American Angler in Australia (1937) (12 page)

Fifteen minutes later something took hold of my line with a slo
w
irresistible pull. My heart leaped. I could not accept what my eye
s
beheld. My line slowly payed off the reel. I put my gloved hand over th
e
moving spool in the old habit of being ready to prevent an overrun. Stil
l
I did not believe it. But there--the line slipped off slowly, steadily
,
potently. Strike! There was no doubt of that. And I, who had experience
d
ten thousand strikes, shook all over with the possibilities of this one.

Suddenly, sensing the actuality, I called out, "There he goes!"

Peter dubiously looked at my reel--saw the line gliding off.

"Right-o, sir!"

Love's tanned image became radiant. Emil woke up and began to stutter.

"It's a fine strike," yelled Love, leaping up. "Starts like a tiger!"

He ran forward to heave up the anchor. Peter directed Emil to follow an
d
help him. Then I heard the crack of the electric starter and the sound o
f
the engine.

"Let him have it!" advised Peter, hopefully. "It was a long wait
,
sir..
. M
aybe..."

"Swell strike, Pete," I replied. "Never had one just like it. He ha
s
taken two hundred yards already. It feels under my fingers just as if yo
u
had your hand on my coat sleeve and were drawing me slowly toward you."

"Take care. He may put it in high. And that anchor line is long."

When Love and Emil shouted from forward, and then came running aft, th
e
fish, whatever it was, had out between four and five hundred yards o
f
line. I shoved forward the drag on the big Kovalovsky reel and struc
k
with all my might. Then I reeled in swift and hard. Not until the fift
h
repetition of this violent action did I come up on the weight of tha
t
fish. So sudden and tremendous was the response that I was lifted clea
r
out of my chair. Emil, hands at my belt, dragged me back.

"He's hooked. Some fish! Get my harness," I rang out.

In another moment, with my shoulders sharing that pull on me, I fel
t
exultant, deeply thrilled, and as strong as Samson. I quite forgot t
o
look at my watch, which seemed an indication of my feelings. My quarr
y
kept on taking line even before I released the drag.

"Run up on him, Pete. Let's get close to him; I don't like being nea
r
these anchored boats."

There were two fishing-boats around, the nearer a little too close fo
r
comfort. Peter hooked up the engine and I bent to the task of recoverin
g
four hundred yards of line. I found the big Kovalovsky perfect for thi
s
necessary job. I was hot and sweating, however, when again I came up har
d
on the heavy weight, now less than several hundred feet away and rathe
r
close to the surface. I watched the bend of my rod tip.

"What kind of fish?" I asked.

"It's sure no black Marlin," answered Peter, reluctantly.

"I couldn't tell from the rod," added Love. "But it's a heavy fish. I
h
ope a tiger."

Emil sang out something hopeful. I said: "Well, boys, it's a shark o
f
some kind," and went to work. With a medium drag I fought that shark fo
r
a while, watching the tip, and feeling the line, to get what we cal
l
"a line" on him. But it was true that I had never felt a fish just lik
e
this one. One instant he seemed as heavy as a rock, and the next light
,
moving, different. Again I lost the feel of him entirely, and knowing th
e
habit of sharks to slip up on the line to bite it, I reeled like mad. S
o
presently I was divided between the sense that he was little, after all
,
and the sense that he was huge. Naturally I gravitated to the convictio
n
that I had hooked a new species of fish to me, and a tremendously heav
y
one. My plan of battle therefore was quickly decided by that. I shoved u
p
the drag on the great Kovalovsky reel to five pounds, six, seven pounds.

This much had heretofore been a drag I had never used. But this fis
h
pulled each out just as easily as if there had been none. I could no
t
hold him or get in any line without following him. So cautiously I
p
ushed up the drag to nine pounds, an unprecedented power for me to use.

It made no difference at all to the fish, wherefore I went back to fiv
e
pounds. For a while I ran after him, wound in the line, then had the boa
t
stopped and let him pull out the line again.

"I forgot to take the time. Did any of you?"

"About half an hour," replied Emil.

"Just forty minutes," said Peter, consulting his clock in the cabin.

"And you're working too fast--too hard. Ease up."

I echoed that forty minutes and could hardly believe it. But time flie
s
in the early stages of a fight with a big fish. I took Peter's advice an
d
reduced my action. And at this stage of the game I reverted to th
e
conduct and talk of my companions, and to the thrilling facts of th
e
setting. Peter held the wheel and watched my line, grim and concerned.

Love bounced around my chair, eager, talkative, excited. Emil sang song
s
and quoted poetry while he waited with his camera. Occasionally h
e
snapped a picture of me.

