Back in college I got into shore fishing. I would keep a rod and reel with some tackle in the trunk of my 79' Datsun 210 just in case there was a break between classes so I could go to the pier and throw my line in for a bit... Now mind you that I cast a line in and pulled it back to shore, but rarely was there anything on the end of that line (in the way of aquatic life that is) I tried fishing next to great fishermen, following their every move, used the same bait, cast in the same area and yet that trophy fish remained elusive. For that matter so did most of the little ones ...
Now I was not after bass or trout, this was ocean fishing. The kind where you attach 8oz of lead to the end of some 40lb test line and spend more in bait and lead than you would if you were to have bought a nice fish steak at the lsm (local super market). Ocassionaly I would have some small sucess bringing in some weke oama (goatfish - about 8inches long) I loved fishing for goatfish because the state catch limit was (and still is as far as I know) 100 per day - I was determined to fill my quota . . . or at least get 3 (enough to fry up for dinner). I figure with such a large bag limit there must be lots for me to attempt to catch. If there were I rarely found them, but had fun trying.
When I wanted a bit of excitement my brother and I would go down to Honolulu harbor, just before sunset (Hawaii doesn't really have a "twilight" it's just day, then night 15 minutes later). We would take out the biggest tankichi hook in our arsenal, place a whole squid on it or some bloody aku belly and then throw it as far out into the harbor as we could, allowing it to sink to the bottom. Then we would wait for the little brass bell hung on our pole to alert us to the prize we had waiting on the end of our line. It was here that local fishermen would go to catch hammerhead sharks, mostly little ones less that 3 ft. long. Or for those who wanted a true fight on their hands the occassional ray. What was caught was always released back into the harbor again, it was just the excitement of the catch which we were after, the strain on our arms and the endless waiting as we watched the other fishermen around us catch fish after fish till their muscles ached and they would pack up and go back home to rest for the night. It was actually quite uncommon for us to even get a nibble on our line, but we still enjoyed the time we spent on the beach talking about that giant Ulua (trevally jack) that we'd catch one day, as we sat and watched the fishermen on our left and right bring in fish after fish... This was the normal pattern for our fishing when we went together.
Then in late august I remember our parents decided to have a picnic down by a grassy park on the edge of the harbor near the Aloha tower (This was before the Aloha market place had been built). My brother and I eagerly packed our gear into their minivan as I felt certain this would be the night we made our big catch.
As my mother laid out the blanket on the grass, my brother and I set up our pole. we took a baloon and tied a small hook right next to it on the end of our line, then gently tossed it and the bait into the water where we watched the wind slowly carry our line out away from the pier. Once it was about 50 yards away a quick snap on the rod and the hook popped the baloon allowing the lead to sink into the soft muddy boddom of the harbor anchoring our line securely. We put the little brass bell on the pole with the full expectation that it would begin ringing away immediately. . . and we waited. . . started eating dinner. . . did you hear the bell? no . . . just the wind . . . a young boy came along and put his line out about 25 yards down from us . . . he also watched and waited.
Soon dinner was done, there had been no ringing of the bell even to indicate fish were interested in the bait we were offering them. So we decided to pull in the line and head home. My parents had packed up their van and were about to leave when we heard it - it was the bell, our bell - ringing away it's merry little song of joy - for we had a fish on the line. And by the way the line was bouncing up and down it appeared to be a big one. I quickly pulled the pole out of the rocks we had wedged it in between and pulled hard to set the hook while at the same time breaking the light leader line attached to the lead weight so that I could reel in our trophy. I reeled it in until I could see the first swivel just below the surface of the water, which meant about 6 feet of line remained until our prize was within our grasp. Then all of a sudden the beast took off, line went racing off the reel. I increased the tension on the reel and began to slowly reel the fish back in again. We had already begun to speculate on what we had caught, perhaps a hammerhead as they were frequent catches in the water. My brother ran to get the pliers so we could release it once we saw how big it was and were able to claim the victory over it. I once again had reeled it in close enough to see the swivel just below the surface...almost there when.... the line went screaming off the reel once more.
As my brother and I worked to bring in this fish a small crowd began to gather watching to see how big this monster of a fish was. The excitement grew when another crowd began to form down the beach by that young boy's pole as he also started fighting a decent sized fish on his line.
