautiful.
The handline took off like a rocketship. Oftentimes it starts with an aggressive spin and then slowly calms down, but this one was different. My heart started beating the rhythm of a war drum. I put a hand on the spindle to try and slow it down. As I did, I looked up towards the horizon and scanned for signs of a jump.
“This is big,” I told Autumn.
Was I full of shit? Maybe he wasn’t so big and he was just running hard. “I guess we’ll find out,” I thought. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dark break the water.
“I wonder if the big bastard even knows he’s hooked…” I was able to put pressure on him more evenly with the gloves on, and I started to sock it to him. I looked down at the spool. “He must’ve taken at least two hundred yards already,” I reckoned from the dwindling amount remaining.
The boat was pitching around in the swell, and it was tough to keep a solid stance to work him from. After running another 30 yards or so, he broke the surface of the water and I saw something I had never seen before. A bill.
The tension in the line was high, but I managed to get a few feet of it back. He didn’t like that one bit and took off running again. The boat was pitching around in the swell, and it was tough to keep a solid stance to work him from. After running another 30 yards or so, he broke the surface of the water and I saw something I had never seen before. A bill.
“You see that thing?” I yelled at Autumn. “Nope,” she answered as she continued to maneuver the boat. “He’s got a bill on him,” I hollered back to her. She responded with a giggle.
The sweat was starting to build on my brow. I kept fighting him. Perhaps fifteen minutes of this tug of war. He got a wild hair and the line started rising again. He was heading up for a jump. “Maybe he wants to get a peek at us,” I speculated to myself.
“Sheeeeeit!” I yelled, “He’s bigger than I thought!” He was still a little more than 100 yards away and I revised my earlier estimate to 5 feet. I looked at Autumn. We were both wide-eyed. “That might be the only good look we ever get at him,” I reasoned.
She shrugged her shoulders, but gave me a look that instilled confidence. “Better get the gaff out just in case,” I told her. I could feel my hands starting to tire from gripping the handline, but I knew this was no time to take a break. Each wrap brought him closer to the boat. He started swimming sideways, sliding his way around the port side, then the starboard, and then back around to port. Each time he passed a rigging wire, I’d transfer the spool between hands. I was mighty nervous that I might drop it.
I managed to keep the pressure on him. About 45 minutes into the fight I got him to within 50 yards of the boat. I could tell he was starting to tire—slower runs, less vigor. The line started rising to the surface and this time he really took to the air. The spray leaped off him and he cleared the water entirely, with a mighty thrash of his tail and a fearsome shake of his bill.
I had heard a few weeks before of a marlin that had stabbed a hole in the hull of a boat with his bill. “I better be damn careful,” I thought to myself.
There was no mistaking that he was a monster. I could see his body, a dark purplish blue back and shining silver sides. “How are we going to land this thing?” Autumn asked, “Is it dangerous to get him on the boat?”
I knew it would be really difficult to try and land him into the cockpit, so I slowly worked him around to the side of the boat. He was exhausted. It was finally clear just how massive he was. He easily took up a third of the length of the 30’ boat.
He gave a few final thrashes beside the boat and I called to Autumn for the gaff. My hands were trembling with adrenaline. He looked up at me with his big dark eyes and gave me a look of obstinance. He knew he was defeated. His body came around broadside and I gingerly slipped the gaff into the meat of his big back. He didn’t make any sign of noticing. With a grunt and yank, I managed to hoist him up onto the foredeck of the Rascal.
I stepped back for a moment. I couldn’t believe how enormous he was. Truly an incredible, downright gorgeous beast. His body caught the sunlight and violet spots glimmered. Bright blue accents on his fins. His massive dorsal sail was extended, seawater splashing from it.
People pay thousands of dollars to sport fish, I thought. I managed to land this beautiful sailfish—with a 5 dollar handline and a .69 cent rubber squid—from the deck of my home.
After such a valiant fight, I felt that he deserved to return to the sea. I bent down to remove the hook. I half-hoisted, half-bear hugged his hundred pound, nine foot body up for the camera. Then, I lowered him back down on the deck, gave him a pat on the tail, and slid him back into the sea that was his home.
I sat down on the front hatch, in shock. People pay thousands of dollars to sport fish, I thought. I managed to land this beautiful sailfish—with a 5 dollar handline and a .69 cent rubber squid—from the deck of my home.
I read “The Old Man and the Sea” when I was a kid. Ever since, I’ve wondered what it would be like to catch a massive fish. Don Rodrigo the Magnificent may not have been the underwater giant Hemingway describes. But he surely was enormous.
And every bit as beautiful.
Dwyer Haney
“Grabbing life by the horns and tickling it behind the ear.”
Before and during his time studying engineering, Dwyer built skis in his garage, tinkering and learning the process. Soon after he landed an outdoor-lover’s dream job – working with Black Diamond Equipment. He put his head down and got to work. The next thing he knew, he was building a ski manufacturing facility from scratch, in China, for Black Diamond. After leading a team of engineers to reach mass production, he returned home, satisfied with his work, but with wanderlust in his heart.
The book, Across Island and Oceans by James Baldwin—a book about a youngish guy who quits his job, sells his stuff and sails away—became a companion on his flights halfway across the world. He took the book as a beacon, a call to arms.
Then, in his mid twenties, he bought a 30-foot sailboat. He learned to sail it in the San Juan islands – west of Bellingham, Washington. Then, with the goal of skiing directly from his boat, he navigated it more than 12,000 nautical miles down the west coast of the Americas—to Chilean Patagonia. A good bit of adventure ensued along the way – from hurricanes to volcanic eruptions and more than a bit of ice-breaking.
In the time since his voyage, Dwyer has focused on building a homestead in the hills of Vermont. He and his wife live in a 500sf timber frame with their dog Spruce. They’ve planted several hundred fruit and nut trees and are looking forward to growing their family, surrounded by an abundant food forest.
Dwyer Haney
“Grabbing life by the horns and tickling it behind the ear.”
Before and during his time studying engineering, Dwyer built skis in his garage, tinkering and learning the process. Soon after he landed an outdoor-lover’s dream job – working with Black Diamond Equipment. He put his head down and got to work. The next thing he knew, he was building a ski manufacturing facility from scratch, in China, for Black Diamond. After leading a team of engineers to reach mass production, he returned home, satisfied with his work, but with wanderlust in his heart.
The book, Across Island and Oceans by James Baldwin—a book about a youngish guy who quits his job, sells his stuff and sails away—became a companion on his flights halfway across the world. He took the book as a beacon, a call to arms.
Then, in his mid twenties, he bought a 30-foot sailboat. He learned to sail it in the San Juan islands – west of Bellingham, Washington. Then, with the goal of skiing directly from his boat, he navigated it more than 12,000 nautical miles down the west coast of the Americas—to Chilean Patagonia. A good bit of adventure ensued along the way – from hurricanes to volcanic eruptions and more than a bit of ice-breaking.
In the time since his voyage, Dwyer has focused on building a homestead in the hills of Vermont. He and his wife live in a 500sf timber frame with their dog Spruce. They’ve planted several hundred fruit and nut trees and are looking forward to growing their family, surrounded by an abundant food forest.
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Park City, Utah 84098