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The early morning hours of November 9th were calm and clear. I met Jon Cochrane at the MDR launch at 1:30am, our usual launch time. We loaded up his 21’ Stamas with out gear and about 50lbs of severely freezer-burned Salmon, which had been entombed in my Dad’s chest freezer since my commercial fishing days in Alaska five years ago.
We motored out to our usual spot off the west end of Catalina on moonlit, calm seas. In our short tenure as shark fishermen, we had been repeatedly blessed with beautiful, calm nights on our regular pre-dawn excursions. Ever since Jon landed a 110lb, 6 foot Mako 2 months prior, I had decided to hang up the rest of my ’light’ fishing tackle and pursue sharks exclusively. In fact I was done with fishing altogether, sharking was something different, something more.
We arrived at our spot and set up our bait lights and chum crate, adorned with shredded Salmon. Jon began his typical ritual of grinding the frozen mackerel caught on a previous trip. The wind and seas were calm, with just enough current for a nice slick. Within about 30-minutes we had bait fish at the boat, but our rigs failed to produce. We couldn’t catch an anchovy or mackerel to save our lives. We took it as a bad omen.
Jon had forgotten his shark rigs at home, so I lent him one of mine. We were both soaking small chunks of Salmon (which no longer resembled or smelled anything like fish) on 10/0 hooks, 275-lb braided leader, 80lb test, 5’6" poles and 6-OT old-school Penn Reels. Within approx. 60 minutes Jon got the first bite. From that point on it starting turning into a typical outing. 2’ to 4’ rats stripping our bait and unwittingly swallowing a hook or two. We were presently surprised by the blue to mako ratio, as usually we are haunted by a plethora of blues and the occasional Mako rat. This time however, the mako’s were up approximately 5to1. In our very limited experience, this could only be a good sign.
I had given Jon an additional rig as he had lost the original hook to a three-foot blue. Minutes later, I clipped my stinger rig and sent it swimming with a four-foot Mako. I was down to my trolling rig and about three-feet of raw leader. In desperation I clipped one of the fixed hooks off of my trolling rig and crimped it to my original stinger leader, which produced a 4’2" leader. A bit short but, considering what we had been catching, I figured it would suffice.
At about dawn, Jon and I started to discuss heading back. He had a 10:00am family commitment and wanted plenty of time to clean the boat. About 20 minutes later, Jon rang out with a "holy shit, it’s a shark!" This seemed at first a casual comment , until I peered over the rail. There it was, the monster we had been looking for. This was the kind of Shark nightmares (and dreams) are made of, and it was right under the boat. Upon our first assessments we agreed this thing was in the neighborhood of 10-feet and many hundreds of pounds. We both frantically reeled in our bait, which had been soaking about 50-yards off the boat and started throwing every last bit of chum we had in the water.
The shark casually circled the boat seven or 8 times before finally surfacing revealing a freakish, mutated double dorsal fin. One large dorsal fin, as usual, with a smaller fin growing out sideways at the base. It continued to cruise around the boat nonchalantly passing up or chum and measly bait offerings. After a couple of minutes of doing everything short of putting the bait in the mako’s mouth, I realized that I was going to have about as much luck getting a fish this big to notice a 10-ounce chink of tuna, as I would getting a vegetarian into Burger King. I reeled in my rig and back hooked the remnants of a 10-pound chum salmon. I carefully measured and tossed the bait right in front of the prize. Without hardly a second look he sucked it down like a vegen attacking a bean curd and took off.
My reel was out of gear and line started peeling of the Peen at a rate I was sure would melt the clicker. I waited a good 20-seconds before adjusting the drag and throwing the reel into gear. The shark continued un-phased in his crusade to spool me. Jon fired up his 150 outboard and the chase was on. I stood on the bow and cranked like crazy in an attempt to make-up line to no avail; we were having a hard time keeping up. After about ten minutes of playing catch-up, I decided to tighten the drag a bit in an attempt to gain the upper hand. Neither Jon nor I had ever seen, more-less hooked into, a fish this big. Being a relative greenhorn to the rod and reel aspects of fishing, I didn’t want to push the limitations of my gear. I honestly didn’t know if it was possible to bring in a fish this big on 80lb test.