We reeled it in a third time, about halfway in one of the local guys looking on put on some gloves and began to pull the line in by hand. All of a sudden he let go as the line once more raced out into the harbor again. We were determined to bring this fish onto land and win the battle now, it had become a community effort. four of us took hold of the line and began walking toward the parking area, pulling the fish closer to land with each step. Then it pulled so hard that it began to draw us toward the water. This see-saw action continued for some 45 minutes as we would walk up the beach pulling our catch in, then in turn be pulled back toward the water. Another hand would be offered and more of us would pull on the line - it was truly amazing that the line did not break (I believe we were using 40lb test that day) As we continued our battle the group next to us had grown in equal proportions - there were several people hand lining in their fish just as we were doing with ours - to think that a fish could put up that much fight amazed us all. Our hopes grew, as did the fear that the line would be stressed beyond it's breaking point and our prize be lost.
As we pulled the line up the beach I noticed the group next to us - amazing I thought - they are fighting one just as big as we are . People had begun cheering for them and the crowd which had gathered by us slowly migrated over to them except for the 4 of us who had our hands on the line and continued the fight to bring the fish onto the shore and win this seemingly endless battle. As we neared the 45 minute mark I began to curiously watch the other group. We would walk up the shore, while they would walk down, then they would pull hard and we would start walking toward the water. No I thought to myself, that's ridiculous, we are nearly 25 yards away from each other, our lines both went straight out - and we could almost see our leader line again -back out it went once more and I watched the other group back up toward the parking lot as we were pulled toward the water. We were all becomeing quite exhausted.
As we pulled it up the last time I looked and could see the swivel once more that was attached to our steel leader. I looked at the other men pulling with us. 2 big Samoan guys along with my brother and me "I'm going to try something" I commented. As the swivel left the water I let them hold the line while I took my cutters down to the water - "Why do you want to let it go? We can bring it in..." One of the guys said. "Watch the group down the beach" I replied. So as they kept their eyes on the other group I carefully cut the line. Instantly we watched the other group all fall to the ground. We could see the face of the young man who owned the pole drop in saddness (he was only about 12 years old) as everyone down there gathered around to cheer him up. The guys that had stayed to help my brother and I remarked "Eh, you think we should go tell them what heppened?" "no" I said, "Let him think he caught a big fish." And before any of them could come our way to see how our battle was going my brother and I quickly picked up our gear and left the beach. We had lost our biggest catch yet - but the hardests part now was to keep from bursting out in laughter before we got into the van and left for home. That young man had quite the tale to tell when he got home I'm sure, but then again, so did we.
Aloha, Tim
P.S. We never did figure out how our lines got crossed, but somehow they had fooled us and at the same time given us the biggest fish story of our lives.
Now I was not after bass or trout, this was ocean fishing. The kind where you attach 8oz of lead to the end of some 40lb test line and spend more in bait and lead than you would if you were to have bought a nice fish steak at the lsm (local super market). Ocassionaly I would have some small sucess bringing in some weke oama (goatfish - about 8inches long) I loved fishing for goatfish because the state catch limit was (and still is as far as I know) 100 per day - I was determined to fill my quota . . . or at least get 3 (enough to fry up for dinner). I figure with such a large bag limit there must be lots for me to attempt to catch. If there were I rarely found them, but had fun trying.
When I wanted a bit of excitement my brother and I would go down to Honolulu harbor, just before sunset (Hawaii doesn't really have a "twilight" it's just day, then night 15 minutes later). We would take out the biggest tankichi hook in our arsenal, place a whole squid on it or some bloody aku belly and then throw it as far out into the harbor as we could, allowing it to sink to the bottom. Then we would wait for the little brass bell hung on our pole to alert us to the prize we had waiting on the end of our line. It was here that local fishermen would go to catch hammerhead sharks, mostly little ones less that 3 ft. long. Or for those who wanted a true fight on their hands the occassional ray. What was caught was always released back into the harbor again, it was just the excitement of the catch which we were after, the strain on our arms and the endless waiting as we watched the other fishermen around us catch fish after fish till their muscles ached and they would pack up and go back home to rest for the night. It was actually quite uncommon for us to even get a nibble on our line, but we still enjoyed the time we spent on the beach talking about that giant Ulua (trevally jack) that we'd catch one day, as we sat and watched the fishermen on our left and right bring in fish after fish... This was the normal pattern for our fishing when we went together.
Then in late august I remember our parents decided to have a picnic down by a grassy park on the edge of the harbor near the Aloha tower (This was before the Aloha market place had been built). My brother and I eagerly packed our gear into their minivan as I felt certain this would be the night we made our big catch.
