Sportfishing Perilous Adventure for Pirate

First-Hand Account By Captain Andrew Violet Voltaire

Ahoy thar, Matey! I see ye be readin’ me blog. Mayhaps ye be lookin’ to hear a yarn o’ the adventurous ilk. What ho—I espy a calm driftin' in from the nor'-nor'-east— lift the skin up, and put into the bunt the slack of the clews (not too taut, me tars), an' lay-to as I sate yer ‘unger for such a tale whilest I search me recollection’s vaults and hearken ye back to yore, of the high seas of the Pacifica, where nary an armada claims dominion on account of the vastness of the briny blue, and the squalls compare to what ye lan’lubbers give the name mountains. Twas biological—the treasure we sought—The Marlin, named as it were for its similitude to the marlinspike, a most missile-like billfish, with a temperament to match, this Makaira indica. Known to grow to 18 feet, this largest bony fish, an’ known to lay waste to any crew o’ swabbies that knowest not ‘ow to keep their ‘loof in the swells o’ danger.

I, Captain Violet “Andy” Voltaire have steered me crew aboard the Lightin Eel o Hades and swashed an’ buckled in many seas a’fishing, from the Caribbean across the whale-road to the gulf of Juneau to the sandbars of Cape Fear and up the unruly rivers of Idaho, but me buccaneer eyes never laid eyes on such a Istiophorus as the black marlin o Haw-igh.

Unlike most buccaneer quests, which ye shan't witness beginnin ere Apollo's orb reaches apex o' noon, the marlin pursuit commenced before the sun’s rays shone.


The ocean would grow fierce that day with seawaves grand and many a squall splashing up to yonder crow’s nest, as we were soaked in salty swells, starboard to port, prow to stern, from the fore mast to the mizzenmast, spankersail to jib to fore royal an' back, meanwhilest I thought meself consigned to Davey Jones’s locker. After that mighty wave crashed upon me eyes, I saw clear an’ dampened the pipes an’ roused the layabouts from the poop deck and the urinals, an’ as they hoisted twixt two sheets, me stomach festered. Havin’ taken a matrimonial sabbatical from the honorable life o’ pirating, on the beach an’ golf resorts o’ Haw-igh, me sea legs, I confess, had run a jibber an’ gone all a flibber. Me vomittin’ was such as to put the towerin’ volcanoes o’ Haw-igh t’ shame. But, say I, Arrrhh! Insult me not, lest ye desire yer ears lanced from yer very heads an' parboiled before yer eyes. I’m still seventy times seven the searfarier and buccaneer as any of ye blackguard knaves and scurvy-waggs.


And ahoy! Soon as me barfin were through, the battles of sportfishing were nigh to inauguration. Mark my words, as a pirate ‘oo has seen many a rising and setting of the pearly orb that lights our nights—When the seas are highest an’ the crew be near to mut’ny, then it is that the crafty and mighty marlin strikes.

And strike she did, like a thundering bolt with a bill, irresistible as me enticement lure were, bobbin and draggin aft of the Lightnin Eel. We were what ye landlubbers call trawlin, but what among pirates is called the DOTS: Draggin Of the Traitorous Scab, which is akin as well to your waterskiing, ‘cept sans the accoutrements ye call skis; and the dragg-ed, traitorous scab shark bait frets not over his SPF and gets no priv’lidge to be drinkin’ Pepsi afterwarrrd. Follow ye yet me yarn, whilest I wax and wane poetic in the ’nalogy? Mostly trawlin-for-sharks-with-human-bait be a thing o’ serious labour punishment o’ the capital ilk, and not a past-time for a holy-day such as me newly wedded and me took. Tho’ it is true that pirates do their executionin’ with quite a bit o sport.

Immediately I was at the stern, with the lee-lab spankin’ and me canny crew aside me as I heaved and hoed upon the sportfish rod. Shiver my timbers what a mighty fish she was, and worthy opponent, with more stratagem and swiftness than the Armada EspaÑa!

The marlin dove deep, hell bent on escortin’ me to Davey Jones’s locker. Then lusty crew hoisted 'twixt two sheets and the Lightnin Eel lunged to port, compensating for the mighty tug of the beast, an' positioning me for to better reel, in this human versus Ichthyosaurus tug-o-warrr we call fishing. Perhaps these Marlin beasts call it human-ing, and many a taxidermied homo Sapiens rests glassy-eyed above a marlin mantle? What ho, ye dubious! But Captain Andy Voltaire would never perish in aforementioned fashion! Captain Voltaire bests not always his foes, but never has he been captured at the high sea. Without even the aid of fastenin’ my person to the mizzenmast, for fulcrum and for leverage, Yours Truly Captain Voltaire Peerless Pirate of Pacifca, reeled and tugged I at the wicked Marlin in such a fierce battle the likes of which those waters had not seen since Captain Cook’s thwarted attempt at abducting Kalaniopu'u, king of Haw-igh, in his penultimate battle at Kealakekua Bay (a fine place to meet yer demise, or to snorkel, me tars). Arr! Shiver my timbers, back we turn the tale to the struggle at hand and at fin. Akin to weighin anchor by me onesy, difficult this whale-wrestle was. This is a fitting and felicitous metaphor I made, but ‘cept neither back nor forth swims the heavy anchor, nor does it ram the stern as our lusty marlin did. And what a sharp dagger the fiend fish wielded! Nearly as cutting as the swash of me cutlass was the bill of aforementioned unruly marlin, second sharpest and quickest blade ye’ll find from Johannesburg to Christchurch, from Panama to Gibraltar.


TO BE CONTINUED...