As a little kid, if I wasn’t fishing, I would spend all of my free time watching fishing videos on Youtube or finding books about fishing. One day, when I was 8 years old, as I was reading the Guinness Book of World Records, I came across a page titled “Fastest Fish on the Planet.” Before me lay a picture of a long, slender fish, backdropped by vibrant blue water. The black and gold scales of the fish almost shimmered in the image, as a massive sail protruded out of its back. The 3 foot bill coming out its nose seemed to slice through the water, as its long pectoral fins jutted out its side, like the wings of an airplane. I thought to myself, “That is the coolest, sleekest looking animal I have ever seen.” I would come to find out that this, almost mythical looking creature, was called a sailfish and was absolutely dumbfounded when I read that it could reach speeds of 70 miles per hour. I laughed to myself and thought, “No fish could swim that fast.” From that moment on, I became fascinated with sailfish and watched all the videos I could find on the animal. I came across video after video of sailfish leaping from the ocean, their sails waving and flying behind them as they twisted their bodies in an attempt to free the hook. Their acrobatic jumps and hard fights attracted thousands of anglers from all over the world, making it one of the most popular and prized sportfish on the planet. As an 8-year-old kid, I could only dream of catching such a magical fish. I would lie in my bed at night, fantasizing about sitting on a boat with an angry sailfish fighting on the end of my line, jumping and sprinting in the open ocean in front of me.
I was standing on the bleach white deck of a Seavee 370Z, bouncing up and down from the incessant waves that gradually rolled their way onto Miami Beach. The blue sky, splotched with white clouds, shimmered and flickered off the rich blue ocean below as the salty mist sprayed in my face. The Miami skyline sprawled out in front of me while a vast open ocean lay behind me. My friends and I were bobbing up and down on the Gulf Stream, a warm ocean current that runs from the Gulf of Mexico all the way up to Europe. This warm current is full of nutrients, which attracts schools of tiny baitfish, a perfect environment for Atlantic Sailfish. During the winter months, thousands of sailfish flock to the warm Gulf Stream off the Miami coastline, forced to migrate southward by the seasonal cold fronts. With reels spooled up with 20 pound monofilament lines, we were throwing live goggle-eyes on a kite rig, with the hopes of catching a sailfish. A kite rig allowed our live baits to swim at the surface of the water, where their thrashing and frantic swimming emitted vibrations in the water that the sailfish could easily detect. As I bobbed up and down on the boat, marveling at the seemingly perfect view in front of me, I was suddenly interrupted by Billy, the first mate of the boat, shouting “Sailfish! Sailfish!” Adrenaline pumping, I looked up at our baits hanging in the water and saw glimpses of a spear piercing and slashing through the water behind one of the goggle-eyes. All of a sudden, the goggle-eye vanished into the waves and Billy handed me the rod. I frantically started reeling. Clutching the rod, I stood there, the saltwater mist showered over me as the line became taut with the power and anger of the sailfish on the other end. At that moment, I had turned back into that little kid in my dream all those years ago. I could only hang onto the rod with all my strength as the fish started peeling the line off the reel in a blistering, screaming run. Eventually, the fish started to slow down and I was able to gain line. I gently began lifting the rod, then lowering it as I reeled up the slack line. I repeated this over and over, desperately trying to winch the fish in closer. In a grueling battle of tug of war, I gradually began gaining line as I inched the fish closer and closer. A silver flash abruptly flickered past the boat in the dark water below, like lightning streaking through the night sky. “Holy crap, I never thought they were that fast!” I shouted to Billy. The fish sprinted to the front of the boat and raced towards the vast ocean ahead, undoing all my hard work. Carefully, I dragged myself to the bow of the boat, the waves tossing me around as I clung onto the rod. The fight had already been harder and more intense than I could ever imagine, but with the addition of the boat bouncing up and down the waves, I started to question if I would tire before the fish did. With my forearms burning, I slowly fought on, managing to bring the fish within eyesight. However, every single time, the fish would be spooked by the boat and in sudden bursts of power, run another 50 yards. Its long spear-shaped bill suddenly pierced the water as it leapt out, twisting its torso and sail, waving it like a flag. As it twisted and turned in the waves, the sunlight would hit the back of the fish at perfect angles, illuminating its scales in an iridescent blue, so bright it was surreal. Again and again, the fish jumped smoothly in and out of the waves in a torrent of rage, trying to throw the tiny hook that was barely hanging onto its mouth. I groaned to Billy, “When is this thing ever gonna tire?” as I turned the reel handle round and round.
After 25 minutes of battling, I finally managed to drag the fish alongside the boat. Billy bent over the gunwale of the boat and grabbed its long pointed bill, as I was finally able to drop the rod in exhaustion. I looked over the side of the boat and saw the most spectacular creature I had ever laid my eyes on. Its dark blue back and silver torso was lined with vertical blue dots that ran along its length. The once silver scales of the fish turned a shimmering bronze under the sunlight, as if somebody dropped gold paint onto it. Almost like magic, the scales of the fish faded between shades of bronze, blue, and silver. Its enormous dark blue sail, laced with black dots opened and folded like a giant fan. As Billy raised the fish for a photo, I ran my hands along the side of the fish, feeling its rough, almost leather-like, skin. It felt like I was touching raw muscle and in that moment, I was able to understand the sheer power that these fish are capable of. I could tell that every aspect of this fish was built for speed and power. Its fins and sails folded seamlessly into a streamlined body, designed to minimize drag as its long forked tail propelled it through the water at blistering speeds. I grabbed its bill, which was smooth on the bottom but otherwise filled with tiny and hard sandpaper-like dots. There was just an aura about that fish that left me in a state of euphoria as I just stared and marveled at it. After a few photos, Billy lowered the head of the fish back into the water and started to revive it. I watched as he dragged the fish alongside the boat, running water through its massive gills. After a couple of minutes, Billy let go of the fish and it gave one last kick, its black silhouette vanishing into the waves below.
On the car ride home that night, I sat in my seat staring at that photo on my phone; the fish leaning against the side of the boat while I lifted its sail and the dark blue waters of the Atlantic in the background. There is not a day that goes by since that warm December day where I don’t look at that photo and recall every moment of that fight. I relive every second, from the moment the fish ate the bait to my last glimpses of it as I watched it disappear into the waves. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can still feel myself bouncing up and down the waves. I can smell the saltwater and hear the sounds of the seagulls squawking above. Even just glancing at that photo every day has gotten me through this tough winter season where I was trapped inside and unable to do what I love. Every time I look at the photo, I slip into an odd state of calm and reflection. I realized that I had lived out a dream that I had fantasized about since I was 8 years old. However, even though I had finally caught a sailfish, the sheer beauty of it and the surreal nature of that experience left me wanting to do it once again, but I guess that is the power of fishing.
