BIMINI TWIST
Gaffer had a lot of rigging work to do to get ready for this day. It usually fell upon him to get the boat to the fishing site. He loved to drive and Max would usually sit along side him on the leaning post or take a position on the jump seat in front of the center console. This day Gaffer overslept and nothing was ready in the cockpit. So Max guided Bimini Twist out of its slip and headed out of the harbor. Gaffer dug into the cooler for a couple of boxes of frozen chum. This was going to be a day for bottom fishing.

“You don't have to be in any hurry, Gaff. We're going to run for about a half hour or maybe a little longer. All we need is those boxes of chum and the live bait, unless you want to cut some strips of squid.”

“Are we running all the way to Riding Rocks without stopping?”

“That's what I had in mind. Any problem with that? I told Cameron that we would be down there bright and early to begin surveillance. He's got some setting up to do before he starts riding with us. He wants us to take note of any boats we see, record their names and descriptions.”

“Well,” said Gaffer, “I was thinking that we might put out some wahoo rigs and fast troll from Bimini all the way down. I would love to have the Anchorage or Red Lion cook up some wahoo for us tonight. I doubt we'll see Rooster. I think he's more of a night person. I've never seen him around here before two in the afternoon except that one time at Capt. Bob's.”

“I'm supposed to be on watch starting early in the morning but I think you're right. I was going to slip behind Gun Cay and head out through the cut but I think I'll just go out front instead. Go ahead and get your marlin or wahoo rigs ready. Either one, I don't care. I wouldn't mind having a little tussle with a nice 500 pound blue this morning.”

“Keep dreaming,” said P.J.

“We'll land one some day,” said Gaffer. “We came close on the way over here. If you're really serious about catching a marlin, you have to set up a specific way. It's not unusual for it to take five days of trolling to raise a marlin and that no way means you'll hook it. And if you do hook it, it doesn't mean you'll get it close enough to tag it, as we all know. I'd rather troll for dolphin or wahoo. We know how to catch them every time if they're here. The same rigging we set out for wahoo is very capable of snagging a marlin. It can also catch dolphin, sailfish, kingfish and barracuda.”

“That works for me. Fast trolling will get us to Riding Rocks soon enough. Remember to tighten those outrigger clips. Send the middle line back and send one deep. Four lines, max. Keep the middle line way back.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Gaffer. “I think I forgot my wahoo bag. We either have to go back or troll ballyhoo for dolphin.”

“You did forget your wahoo bag,” said P.J. “I watched you walk out without it. So I picked it up. It's in the forward port storage compartment. What would you do without me?”

“Thanks, P.J., I owe you one,” said Gaffer. “Now we can do some serious fishing. We have to make up for the mess we made yesterday.”

Gaffer retrieved his wahoo bag, placed it on the leaning post, unzipped it and looked inside. These were some of his favorite toys. And they were proving to be the best kept wahoo secret in all of the Southern Atlantic and Caribbean Sea. A fisherman in the right place at the right tide could easily catch 400 pounds of wahoo in a half day. Gaffer reached into the bag and selected four colorful lures, one red, a black one, a blue one and a purple. He laid these out on the top of the ice chest and turned to see which rods and reels were available. From four gold rod holders on the back edge of the T-top, he selected two Penn International 50's and two International 30's. He brought these down into the cockpit and placed one of them in each of the rodholders lining the gunwale.

“Dad, can I troll with the LP?”

“I don't care. It's not very sporting but you can if you like. It makes no difference to me.”

By the time Max had gotten the boat out to the dropoff, Gaffer was rigged and ready to go.

“We're there. Start sending out the lines. Farthest one first. How many are going deep?”

“I'm putting a two pound cigar weight down on the LP and a one pounder on one of the 50's.”

“I get it,” said Max. “Nothing but very wide turns.”

“Very wide turns,” said Gaffer. “Or none at all.”