As my mother laid out the blanket on the grass, my brother and I set up our pole. we took a baloon and tied a small hook right next to it on the end of our line, then gently tossed it and the bait into the water where we watched the wind slowly carry our line out away from the pier. Once it was about 50 yards away a quick snap on the rod and the hook popped the baloon allowing the lead to sink into the soft muddy boddom of the harbor anchoring our line securely. We put the little brass bell on the pole with the full expectation that it would begin ringing away immediately. . . and we waited. . . started eating dinner. . . did you hear the bell? no . . . just the wind . . . a young boy came along and put his line out about 25 yards down from us . . . he also watched and waited.
Soon dinner was done, there had been no ringing of the bell even to indicate fish were interested in the bait we were offering them. So we decided to pull in the line and head home. My parents had packed up their van and were about to leave when we heard it - it was the bell, our bell - ringing away it's merry little song of joy - for we had a fish on the line. And by the way the line was bouncing up and down it appeared to be a big one. I quickly pulled the pole out of the rocks we had wedged it in between and pulled hard to set the hook while at the same time breaking the light leader line attached to the lead weight so that I could reel in our trophy. I reeled it in until I could see the first swivel just below the surface of the water, which meant about 6 feet of line remained until our prize was within our grasp. Then all of a sudden the beast took off, line went racing off the reel. I increased the tension on the reel and began to slowly reel the fish back in again. We had already begun to speculate on what we had caught, perhaps a hammerhead as they were frequent catches in the water. My brother ran to get the pliers so we could release it once we saw how big it was and were able to claim the victory over it. I once again had reeled it in close enough to see the swivel just below the surface...almost there when.... the line went screaming off the reel once more.
As my brother and I worked to bring in this fish a small crowd began to gather watching to see how big this monster of a fish was. The excitement grew when another crowd began to form down the beach by that young boy's pole as he also started fighting a decent sized fish on his line.
We reeled it in a third time, about halfway in one of the local guys looking on put on some gloves and began to pull the line in by hand. All of a sudden he let go as the line once more raced out into the harbor again. We were determined to bring this fish onto land and win the battle now, it had become a community effort. four of us took hold of the line and began walking toward the parking area, pulling the fish closer to land with each step. Then it pulled so hard that it began to draw us toward the water. This see-saw action continued for some 45 minutes as we would walk up the beach pulling our catch in, then in turn be pulled back toward the water. Another hand would be offered and more of us would pull on the line - it was truly amazing that the line did not break (I believe we were using 40lb test that day) As we continued our battle the group next to us had grown in equal proportions - there were several people hand lining in their fish just as we were doing with ours - to think that a fish could put up that much fight amazed us all. Our hopes grew, as did the fear that the line would be stressed beyond it's breaking point and our prize be lost.
As we pulled the line up the beach I noticed the group next to us - amazing I thought - they are fighting one just as big as we are . People had begun cheering for them and the crowd which had gathered by us slowly migrated over to them except for the 4 of us who had our hands on the line and continued the fight to bring the fish onto the shore and win this seemingly endless battle. As we neared the 45 minute mark I began to curiously watch the other group. We would walk up the shore, while they would walk down, then they would pull hard and we would start walking toward the water. No I thought to myself, that's ridiculous, we are nearly 25 yards away from each other, our lines both went straight out - and we could almost see our leader line again -back out it went once more and I watched the other group back up toward the parking lot as we were pulled toward the water. We were all becomeing quite exhausted.
As we pulled it up the last time I looked and could see the swivel once more that was attached to our steel leader. I looked at the other men pulling with us. 2 big Samoan guys along with my brother and me "I'm going to try something" I commented. As the swivel left the water I let them hold the line while I took my cutters down to the water - "Why do you want to let it go? We can bring it in..." One of the guys said. "Watch the group down the beach" I replied. So as they kept their eyes on the other group I carefully cut the line. Instantly we watched the other group all fall to the ground. We could see the face of the young man who owned the pole drop in saddness (he was only about 12 years old) as everyone down there gathered around to cheer him up. The guys that had stayed to help my brother and I remarked "Eh, you think we should go tell them what heppened?" "no" I said, "Let him think he caught a big fish." And before any of them could come our way to see how our battle was going my brother and I quickly picked up our gear and left the beach. We had lost our biggest catch yet - but the hardests part now was to keep from bursting out in laughter before we got into the van and left for home. That young man had quite the tale to tell when he got home I'm sure, but then again, so did we.
Aloha, Tim
P.S. We never did figure out how our lines got crossed, but somehow they had fooled us and at the same time given us the biggest fish story of our lives.
