Catching a marlin from a yacht

I have, of course, been ridiculed for this frequently over the years – and probably rightly so. But I’m a bit stubborn so when experienced fishermen laugh, I say: “hold my beer…”

Admittedly, my yacht has none of the characteristics you’d expect of a game fishing vessel. By planing boat standards, she’s a dog, motoring at five knots flat nana. In the right breeze, she’ll sail at an inconsistent seven, making lure-trolling a hit-and-miss affair, with the added complication of a giant flappy-sail up front and a murderous danger-sail at the back. There’s ‘stuff’ literally everywhere. Winches, halyards, sheets, booms, backstays, cleats, clutches, fairleads… All that wonderfully essential sailing gear becomes a toe-stubbing, line-parting, movement-inhibiting minefield for the angler.

The yacht in question - Black Swan - on a different occasion (racing, rather than fishing).

Fighting a fish involves balancing precariously on the aft deck, an unsettling metre above the waterline, straddled across the cockpit coamings, and hemmed in by a length of stainless wire that bites at the front of your thighs with the ferocity of a bullwhip. Prop-walk prohibits any kind of rapid reorientation in reverse, so when the fish charges out to one side, the angler must un-straddle the coamings, avoiding a sea of painfully unforgiving deck gear, whilst ensuring the line does not make contact with the boom overhead, as the skipper curses at her uncooperative vessel and wildly swings the tiller back and forth with little effect.

If by some miracle you get a fish to the boat and leader, gaff and secure it, there’s still the issue of how to haul it up the high topsides and onto the deck (if the decision is to keep it).

So when I set off from Opua one morning with mates Emily Machin and Bekki Sharp on board – neither of whom had caught a marlin before – armed with two 80lb stand-up rods and a plan most would charitably describe as ‘utterly nuts’, the odds were not in our favour.

Faced with an insurmountable task, my crew and I did what all sensible yachties would do. We got drunk in the anchorage the night before, woke up late with screaming hangovers, and were underway long after the hallowed low tide bite time. We knew where the bait was though thanks to the previous day’s reconnaissance, and it wasn’t long before we had a live skippy rigged and running from a makeshift outrigger.

It was even less time before we had our first bite, which I muppeted (somewhat predictably – I blame the gin) by leaving the drag up after winding in some slack line. After checking the bait was still swimming, I reset it, and made sure the reel was in freespool this time.

Bang! Off it went again, and as the drag was engaged, the rod doubled over and the ratchet screamed. Bekki donned her harness just in time to see the fish slashing at the surface close behind the boat before the line went slack.

Despite having dropped the fish, I was ecstatic – we’d just come closer than ever to achieving my unachievable goal. I could have gone home happy with just a beaten up bait and a bill-rashed trace. But that’s not how this story ends.

“Let’s get those skippy lures back in NOW!” I said with some urgency to my crew.

That’s when it all got a bit crazy. In a rapidly building breeze, we had too much sail up. Heeling and rounding up, the headsail thrashed loudly, sending sickening shudders through the boat. To top it off, I’d forgotten to set the ratchet on one of the skippy rods, and suddenly discovered the lure and line were mere metres from complete freedom (double muppet!).

After dousing the sail, retrieving the skip-bait and recovering the 500m of line attached to the skippy lure, we fortuitously found a skippy still attached. Even more fortuitously, it was alive and well. Not ones to look a gift tuna in the gob, we quickly bridled it and sent it back out swimming.

We drifted downwind at an ample two or three knots. But after a couple of hours, as the seas built, the hangovers turned to seasickness, and simply standing up was a feat. It seemed sensible to pull the pin.

Knowing you can’t make a critical decision like that without giving it adequate consideration, I reached for the Icey-Tek. “Anyone for a beer?” I asked as I opened the lid.

Crack! The rubber band snapped, and off went our live bait.

This time, as the drag was engaged, the circle hook stuck. The line angled up, and we all watched in awe as the fish breached the surface and gave us several big jumps before powering away.

Bekki was on the rod again, and with the benefit of some time on a charter boat under her belt, she began to wind confidently. I opened the quick release on the backstay to give her swing room (an essential modification made some time ago with this scenario in mind), while Emily clung to the back of her harness to make sure she didn’t go overboard.

Time passed quickly, as it always seems to do when you’re hooked up. Line was gained and lost as we rolled our way down sea, doing our best to keep the fish astern and line on the spool. Bekki’s energy sapped as she struggled to stay upright and fight the fish, but any hint of handing the rod over was swiftly and sternly declined, and she bravely soldiered on.

After an hour, we had the fish boatside. Sadly, it was tail wrapped and lifeless. Emily was ready with the tag pole, but it was clear this one had sacrificed itself to the smoker.

The good thing about a yacht (if it has any redeeming features as a game fishing vessel) is there’s no shortage of winches. Within another half hour we had the fish on deck by way of a repurposed main halyard, and some admirable effort by the already exhausted crew.

Three girls arriving at the Whangaroa Sport Fishing Club on a yacht with a marlin to weigh tends to draw a crowd of (mostly bemused) onlookers. But our fish also attracted several heartfelt congratulations when it weighed in at 120.2kg. A fine first fish for Bekki in challenging circumstances that I’d imagine few others have caught a marlin in. It was also a first for me as skipper, as well as the first marlin Emily had ever seen.

Weigh-in at the Whangaroa Sport Fishing Club. L-R: Angler, Bekki Sharp; deckhand, Emily Machin and skipper, Helen Horrocks.

So it turns out you can catch marlin off a yacht after all. Am I keen to do it again? Not really. I think we’ll go for a swordfish next time. Oh, you think that’s funny? Hold my beer...