As Max steered the boat in a generally southern direction, Gaffer started letting out his lines. P.J. took his place in the bow and lay down on the cushions. “I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night. If you don't need me, I'm going to go back to sleep. Try to keep it quiet.”

“Gaffer! Watch out back there. Those lines are too close. There's only enough room for three, not four. Keep the riggers out and bring in the shotgun rig.”

“It's OK. I'm watching them. They're OK for now.”

And things were OK. In fact they were perfect. Bimini Twist was plying the clear blue Bahamas water at fifteen knots. The wind was light and the bright orange sun was well above the horizon. P.J. was resting comfortably and Gaffer had never been happier. This promised to be a perfect Bimini day.

“Dad! Watch out!” Max had been day dreaming about this lovely scene and was paying no attention to his driving. The boat was tending toward the right but not seriously off course. Max took the wheel and gently steered back to his intended course. He looked back and saw that the lines were fine and Gaffer's panic had subsided. “Why don't you come and sit down? You've got it under control back there. You want something to eat or drink?”

“I'm going to get a coke. You want something?”

“I'll take a bottle of water,” said Max.

The father and son team sat wordlessly on the leaning post, sipping their drinks and daydreaming. Both knew that if they ever in their lives wanted to think pleasant thoughts, those thoughts would be about a time just like this. A peaceful ride offshore Bimini, dragging lines and waiting for something to happen. P.J. was asleep up front and none of life's worries could shake their reverie. This was peace and joy itself.

“Let's play some Marley,” suggested Gaffer.

“That would be perfect. Not too loud though, P.J. is trying to sleep. The CD's are up front. Bring the whole case back here.”

No sooner had Gaffer walked around the console to get the CD case than he heard his father call out in an excited voice, “Fish on! Fish on!”

Gaffer ran around the console and into the pit area. The International 50 off the starboard outrigger was bent in a deep arc and shaking wildly. Line was screaming off the reel so fast that Gaffer thought he would loose it all within a minute. “I'm going to pull back a little. Are you ready?”

“I'm ready. Are you coming back here?”

“Of course. Get ready, here we go.”

The commotion woke P.J. He got up and came to the helm. Max eased the throttles back until his speed came to six knots. He moved around the leaning post and took up the rod with the planer on it. He called back, “P.J., hold the wheel and keep us going straight.”

“I'm on it.”

“Gaffer, don't touch that rod. Let him run. Let's get these lines cleared before we start fighting him. Did you see him? Do you know what it is?”

Max had his hand on the switch of the electric reel and Gaffer had the other rod in his hands. Gaffer reeled as fast as he could, while Max just sat on the gunwale with his right hand on the switch as he level wound with his left. Max got his line reeled in first and walked over to the remaining outrigger. With a swift jerk he had the line out of the clip and was clearing the third line. “That guy has not slowed down a bit. Are you ready to start fighting? Give me a second. Don't pick up the rod yet. Let me get around to the wheel before you pick it up.”

Fifteen seconds later all the lines were clear and the boat was at a standstill. As soon as they stopped, the fish quit running. This was a little strange. “I don't know what we have here,” said Gaffer. “It ran like a wahoo and then just stopped. It's heavy. I'm reeling with all my might but it's beating me. What do you think?”

“I think you'd better keep the pressure on. We'll know soon enough. Does that lure have a wire?”

“Yeah, it's wired,” said Gaffer as he reeled and fought like he had never fought before. Lift the rod tip, reel down. Do it again and lose fifteen yards. This went on for several minutes and perspiration was streaming from Gaffer's face.

“He's still running. Do you want me to back down?”

“Yeah, back down,” said Gaffer. “He's running again. I can't reel against him and I don't want to have to reel in a thousand yards of line. Whatever this thing is, it's stronger than me! Back down hard.”

Max jammed the throttles into reverse and revved to 2,000 RPMs. The boat backed down violently and saltwater sprayed over the transom, soaking everything. Through it all Gaffer reeled. Whatever this was, it was big and it was strong. And it was running like mad.

