In The Trough

I was half asleep when Graham clapped me on the back, waking me up from my trance behind the wheel as we rounded the tip of the jetties. We had just woken up from two hours of sleep after surf casting all night, eyes still heavy despite the coffee that warmed our stomachs. The 6AM sunrise greeted us like a reliable friend as I nudged the throttle forward, starting our 9 mile trek to the south west point of the island. Old and nearly reliable as the sunrise, the bow of the Seacraft parted the ripples of the surface as I huddled behind the center console, escaping the crisp fall air.

The ride was uneventful, silent and sleepy. Graham slept mouth open on the bean bag in the bow, drooling as his head bobbed to the rhythm of the waves. If I hadn’t been so tired I probably would’ve videoed it. We rounded the south west corner of the island and the swells picked up. I pulled the throttle back, idling towards my GPS marks of the best spot in the area for false albacore and bonito. Approaching the ridge we would be trolling along, the rollers were so tall we couldn’t see the land on either side of us when in the trough. The salty spray that brought goose bumps with each drop soaked my jacket and coated my glasses, power of the ocean tangible around us. We nosedived when each swell passed under our feet. Grabbing the first rod and setting a line out, I called Graham to take the wheel as I set up our spread. The conditions were sketchy at best but we had already shelled a hundred dollars into the trip for ice, food and fuel so it was decided that we’d tough it out. I leaned against the console to avoid being tossed as I reached for the second rod, undoing the bungee cord that held it in place. Carefully removing the treble hook from the guide, my stomach churned with excitement and a bit of nausea as another swell passed under us. As the second deep diver left my hand, we sat atop a mountain of water. To my right was the biggest fin I’ve ever seen.

The gray shape next to us appeared out of the murk like a submarine, nearly the length of the boat and easily as wide. With a tail as long as me and an eye so beady it would turn a hawk hot with jealousy, the image is forever burned into my mind. My stomach dropped, hair standing on end as the wave rolled past us and we were once again in the trough, water the only sight once again. I yelled out for Graham but as we came up on the next wave, there was no beady eye staring back at me. Vanishing like an apparition as quickly as it had appeared, the 18 foot creature was out of sight and we were once again alone at sea.