Gran Canaria Sept 1998

“Isn’t she fantastic” said Hans Krut. It wasn’t really a question. We were standing at the dockside in front of two boats, one a well turned out converted-for-fishing cruiser of about 42ft and the other an old ramshackle hulk. “Looks just the job.” said I with some enthusiasm.

My heart sank when he jumped aboard the ramshackle old hulk and said “Come aboard and look her over…”

I was here for the trip of a lifetime: my first “proper” weeks fishing for blue marlin. I’d tried it before in both Mauritius and in Tobago in the early 1990’s, and that gave me the bug for the blue water and the blue marlins. Both of those trips had been of the one-off-whilst-on-holiday type though, so I’d have been extraordinarily lucky to have caught a billfish, but I did get a big yellowfin and lots of bonitos.

The intervening years had been filled with a recession which put paid to the disposable cash needed to pursue this hobby and, on a more pleasant note, my two kids whom I couldn’t bear to be separated from. The kids were now big enough to handle a week without me and, besides I was approaching my 40^th birthday and some things just have to be done.

I thought I’d be smart and use the Internet to find a charter boat but it was surprisingly difficult to track anything down at that time. Hans called his boat Blue Marlin, so the search engines managed to find him under blue marlin. He answered all of my emails promptly and he talked a good game too. There were plenty of pictures on his web site and it all looked the part. 

The biggest plus was that it was in Gran Canaria – a direct flight of only four hours from Glasgow. Bonus. 

So I booked a week in what Hans recommended was the prime time. He picked me up the first morning and we went out in his other, smaller boat, the White Marlin. We didn't catch anything but we were shadowed for a while by the biggest school of dolphin I have ever seen. It amazes me that dolphins don't attack fishing lures. I think it must be because they can detect the metal of the hooks with their ultrasound. These were very curious and would get right up to the lures and even nose them. Once one of them, magically, flicked a lure right into the air with it's tail!

I got on ok with Hans that day and I actually liked that boat, but it got chucked around a lot in the heavy seas so we were scheduled to go on Blue Marlin from the next day until the end of the week. 

Things started to look wrong even before I saw Blue Marlin. Hans told me that his partner had died six weeks before and that his skipper was unavailable to come with us because he’d just announced the week before he was going to mainland Spain to sit a masters ticket exam. You can’t fish for marlin without a crew, but Hans assured me that he’d found a skipper. 

This turned out to be a Spanish guy called Jose. Jose was a very friendly and engaging person and I liked him immediately I was introduced to him on stepping onto the boat. 

I looked around the Blue Marlin; the gear was shabby and ill kept. The fighting chair (which he makes a big deal of on his website) was broken and the upholstery burst. The cabin was a disgrace to behold with junk and bits of fishing tackle strewn everywhere. My heart sank: no professional fisherman would leave his gear in this state. I opened the fridge to store the ham, cheese and bread (staple diet of marlin fishers the world over it turns out) and a swarm of cockroaches scuttled from the light. But, I had paid almost all of the charter fee for the week in advance so I was stuck with it. Anyway, I reasoned, if the lures are in the water and the fish are there, you’ve as much chance as the next guy of getting a fish. 

So we set off. 

I watched Hans rig the lures and it became clear that he did know a bit about what he was doing. He was pretty careful and thorough in setting the drags and so forth and put out a nice “spread” behind the boat. I settled down to watch for a strike. 

But there was no action on that day either so that was day 2 without any sign of a marlin. Another boat in the harbour had one, it transpired, but there appeared to be a great deal of enmity between Hans and several of the other owners so we didn’t get any information on it. Hans referred to them all, with few exceptions, as “Baaasturds” in his inimitable Dutch accent.

I also discovered another fact that depressed my spirits: Jose had never fished before in his life and knew absolutely nothing about what he was doing. I impressed upon him the importance of the boat in the fight and the fact that it was up to him to set the hook by accelerating the boat slightly on hook-up. “Si, si, si” he would say enthusiastically. 

Hans liked to drink on board. By mid afternoon he was pretty smashed. Stupidly on the first few days I joined him. 

I was up in the flying bridge having yet another beer with Jose when I heard the outrigger go. 

Hans shouted “Hoo, hoo, hoo” (which translated means “Jose – remember to accelerate the boat to set the hook” but Jose didn’t speak that language). In this case there was no need because that marlin had whacked the lure and was solidly hooked. 

I raced for the steps, seeing a massive splash at the back of the boat and hearing Jose say “Madre de dios” behind me: how I got down without breaking my neck was a miracle. For some crazy reason I ran into the cockpit and put on my Ferrari skip hat: don’t ask me why because to this day I have no idea. 

It was complete insanity on the deck. I had no idea what to expect and even less of what to do. I vaguely realised that we had to get the other lines in and started cranking the nearest reel. Then Hans said “Get in the chair, get in the chair” and handed me the rod as the marlin had slowed in it’s first run. He clipped the bucket harness onto the rod and I felt the raw power of the marlin. Hans was screaming at Jose who hadn’t a clue what was going on and what he should do about it. 