“Dad, can we back down any faster?” Gaffer yelled.

“Only if you don't mind sinking. If I back down any harder, we'll get swamped. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I'm good. I think I might be gaining on him. He turned this way, so you can let off the gas. In fact, just go to neutral. It's getting a little better.”

Thirty five minutes passed and Gaffer was still pumping. By now, for every twenty yards reeled in, he was losing only five. He was definitely catching this fish. It was not showing itself. It just kept swimming and fighting.

“Gaffer, I believe this is one of your best fights yet. This fish is knocking the hell out of you. What do you think it is?”

“Maybe a marlin. But they usually jump and this fish is staying down. I don't know.”

Five more minutes passed and things by now were going Gaffer's way. “Dad, I think I've got this guy. He turned in and is coming toward us. Can you see anything yet?”

Max leaned far over the side and looked deep into the clear, blue water. “Nothing yet. Keep working. You want some help?”

“Don't even think about touching that rod. He's not far off now. Look again.”

Max looked. Nothing. “Keep reeling, son. I'll bet you've got dinner for a year at the end of that line.”

P.J. chimed in, “Would anybody mind if I go back to sleep. You can call me if anything happens.”

“Stick around, P.J.,” Max said. “I believe we've got some weight on the line. We might need some help bringing it in. The bend in the rod and the fight this thing is giving tells me it could take some muscle to bring it on board.”

“Of course you're kidding!” said P.J.

“You want to fight this thing and see who's kidding?” grunted Gaffer. “I'm telling you this is the biggest fish I have ever hooked. Maybe it's a 600 pound tuna. It hasn't jumped and it's strong!”

“How much more?” asked Max.

“I just passed a blood knot. There's still 100 yards out there. My arm is going to fall off.”

“I'll reel for a while if you want,” offered P.J.

“Don't touch that line.”

“Listen, I'm just offering to help. I'm going to lay down. Call me if you need some help boating your monster.”

For another fifteen minutes Gaffer pumped and reeled. Progress was slow but it did eventually come. Ten feet in front of the shock leader, which was itself thirty feet long, Gaffer saw hope. “Dad, this fish is only forty feet away. I can see the leader.”

As Max got up to look over the side the reel screamed and the line went out without resistance. For ten seconds the line ripped off the reel. Again Gaffer's catch was 100 yards away.

“Dad, I'm ready to give this thing to you. You want it?”

“Not only do I not want it, I want you to finish this fight. You'll be sorry if you give up now. Do you really want to quit?”

“No, I don't want to quit. It's just that it's been more than a half-hour and my arms and back are killing me.”

Max moved over to where Gaffer was standing. He began massaging his shoulders and back. “Let's see if I can help get some blood flowing into your aching areas. It will help get you the extra strength to finish this fight. I really want you to have this one all to yourself.” He pulled open the seat of the leaning post and grabbed a towel. He then reached over to the console and switched on the fresh water wash down switch. Pointing the nozzle at Gaffer he let go with a burst of fresh water.

“Here you go, Gaff. That should wake you up.”

“Give me some more. Spray my head real good and soak down the rest of me. Thanks, that feels good.”

Max picked up the towel and rubbed Gaffer's head and face. “That should make you feel better for a while.”

“It's great, thanks. But I still need to either get this guy in or get some help. Back us down some.”

“Good idea,” said Max, as he walked around the leaning post and shifted into reverse. “Fast or slow? You call it.”

“Just fast enough so I can take in some of this line. Take it easy, I think he's tiring too and I don't want to kill him if it's a marlin.”

At 1,000 RPMs in reverse, the boat began gaining on the line. Gaffer reeled feverishly to keep ahead. “Slower, Dad. You're going too fast and I can't keep ahead of the boat.”

“No problem, I know what to do.” Max put the engines back into neutral and the boat drifted to a stop. He then put the throttles back into reverse and then back to neutral again. “How's that?”

