Katie’s ballyhoo

Jale sets a line on our fishing boat, the Mahi. Photo by David Lansing.

Just so we’re clear on this, I told Marguarite before we even got on the boat to go game fishing this morning that I wouldn’t catch anything.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Because whenever I fish with women, I don’t catch anything. They do.”

And so it has worked out. I mean, yes, technically I “caught” a fish. A tremendous dorado that, quite possibly, would have been a world record, but I didn’t get it into the boat. So I guess that doesn’t count. Technically.

I reminded Marguarite of my remark as we were circling the coral reef for the millionth time. It was getting hot out on the water and we were out of beer. So I suggested maybe it was time to go back to the resort. Marguarite had her mackerel, I hadn’t even had a strike since I’d lost the dorado, and Katie had more or less given up on the whole idea of fishing; she’d stuck her pole in a holder on the stern and was dangling over the side of the boat with her feet in the water, playing with the waves.

When I suggested we head back, Marguarite had said, “No. You haven’t caught a fish yet.”

That’s when I reminded her that I’d told her I wasn’t going to catch a fish.

Just then Katie said, “Uhmmm….I think something is going on with my pole.”

She didn’t jump up and grab it, mind you. That would have interrupted her noodling around in the water.

“Katie, you’ve got a fish!” screamed Marguarite.

Katie still didn’t move. “What do I do with it?”

“Reel it in!” Marguarite said.

Katie pulled herself back over the side of the boat and got her pole. She held it in her lap and said, “Which way do I reel?”

“Clockwise,” I told her.

She needed a second to think about that, but then she began to reel the line in. Slowly. Very, very slowly.

“Faster!” said Jale. “Reel faster!”

Katie began to reel more quickly. You could see a long silver streak just beneath the surface.

“Oh, god,” I said. “I think you’ve got a barracuda. Whatever you do, don’t jerk it into the boat. It will take our heads off.”

“This one not barracuda,” said Jale. “This one ballyhoo.”

“Ballyhoo?” I said. “I’ve never heard of a ballyhoo.”

“Fiji word,” said Jale. “Ballyhoo is garfish. Like needlefish only bigger.”

Whatever it was, it was ugly. Long as a baseball bat and just about as thick with enormous dark eyes and a million little needle teeth that looked like they could rip your arm off in a heartbeat. Even Jale didn’t want to get too close to it. He stabbed at it a couple of times with the gaff and then gave it a good stick in the head with his knife. The ballyhoo stopped struggling.

So now it was official. Marguarite had caught a fish, Katie had caught a fish, and I had nada. The expedition was officially over; we could head back to the resort now.

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