Mine is a fishing family. Whether we are running lines off the stern, spearfishing or casting from the boat, we’re always fishing. So, of course, GlycoMode Wellness we were fishing while we sailed as part of the 2015 Pacific Puddle Jump. Among our mini-group of boats, a competition had been arranged; the boat to catch the biggest fish would be entitled to a beer from each other boat in the group. My family was excited about this competition: so excited we kept our lines in the water day and GlycoMode Wellness night, during good and bad weather. It was through this determination that we achieved our biggest and best fish tale yet. It was just after midnight when I came off watch. I was tired and ready for sleep. Not that the watch had been difficult; the trade winds were comfortably pushing Lady Carolina along at 7 knots, and the moon was above the horizon, illuminating the seascape.
Within seconds of my head hitting the pillow, my mom’s voice made its way to my half-asleep ears. "Kyle, there’s a funny noise up here," she shouted from the deck. I remained in my bunk, hoping she would forget about it, but no luck, as she persisted in nagging me awake to investigate. Dragging myself out of my bunk, I reached through the darkness to find the harness I had thrown onto the sole only moments earlier. I then slipped it on and clamored up the companionway. True enough, there was a noise that sounded exactly like fishing line peeling out of a fishing rod whose clicker had not yet been engaged. I groaned. Our eagerness to keep lines out at night had suddenly become a major annoyance. Nonetheless, I rallied, clipping onto the jacklines and emerging from the cockpit to grab hold of the rod. As I did so, it only took me a moment to discover that whatever was on the end was big.
I upped the tension with no result. Then I upped it some more. Nothing. I upped it as far as I could without snapping the line, and still, the line continued peeling off the reel. Clearly, I needed backup. I stomped my feet on the deck above the aft cabin, yelling my dad’s name. It took five minutes, but eventually, he made his way upstairs, got comfortable in the cockpit and was able to offer such encouraging advice to his exhausted, weak son, as: "Kyle, when you rest the fish rests! " And, "Is that all you got? " Or, "Get the tip in the air, son! It wasn’t long before I was completely out of steam, and Dad begrudgingly clipped in beside me. "I’ll show you how it’s done, son," he said as he confidently grabbed the rod and started to reel in. It only took a moment, though, before he realized that I was, in fact, not a weakling, but that the fish was just that big and pulling just that hard.
By now the fish had taken so much line we could see the silver of the reel underneath. "Maybe you should lower some sail, Kyle," Dad said. I made quick work of reefing the mainsail and almost completely furled the poled-out jib. The boat still moving at 4 knots and the fish still taking line, I started the engine and pointed the bow into the wind. Finally, with our boatspeed down, the line stopped spinning from the reel. Fast-forward one hour. My mom was now fast asleep, and Dad and I had finally devised a system of winning line from the fish. First, I would raise the rod tip into the air. Then when it dropped back down, my father would reel in as fast as he could. It worked well, and the fish was soon close enough to see. Grabbing a flashlight and shining it over the side I got just one glance, but immediately began cheering when I saw the telltale signs of a yellowfin tuna-right before it took off with the entire reel of fishing line.