Tuesday 14th May - Sunday 19th May
Bora Bora to Niu
The Sail was quick. Big Barry was unleashed for this trip and the boys were enjoying hand steering for the majority of the sail. As the wind changed so too did the sails, but the one constant was Dugald’s desire to land the fish of all fish. The Trophy Fish to grace the mantlepiece. The fish to tell his grandchildren of on cold winters evenings.
Lines were prepared, lures were examined and in between life on board, “Operation Fishing Line” was underway. No other fish would do, so on the few of occasions when the smaller manageable tuna were snagged, they were returned to the sea without the grace of a photo to record the moment.
The winds increased, the rain hailed down and we battened down the hatches to watch from inside. It was a tense few nights, the weather was not helping everyone’s mood but we knew this would pass. Our moods were lifted by a phone call from Iain’s mum telling of news from home which returned us all to a little reality until the weather changed for the better.
As our trip was coming to an end, it happened. The Trophy Fish was here. A Marlin could not resist a bite of Dugald’s expertly prepared line. The line shot out, so did Dugald. The boat was slowed and there stood Dugald fighting with the biggest black Marlin we had seen. The fish jumped and twisted as did Dugald. He was holding on with all his might. Both were bending and moving from side to side, in a dance which neither had rehearsed but somehow knew. I could see this dance was set to last. I was nervous the fish would pull Dugald into the water, Mahina was trying to assist Dugald, ready with all manner of devices to bring his prize aboard. Iain was concerned for his paintwork on the transom.
Dugald fought with this fish for fifteen minutes, both were clearly tiring, but neither was ready to submit. Dugald managed to coax the fish to the transom. The final step of their dance was about to commence. The platform lowered, the gaff deployed, she would be on board.
The marlin knew this step. As she writhed to free herself from the snare, Dugald was faced with his majestic queen. She was perfect. Long, streamline, glistening and proud. Her sword straight and determined. With one eye, the fish saw Dugald, steadfast, strong, determined.
The hook was firmly in her jaw and at that moment, Dugald hesitated. His queen took her chance and pulled the line one last time as she tried to dive. Without ceremony, the line snapped. We watched his prize dive, then swim away. Was Dugald sorry? I cannot say.
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