“Good. Keep doing that. We'll be on this thing in no time. I'm down to about forty or fifty yards and it's easy.”

Max repeated the maneuver again and then once again. “How's it going?”

“The swivel is at the tip and he is not fighting very much. I think I beat him.”

Gaffer placed the butt in the rod holder and began leadering the line. Max leaned over to see what he could. A dark shadow passed beneath where they were standing... a very large dark shadow.

“Gaffer! Let that thing go. Let go of the leader. It's wrapped around your hand the wrong way and we're not going to catch it anyhow. Do you see it? P.J. come look at this. You've never seen anything like it. I've never seen anything like it! Gaffer, let go! Unwrap the line from your hand. Do you see what is happening?”

“I can't. My arm is caught and I can't move it. What is it?”

“It's that tiger shark. It's huge, at least fourteen feet. Get rid of him. Let him go. Fast!” Max ran around Gaffer to get a hold on the line. He leaned out over the gunwale and grabbed a handful of 500 pound leader line. He yanked with all of this might but the line just slipped through his fingers. Gaffer was half way out of the boat and struggling to get his arm free.

“Help, Dad! Help! I'm stuck. The line is twisted around my arm. He's going to take me over. Help!”

P. J. collected his wits and ran to the console to look for a tool. As he looked around in a panic, he caught a glimpse of Gaffer going over the side and heard the splash. The giant fish made a move toward the bottom with Gaffer's arm still tangled in the rigging. P.J.'s eye fell upon the two bait knives in their holder on the starboard side of the console. He did not think, he just acted. In a fraction of a second he had a knife in his right hand and threw himself over the side. Max could think of no reason to stop him. Gaffer was still in sight, no more than seven feet below the surface. Max picked up the rod and prepared himself to do something. He did not know what, but something. Time was getting away and he had no way of knowing if Gaffer had grabbed some air before he went over. If he had and if he did not panic, he could stay down for two minutes. In a stressful situation like this, that time would be cut in half.

He had to think fast. He had to try to get Gaffer as close to the surface as possible so P.J. could get under him and cut the line between Gaffer and the shark. He had to hope P.J. would not cut the line between Gaffer and the reel. If he did that, the shark might be able to take Gaffer away. P.J. surfaced and spun around to see his father.

“P.J., I'm going to try to reel this in. Stay near, I want you to try to cut the line between Gaffer and the fish. Do you understand?”

P.J. raised his hand in a sign of understanding. He caught a few quick breaths of air while treading at the surface of the water.

“A few seconds more, P.J.” Max pumped with all his might and reeled in what he could. He only gained about two feet of line before he had to pump again. He repeated this maneuver twice. Precious time was being lost. Something had to happen soon. And it did. A small ray of hope in a moment of desperation. The monster fish had seen P.J. and decided to check him out. He moved toward the surface and brought Gaffer with him. “P.J.! The shark is headed right for you. Give me your hand. I'll get you out of there.”

“Not without Gaffer,” he yelled. “Where's the shark right now and where is Gaffer?”

“The shark is about five feet below you and Gaffer is about eight more feet behind him!”

With that P.J. took in a giant breath of air and disappeared below the surface. The shark's position was such that it would have to look back and up to see P.J. This put P.J. into the shark's blind spot. But P.J. was also blind. He tried to open his eyes to see what he was doing, but the salt water stung badly and all he could make out was a blur. He descended straight toward the bottom until he felt the great animal below his feet. He tried to get an arm around the shark so he could cut it with his knife but the shark would have no part of that. The animal jerked and bucked and began thrashing about. P.J. was thrown aside. A very tight line slid under P.J.'s left arm and he knew immediately what he had to do. With the knife in his right hand he reached across his body and cut through the monofilament leader. The tightness immediately went out of the line.

