![]() On a sail boat there is much more to think about than just the rod, reel and fish. We are about as well drilled as we could be without actual role play with a dummy fish, which I considered very carefully and put to the crew on our 3rd night. In practice, what has happened is an almost obsessive contemplation of the fish in question, line handling techniques, gaff placement and gaff tactics, most suitable crew for certain roles and night time vs day time scenarios etc. “Tackle the ones you can handle” I hear Dad saying. Usually I would think that disheartenment, particularly at the loss of gear, would cause us to fish less, only during the day maybe, using smaller lures to preserve our dwindling supply of very expensive fishing equipment. Especially in those half awake, guided mind-wanderings that occur on long passages as shift work changes sleeping patterns and free-time is in abundance. I’ve become not just a little bit keener but literally dreaming of landing one. Something peculiar has been happening though, despite having lost quite a few, some identified as marlin, some we think behaving more like large tuna. I’m sure it is in part because of the size of fish we are dealing with here in the Pacific. I’m sure there would be some sort of pupil dilation … I might get Elayna to check next time.ĭespite near total panic, or perhaps because of it we have generally landed the fish. ![]() Sweat beading, throat closing up with shallow, laboured, quickened breathing. Heart rate quickens, blood rushes to areas where its not required and often an unintentional vociferation or unintelligible outburst, or even just a series of atavistic groaning’s occur. Senses are heightened and my field of vision narrows with panic, the edges penumbra-like and dark. I don’t realise how much I love fishing until I hear the reel whizzing and feel my body go into an instantaneous physiological spasm.
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