Fishing Memories Page 6
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During my childhood to late teens growing up on Long Island, my uncle Bud would take a few of my brothers, cousins and I out fishing every weekend during the fishable months on his 30’ boat that he and my grandfather built after WW II. We progressed from bay fishing for fluke and snappers to inshore trolling for blues and stripers and finally to shark fishing 10 to 15 miles out of Fire Island Inlet. One particular Saturday in mid august 1971, we were fishing for sharks but were having no luck at all. We set up at about 9:30 am. It was a hot, sunny, windless day. The drift was so bad that it was difficult getting the baited shark rigs, which we suspended from balloons tied 20 ft or so from the baited hook, to drift a decent distance from the boat. The chum was barely moving so the odors permeating the deck were not all that pleasant. I decided to go up front and put out a bluefish rig just for grins. The ocean was like a lake and the sun was reflecting off the water right into my eyes so I wasn’t able to see what was going on directly below me while perched on the roof of the cabin, daydreaming about catching something….anything! Even a bluefish would do at this point. It was now about 2 o’clock and everyone was either asleep or nursing a beer except for my younger brother Dave and I. I happened to look down and I noticed a small disturbance in the water. Because of the suns reflection, I could only see the slow, vee-like wake of what I thought was due to a small baitfish, just a few feet from the side of the boat. As it passed beyond the blinding reflection of the sun, I was able to see what the real cause of the disturbance was. It was the largest white shark I have ever seen and will probably ever see again in my lifetime. It was easily 18 -20 ft. long and between 1 and 2 thousand pounds. As it slowly sank, it turned away from the starboard stern and I could see the enormous size of the beast. For the first time in my life I was petrified and mute. I could not speak as I made my way back to the deck to inform my older cousin George and my uncle. By the time I found the words, it was out of view but I was able to convince my cousin to bait another hook with the only remaining bunker we had on board. While he was kneeling on the deck going about his task. old whitey made another appearance. He did what whale watchers would refer to as a sky hop, sticking his head out of the water to have a look around. Interestingly, he did it precisely below where I had been sitting earlier. I truly believe that his first pass was a reconnaissance mission and that he came back looking for me. I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn’t seen that disturbance in the water. Well, since he didn’t see what he was looking for, i.e., something big enough to pass for lunch, he took off. But about 15 minutes later, about a quarter mile off the port bow, we all gasped as a we witnessed a series of tremendous splashes, lunges, and tail slaps which lasted a good 10 minutes and could only have been due to a classic battle between two monsters. I know one of them was old whitey. I can only imagine the what the loser was.
Story by Mike Kirkup