Story #1 - (Jun 21)
A Fish Story
Having spent the better part of the last thirty-five days in the Tonkin Gulf, my aircraft carrier, the USS Kitty Hawk, finally docks at Cubi Point in the Philippines for a four-day rest and relaxation period. It is early in the morning and I decide that I'm not in the mood to go into town or even do any drinking at the base clubs - I had done all of that sailor stuff earlier in my Navy days. I am looking for some way of just kicking back, getting some sun, and taking it easy. I don my dungarees and leave the ship to walk down the pier to the bus stop. I begin thinking about going to Grande Island that is run by the US military. I could play baseball, horseshoes, or sit in a cabana where free food and soft drinks are offered. I notice a bunch of small boats docked near a small shack at the end of the pier. I almost come to a complete stop when I see the sign, "Boats for Rent." Instantly, I know what I want to do for the rest of the day.
$10.00 per day for a boat, five dollars for a fishing pole, and fifty cents for bait – What a deal! How good it feels to finally row a 14-foot boat out on the water that is as smooth as glass. It's been a long time since my muscles were used for this type of exercise and after a few strokes I could feel the burn. The silence, smell of salty air and the action of the waves washing up against the front of the boat creates a certain euphoria that only a true fisherman can enjoy.
Wishing I had worms instead of the grub-looking bait that I had bought, I bait the hook, and drop it into the water. To my surprise, a small gathering of fish circles my bait. Angel Fish - what the heck - am I fishing in an aquarium? Black and yellow stripes, orange and white stripes, and two-tone brown. How striking they look darting all over the place like swirls in a whirlpool of color spinning around the boat. I am mesmerized. Removing my bait from the water, I spend a long time just watching them swim around in their natural habitat. Then suddenly, they're gone. They disappear, similar to an early morning fog evaporating in the morning sun.
I row seven or ten strokes out in the Bay, dropping the bait back in the water. I put the pole down to rest against the front seat of the boat. Not knowing if anything would bite or even caring whether they would or not, I just let the boat float with the waves as I lay back to catch some rays. It is warm, maybe 80 degrees, and it's only eleven in the morning. Thinking to myself, I realize that I should try to get back by two so that I can avoid baking in the afternoon sun. It isn't quite summer here yet, but it can still get very hot. Maybe if the wind picks up a little more by one o'clock, I might consider staying on the water longer.
Abruptly, the pole jumped - something hit the bait! As I start to reel it in, I can tell that it is small. He has a little bit of a fight but not enough to take out the drag. Swinging the pole into the boat I can see it's one of the angel fish. He swallowed the bait so far down that he will not be able to survive the removal of the hook. You see, I am the type of fisherman that does not like to eat the fish so I try to release all of my catches. This poor guy isn't going to make it and I know it. Extracting the hook, I figure that I may as well use him for bait to see what happens next.
As I row out a little farther to the middle of the bay, letting the line out on the pole, I prop the rod onto the front seat and sit back again. Smoking a cigarette, I begin watching seagulls dive bomb some baitfish in the shallows. How graceful they look floating along the air currents managing to pass one another time–after-time without colliding then suddenly dive, swiftly catching fish that are swimming underwater.
Pulling me from my reverie, the pole jumps again, however this time, it stirs with much more action and noise. It sounds like someone smacking the front seat with a ballpeen hammer.
Grabbing the pole, I feel the strength of this boy! He is not happy to be on a hook! I realize it will take more time to bring him in which makes me happy to finally see some action. Looking down into the stained water, I can see him coming up. Oh what a NICE fish! His colors are very beautiful - first a whitish outline, then silvery sides with a black dot, and finally on the surface, a dark green back with a yellow stripe, silver sides, and a forked tail. He seems to be about seven-and- a-half inches long and appears to be part of the Chub family, but I am not sure. Thinking he is extremely feisty, I figure why not put a hook in him and use him for bait? I run the hook through his lips, drop the weight until it hits the bottom, then I crank it up five feet or so. Positioning the pole down on the front seat of the boat, I wait. Since the pole is occasionally jumping and moving in another direction, I can tell he is still unhappy to be hooked. His resolve begins to appear so I decide to light another cigarette and ease back to a comfortable position taking in the sight of the bay. It is mostly full of navy ships, cruisers, oilers, supply ships, destroyers, and a lot of smaller types. There are several types of fishing vessels, and to my amazement, even a lot of personal watercraft and yachts. Thinking about how the Philippines is a low-wage country; I wonder who owns all of these boats. Abruptly, the pole jumps again then the line slacks – nothing. Thinking the weight hit the bottom, I wind up the line four or five times only to calmly resume my position. As I watch a navy cruiser head out to sea, I think to myself, "what a relaxing day on the water-so peaceful with not a care in the world."
"Wham!" - Unexpectedly, the pole swiftly jumps and bows so far down; it looks as if it can almost break. The line starts to furiously run out. Oh Boy, I've got something massive this time! Grabbing the pole, I tightened down the drag on the reel. The fish slows, but he is still taking the line out. I am not worried about the rig breaking because the pole is a seven-foot fiberglass model and the line appears to be 50 or 60 pound test. I figure all I need to do is turn him towards me so it will only be a matter of winding him in. Bracing my feet on the front seat and using my back, I pull the pole up and crank down on the reel to gain some line. It seems to be working. Looking up I can see that my boat was even with the back of the carrier. Pump and crank, pump and crank! This seems to be taking longer than I expected, but I am still making head way. After a half hour passes, I am still cranking. The carrier is behind me now -about the length of a football field.
A thought comes to my mind, "Have I hooked onto a submarine? No, no way! I'm gaining ground, aren't I?"
I realize now that I am gaining ground so I decide to just keep up with him. Pump and crank, pump and crank! As I peer deep down into the water, I watch the line and can only see an outline. He is long and thin with white or silver sides. He is big! Pump and crank, pump and crank! He is bigger than I thought! What if he doesn't fit in the boat? What if he has teeth? Man, I don't even have a pliers or a knife! The fish suddenly sees the boat and explodes into a great burst of speed that pulls out the line. He is pulling the boat! I look towards the shore and realize that I'm now in the middle of the bay and heading to Grande Island where it's the last land before the open sea! There seems to be no turning him now; he's still running and I can't turn down the drag any tighter. Decision time - I don't have a knife to cut the line - It's too thick to bite through and I sure as hell don't want to go to sea in a 14-foot boat! In fact, I don't think I want that fish in my boat at all! With certainty and slight defeat, I light another cigarette and after a few puffs, touch it to the line.