The marlin started another determined run. I felt my backside coming off the seat and I dug in with my legs to hold myself down. The line was pouring off the reel and I could start to see the centre drum. “Hans!” I said. “HANS!!” I repeated. He rushed over and saw what was happening. He shouted to Jose in Spanish to reverse the boat, but of course they hadn’t got all the lines in so it fouled the prop and we stopped. Disaster. Hans then turned the drag up on the reel to the full 130lbs saying “We must stop him, we must stop him”. Smoke poured off the reel with the friction. Still the fish kept going and the metal of the centre pin was showing through the last strands of monofilament. 

We didn’t stop him. It all went slack and the fish was last seen tailwalking into the distance. Hans estimated it at 300-400 kilos. That’s a big marlin. 

The radio burst into life and the sound of one of those kiddies laughing toys came over the speaker. Clearly, Hans’ fellow skippers appreciated the disaster that had befallen us. 

Hans stomped up and down cursing Jose and shouting that surely three of us should have been able to bring in all of the lines. The fact that he had hired a complete rookie and hadn’t bothered explaining to me that I was part of the crew and what my duties were hadn’t occurred to Hans: it was everyone else’s fault. 

I wound in the line and discovered that although the reel was capable of taking 1000mtrs of line, only about half was loaded. Since we also recovered part of the leader, that meant that Hans hadn’t bothered to load enough line on the reel to handle a marlin. 

I was disappointed, but I was also elated! What power, what adrenalin. 

Half an hour later, the outrigger went and Hans shouted the now familiar “Hoo, hoo, hoo!” at Jose but this time it had the opposite effect and Jose stopped the boat dead! This marlin went deep and didn’t run far or fast. I got in the chair and just as I was about to fight it, the line went slack. It was off – possibly (probably) because the hook hadn’t been set right as the boat was stopped on the strike. I tried to remain cheerful. 

Strike number three came shortly after this and “Hoo, hoo, hoo” again brought the boat to a complete standstill. Poor Jose, although I was getting fed up with missing fish, I had to feel sorry for him. Hans was ragging him really badly by now. 

Three strikes in one day! Surely I’d  get a fish tomorrow? 

Black Wednesday. Once again we took a strike and had a run on the line. Yet another shout of “Hoo, hoo, hoo” and Jose yet again stopped the boat. This time the line went slack before I even touched the rod. I was getting very fed up now: fed up of Hans being drunk, fed up of the state of the boat, fed up with Jose not understanding the simplest of things and just plain fed up of marlin fishing. 

I got back to my hotel and called home, depressed. My depression turned immediately to terror as I was informed that my youngest son, Scott, had vanished. There was a full blown search underway for him. Words can’t describe how that makes a father feel: thousands of miles away when you’re child needs you. I had spoken to my mother in law as my wife was out looking for Scott and I told her I’d call back in fifteen minutes to see what was happening. 

It was the longest 15 minutes of my life. 

When I called back, thank God, he’d been found. Where? He’d crawled under a cardboard box in his bedroom and fallen fast asleep. When asked why, he said that he was hiding and was waiting for someone to find him.  Kids.

Later in the evening I walked down to the boat dock and had a chat with Sophia who handled the bookings for Hans. She couldn’t stand the guy either and had a right moan about him. I complained about the drinking and the fact that I had paid a lot of money and wasn’t getting the right deal. She had a word with both Hans and his wife about it. 

Next day, she had left me a note saying that she had fixed me up with an afternoon’s fishing on another boat (I was only due with Hans on a half day). He went nuts! There was a lot of shouting and squawking on radio and mobile phone and then Hans announced “It’s ok – ve stay out all day. Ve catch you a marlin by god” 

We didn’t. To be fair, Hans took over the skipper duties from Jose and started to work for it a bit more. He also stayed off the beer that day, and for the rest of the week. When we got back, I found out that Sophia had quit because Hans had changed her arrangements. 

All I wanted to do was come fishing and catch a bloody marlin – here was I in a war zone with a guy who was universally disliked, who was lazy, drunk and just plain rude. 

The last two days we took two more strikes but they were the smash take type: the outrigger clip goes and then nothing. I stayed out of Hans’ way and blethered to Jose in my schoolboy Spanish. I had grown to dislike Herr Krut immensely and loathed the Blue Marlin sportfishing boat. 

To be scrupulously fair, Hans was now behaving like a different person and I was struck by the realisation that he actually knew a lot about marlin fishing but for reasons best known to himself had decided to mess around on the first few days. By the time he wised up and started doing his job, it was too late – the marlin had moved on.   

The final day saw at least some action. We spotted a flock of birds on some bonito tuna and headed for them. A local commercial boat was in our wake and they weren’t at all pleased – commercial boats have priority and if they are on a shoal fishing, sport boats can’t by law come within 300 metres of them. But we hit the shoal first and we took a strike from a bonito. Jose, bless him, accelerated the boat. It must have almost pulled the wee bonito’s head off, but he meant well and at least he had the hang of setting the hook now.

As I brought the fish in, the locals set up on the shoal. One of them threw some small baitfish in whilst another sprayed the surface of the water with a hose. The captain (at least I took him to be that as he was the one who made all the rude signs at me!) then stood legs apart on the bow and swung a long pole with a line and a bare hook into the shoal of now frenzied bonitos. He then started flipping tuna over his head into the arms of the waiting crewmen behind him! It was an astonishing sight! I asked Hans to take a photo as I was fighting the bonito, but the thicko took a picture of me so I have no photographic record of this amazing technique.