By HOWARD W. FRENCH
PICTURE yourself in a sleek, high-powered vessel slicing the waves in pursuit of the oceanic equivalent of big game. That is precisely what many people do when they set off for the Caribbean to try their hand at a sport that, at least since Hemingway, has exercised a pull on the popular imagination.
Handling the screaming reel or mastering techniques for fighting the good fight with a fish as determined to escape your heavy hook as you are to catch it, however, are not the first lessons of deep sea fishing. Instead, this novice was reminded of the more prosaic summertime fishing he did as a child on the nearby lake or stream, and the most important attribute needed for it: patience.
Even on visits to several of the Caribbean's best locations and working with expert crews, deep sea fishing typically involves hours of virtual inaction as one cruises back and forth at a moderate clip, trailing a handful of lines in offshore waters.
At the Dominican resort Casa de Campo, a vast and immaculately tended compound of golf courses, bungalows, restaurants and docks about an hour's drive from Santo Domingo, I spent an entire day in this fashion, rocking and swaying with the waves, temporarily deafened by the loud drone of a 35-foot Bertram's large motors, as the captain sheepishly tried one thing after another, from clownish-looking rubber lures to fresh bait, all to no avail.
Back at the boathouse, the traditional trophy photos of impossibly large catches hung upside down as they were weighed, and dwarfing the lucky fishermen alongside them, stood testament to the fact that exciting things do happen in these waters. The closest thing to any action we saw on that $300 day, however, was the gnarled heads of bait fish that remained on the hooks we gathered in, presumably after having been separated from their bodies by prowling barracuda. By midafternoon, I was busily polishing off a good novel. The expedition fees covered the cost of the boat and captain, of course, but also the baiting of hooks and, had there been any, the cleaning of the catch. For consolation there was a delicious hamburger and as many beers or soft drinks as one might care to consume.
A choppy half day in the luminescent waters off Bimini, the sliver-thin sand-bar island where Hemingway is still remembered by a few craggy elders for his reputed penchant for machine-gunning sharks that menaced his catch, proved more frustrating still, as even the stealthy barracuda failed to play their role as spoilers.
Most boat captains study everything from the light and sea currents to the effect of different colored plugs, or lures, on the fish they are after, claiming that this occult art is responsible for their catch, especially when there is one. A few more outings persuaded me, however, that luck, something that changes more unpredictably than the winds in this business, may have more to do with the results.
On my next outing, in Grenada, a small, forested mountain of an island caressed in the palm of inviting blue seas, I hired a crew of youngsters in a modest and simply equipped Boston Whaler-type boat to see if my luck might change. Setting out early in the morning was the only trick these fishermen claimed, so we boarded up before 8 A.M., with the sun still low in the sky. A half hour later, with St. George's amber waterfront receding in the distance, the four of us began cruising a line about a mile off shore.
We had hardly deployed our four lines from the posts at the end of the boat that hold the rods when I heard the screeching sound that would become familiar that day. With fish leaping acrobatically into the air in the distance, my reel let out a loud wail as it fed out its line to the fish that had taken our bait.
Fastening the rod into my special belt and braking the line, I imagined a long fight with a fish repeatedly diving for the depths and surfacing furiously until too exhausted to resist. Wasn't this, after all, the long-anticipated test of wills?
The joy of catching my first deep sea quarry was somewhat offset, however, by the surprising ease of bringing it in. Working the rod proved to be a simple matter, even for this first timer. The trick consisted of slowly raising the tip of the rod skyward while reeling rapidly, then holding ground momentarily while lowering the rod again toward the sea. The battle took a small toll on the arms and worked the muscles of the lower back a bit too, but was far short of epic. A few anticlimactic rounds like this, and alongside our boat appeared the very fish my crew predicted I would bring up, a thick and gleaming, two foot-or-so-long tuna. My pride was greeted with the underwhelmed comments of the on-board experts who declared tuna of this size to be quite good to eat, but not much in the way of game.