Hoping, but not knowing for certain, that he might have cut his brother loose, his next concern was to get out of the water before the shark came after him. He kicked to the surface while the shark moved away. When his head broke the surface he gasped for air. This whole fight took only twenty seconds or less, but he was out of air and exhausted. He looked around and saw that he was fifteen yards from the boat. He began swimming. To his great relief Gaffer shot through the surface only five feet away. Both boys were gasping and sucking in air, but this did not stop them from swimming for their lives. Gaffer was the faster swimmer but he held back so that P.J. would not be left in any greater danger from the predator than he was himself.

Max slammed the boat into gear and headed over to pick them up. Without realizing it, he had been holding his breath, too. He was winded and dizzy. As he approached the boys an awful site came into view. The shark was not done with them yet. Its dorsal fin was cutting through the water, heading their way from a distance of only about forty yards. Max jammed on the throttles and placed the boat between the boys and the shark. But the shark simply slipped under the boat and placed itself between the boat and the struggling boys. Max threw the controls into reverse and aimed the stern of the boat at the huge animal.

This sudden move and all the commotion it caused, made the shark veer off its track. Quickly, Max grabbed the second fillet knife. The boys were still twenty feet away. The great fish was midway between the boat and the boys, so Max backed down a little further. He continued chasing the shark and revving the engines to make as much noise as possible. He considered jumping over the side to try and stick the shark with his knife but he could not get close enough. He decided to jump in anyway. He felt that he could protect his sons better if he was down there with them. He quickly shifted into neutral and threw himself overboard. He felt the side of the shark and attempted to slash it one time with his small useless knife. His hand felt the rough skin of the great shark but the knife fell harmlessly away. With a great deal of thrashing and a huge spray of water, the tiger shark sped off.

Bruised and bleeding, Max climbed up the dive ladder and reached over the side to lift Gaffer and P.J. into the boat. Highly emotional and completely exhausted, the brothers fell onto the floor of the boat to rest and catch their breath.

“P.J., I owe you my life,” said Gaffer. “You too, Dad. That was incredible. You risked your lives for me. That was a close call. What an experience! What a fish!”

“Buy me a cigar and we'll call it even,” said P.J. in his best wise-guy attitude.

“You guys are so incredible. You're both heroes. I'm so proud of you. P.J., you were so brave. What you did was heroic. You saved Gaffer's life today. What an amazing thing!”

As if it were all too overwhelming to even discuss, the threesome then silently got busy cleaning up the mess that was lying around from the great fight. Rods, reels and tackle were strewn about and there was hardly any place to step. Wordlessly they tidied up the area until their racing hearts returned to normal.

Max set the first aid kit on the leaning post and examined each of the boys' cuts and bruises. P.J. had skinned a shin from going over the side. It also looked like he would soon have a good sized shiner. Gaffer had a laceration where the leader line had been wrapped around his arm. It was not a deep cut and would not need stitches. There was a three inch cut on his shoulder that looked like it may have come from P.J.'s wild slashing frenzy. But that, too, would need nothing more than a little antiseptic and perhaps a small bandage.

“Let me dress these wounds. Anybody have any broken bones or internal pain? Anybody need an ice pack?”

“I'm cool,” said P.J.

“Me, too,” agreed Gaffer.

“You guys had enough fishing for today?”

Both boys agreed that this was about all the excitement they could stand for this day. Gaffer said, “Dad, let's go over to Honeymoon Harbor for the rest of the morning. I saw some real babes over there the other day.”

P.J. agreed, “I'm for that. Let's go.”

Max spent the next ten minutes dressing wounds, his and the boys. He applied antiseptic to the cuts and scrapes and made an ice pack for P.J.'s eye.

“Gaffer, take the wheel. We're going to Honeymoon Harbor! P.J., go hang with Gaffer.”

The two boys stood at the helm while Max sat on the jump seat facing away. The boys were excitedly talking about their great adventure. Max gazed back and saw that, with the exception of a few cuts and bruises, his boys were alive and well. He turned back around and choked back tears of relief and joy.

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