The sea was aflame with sunset gold. A grand golden flare flooded throug
h
the gate between the Heads. Black against this wonderful sky the Sydne
y
Bridge curved aloft over the city, majestic, marvelous in its beauty. T
o
its left the sinking sun blazed upon the skyscraper buildings. The blac
k
cliffs, gold rimmed, stood up boldly far above me. But more marvelou
s
than any of these, in fact exceedingly rare and lovely to me, were th
e
ships putting to sea out of that illuminated gateway. There were six o
f
these in plain sight.

"Getting out before Good Friday," said Peter. "That one on the right i
s
the Monowai, and the other on the left is the Maunganui. They're going t
o
come to either side of us, and pretty close."

"Well!" I exclaimed. "What do you think of that? I've been on the Monowa
i
and have had half a dozen trips in the Maunganui."

These ships bore down on us, getting up speed. The officers on the bridg
e
of the Maunganui watched us through their glasses, and both waved thei
r
caps. They must have recognized the Avalon, and therefore knew it was I
w
ho was fast to a great fish right outside the entrance of Sydney Harbor.

The deck appeared crowded with curious passengers, who waved, an
d
cheered. That ship steamed hissing and roaring by us, not a hundred yard
s
away, and certainly closer to my fish than we were. The Monowai passed o
n
the other side, almost even with her sister ship. Naturally, being human
,
I put on a show for these ships, by working hard and spectacularly on m
y
fish.

Close behind these loomed a ship twice as large. She appeared huge i
n
comparison. From her black bulk gleamed myriads of lights, and vas
t
clouds of smoke belched from her stacks. Peter named her, the Rangitati
,
or some name like that, and said she was bound for England via the Panam
a
Canal. Then the other ships came on and passed us, and soon wer
e
silhouetted dark against the purple sky.

All this while, which seemed very short and was perhaps half an hour, I
w
orked on my fish, and I was assured that he knew it. Time had passed
,
for the lighthouse on the cliff suddenly sent out its revolving piercin
g
rays. Night was not far away, yet I seemed to see everything almost a
s
clearly as by day.

For quite a space I had been able to get the double line over the reel
,
but I could not hold it. However, I always tried to. I had two pairs o
f
gloves and thumb stalls on each hand; and with these I could safely put
a
tremendous strain on the line without undue risk, which would have bee
n
the case had I trusted the rod.

By now the sport and thrill had been superseded by pangs of toil and
a
grim reality of battle. It had long ceased to be fun. I was gettin
g
whipped and I knew it. I had worked too swiftly. The fish was slowing an
d
it was a question of who would give up first. Finally, without increasin
g
the strain, I found I could stop and hold my fish on the double line.

This was occasion for renewed zest. When I told my crew they yelle
d
wildly. Peter had long since got out the big detachable gaff, with it
s
long rope.

I held on to that double line with burning, painful hands. And I pulled i
t
in foot by foot, letting go to wind in the slack.

"The leader--I see it!" whispered Love.

"Whoopee!" yelled Emil.

"A little more, sir," added Peter, tensely, leaning over the gunwale, hi
s
gloved hands outstretched.

In another moment I had the big swivel of the leader in reach.

"Hang on--Pete!" I panted, as I stood up to release the drag and unhook m
y
harness. "Drop the leader--overboard..
. E
mil, stand by..
. L
ove, gaff thi
s
fish when I--tell you!"

"He's coming, sir," rasped out Peter, hauling in, his body taut.

"There!..
. M
y Gawd!"

Emil screeched at the top of his lungs. The water opened to show the bac
k
of an enormous shark. Pearl gray in color, with dark tiger stripes,
a
huge rounded head and wide flat back, this fish looked incredibl
y
beautiful. I had expected a hideous beast.

"Now!" I yelled.

Love lunged with the gaff. I stepped back, suddenly deluged with flyin
g
water and blindly aware of a roar and a banging on the boat. I could no
t
see anything for moments. The men were shouting hoarsely in unison. I
d
istinguished Peter's voice. "Rope--tail!"

"Let him run!" I shouted.

Between the up-splashing sheets of water I saw the three men holding tha
t
shark. It was a spectacle. Peter stood up, but bent, with his brawn
y
shoulders sagging. Love and Emil were trying to rope that flying tail.

For I had no idea how long, but probably a brief time, this strenuou
s
action prevailed before my eyes. It beat any battle I recalled with
a
fish at the gaff. The huge tiger rolled over, all white underneath, an
d
he opened a mouth that would have taken a barrel. I saw the rows of whit
e
fangs and heard such a snap of jaws that had never before struck my ears.

I shuddered at their significance. No wonder men shot and harpooned suc
h
vicious brutes!

"It's over--his tail," cried Love, hoarsely, and straightened up with th
e
rope. Emil lent a hand. And then the three men held that ferocious tige
r
shark until he ceased his struggles. They put another rope over his tai
l
and made fast to the ring-bolt.