Fortunately, there were still the Cayman Islands, another quiet Caribbean speck of a place. When I mentioned to a banker in George Town my growing frustration at not being able to partake of the biggest thrills of the deep, he told me to see Bill Rewalt, an expert fisherman and insurance broker who helps run Grand Cayman's Million Dollar Month tournament each June.
Mr. Rewalt, a middle-aged American who is a longtime resident of the island, listened with sympathy to an account of my luck before inviting me out on his boat, where he and a friend were taking their young sons that weekend in pursuit of marlin. Again we set out very early, but this time on his large and elaborately outfitted boat, leaving the island in the distance most of the time as Mr. Rewalt worked some of his favorite spots.
This was the boys' day, and I figured I should not spoil it with my poor luck, so I contented myself with watching as the gaudy, meticulously stored lures were strung onto the lines and rods were fastened into their starboard holsters. Then came the waiting. While tales of the sea were being exchanged, and famous fishing exploits from these waters and others around the world were being told, mostly by Mr. Rewalt, the boys manned their fishing chairs, occasionally scanning the sea with a lazy eye.
For a time, it all seemed remarkably similar. Waiting led to more waiting as we rolled with the waves. But then suddenly the scream of the reel sounded and Mr. Rewalt's 12-year-old son, Danny, cried out that he had hit a fish. At that moment, with the rod bending badly, the boat took on the air of a fire department during a five-alarm panic.
In one clamorous moment somebody helped buckle the boy into his chair, others moved dangling lines out of the way, the captain scrambled to slow the boat to a near halt, positioning it to aid in the capture, someone grabbed the net and a gaffer hook from out of a crate, and we all called out our encouragement as a battle very nearly of the type I had long been waiting to see commenced.
For the next half hour, the action was furious as Danny strained against the powerful fish, which despite its struggles slowly came into luminous view. It was secretly feared that he would tire or the fish would slip the hook and escape as the boy sweated and pulled.
Finally, using the line, a net and a gloved hand to grab its sword-like bill, we got the young marlin, its five feet of muscle stick bucking, alongside the boat for just long enough to snap its picture. For a fleeting moment Danny could enjoy the emerald-like color of a fish that from tail fin to tip was as big as he.
Mr. Rewalt, a veteran of these campaigns, artfully removed the hook from the fish's mouth with a quick motion and released it back to the sea. There were other fish to be caught. GOING, GOING, GONE FISHING
On some smaller islands, like Grand Cayman and Bimini, no searching is required to find fishing boats for rent. In fact, on tiny Bimini, which boasts about 50 deep-sea fishing records, a visitor can easily get the impression that fishing is the only game in town.
On Bimini, two establishments are both hotels, restaurants and marinas full of sea lore as well as boat captains eager to take you out for fees which begin at about $250 for a half day. The Bimini Big Game Fishing Club, Kings Highway, Post Office Box 699, Bimini, Bahamas, (809) 347-3394, offers rooms for two from $148 to $295, and the Compleat Angler, Post Office 601, Bimini, Bahamas, (809) 347-3122, has rooms from $60 to $80.
On Grand Cayman, all of the island's main hotels can recomend charter operators or, if one prefers, prospective deep-sea anglers can call the Charter Boat Headquarters at (807) 947-4340 for a list of captains. Here, too, rates begin in the $200-plus range for a fully equipped half-day outing.
Grenada's deep-sea fishing is less well developed, even though the waters are rich. On this informal island, a visitor's best bet may be just to walk down St. George's picturesque Carenage, or waterfront, to the docks where crews of both professional and more casual fishermen will negotiate their price for an outing. For everything from gear and bait to soft drinks and beer included, everything but a tip, $50 an hour is a typical rate.
In the Dominican Republic, self-enclosed resorts like Casa de Campo, Post Office Box 140, La Romana, Dominican Republic, (809) 523-3333, keep their own boats and captains, and booking is as simple as dropping word at the front desk. Expect to spend about $300 for a half day. Rooms are $230 to $255.