I finally started getting the upper hand and Jon started to slow the Stamas.. Within seconds the water exploded 80 yards off the bow as the shark executed an acrobatic, spinning leap 10-feet into the air making an almost perfect, dive-like re-entry into the water.
Momentarily awed at the sight, I suddenly realized my line was slack, I started to reel like crazy praying for any sign of life at the other end of the line. Nothing. "Slow down, I think I lost it!" I shouted back to Jon. He slowed and still nothing. "I lost it, god damn-it, It’s gone!" I shouted. Just as my pursed lips expelled the last foul syllable, I felt and watched my rod nearly break in-half as the line ran straight back under the boat. I scrambled madly to prevent him from breaking me off on the anchor and danced around to the back of the boat. One more pass around the outboard, which Jon had at an idle, and I was around to the opposite side of the boat.
A steady game of tug and war continued for ten minutes before we felt comfortable enough to kill the motor. The shark continued to tow the boat in circles until, about 90-minutes into the fight, making another sky-borne excursion 20-yards off the starboard beam. Jon had a front row seat for the whole thing, and I looked up just in time to see the water explode in red. The froth of the landing zone had the unmistakable appearance of blood in the water. We could only assume the shark had gilled himself on the hook. From that point on we knew we had to bring him in, the only thing worse than losing a shark this big, was to lose it just to swim off and die.
After the second jump the shark made a run at the boat and another dive. Another dance around the motor had me at the port and Jon at the starboard sides of the boat. I looked down and saw, to my horror, the swivel at the end of my 4’2" leader resting firmly against the gills of the shark, and the 80lb test running up and around the back-side of his deformed dorsal. The line was wrapped up and over the dorsal fin trailing off the back side. "Oh shit he’s wrapped!" I bemoaned "Dude, there’s a shark over here." Jon responded
"What are you talking about, the shark’s over here." I told him
"I know. Not that shark, another shark." he said just as an 8’ white shark cruised under the boat in pursuit of my mako.
"Get that god-damn thing out of here!" I shouted fearing a line-snapping tangle might ensue. Jon started piously peppering the water with the balance of the salmon from the bait tank in an attempt to lure the white away.
Once again the mako made a run for it, peeling line and towing the Stamas under a completely engaged drag. I loosened up the drag in fear of snapping the line; I knew the mono was no match for the rough skin of the mako. This continued approaching the third hour of the fight when the shark surfaced thrashing about and kicking up water. "We’ve got to end this" I told Jon, let’s run him down, get him to the boat and harpoon him." Jon fired up the outboard and we began pursuit of the mako. As I cranked line, Jon loosened the ties that secured his home-made harpoon to the side-rail. The harpoon consisted of a ten-foot section of ½" galvanized pipe, duct-tape grips, and a sharpened, releasable spear welded from excess bolts and hardware we had lying around the office. The spear is threaded in the galvanized shaft and secured via a thin strip of duct tape to secure it prior to delivery. A welded eye-bolt secures the spear to 100 feet of 100lb of nylon line tied-off at the boat.
The ensuing pursuit turned into a Laurel and Hardy tribute, as Jon motored down on the Mako then scrambled to the bow to utilize the home-made poon, just as the shark swam off sending Jon back to the wheel. This routine continued until we finally got a system in place. I’d hold the rod with one hand and aim the harpoon with the other, Jon would motor up, leave the boat in gear, wait for the word, scramble to the bow and grab the harpoon just as the shark swam out of striking distance. The shark apparently grew tired of this routine and swam at the boat again. This time he came head long at the bow, looking up and opening his mouth just as he swam under. This was the first time I stared into the gaping maw of this killing machine, and for the first time I thought consciously, how glad I was to be on the boat. Another quick trip around the boat brought me back to the bow, where the shark and I continued the give and take. Jon once again got the boat within striking distance of the Mako and worked his way to the bow. Jon made his first attempt with the harpoon, and landed a glancing blow off the tail. The shark was completely un-phased allowing Jon to reset for another attempt. One more shot proved a bulls-eye sinking the spike clear to the eye right behind the dorsal. A quick pull on the shaft released the spike, and for the first time in three hours, I knew we had him.
Tethered to the 100lb nylon line the shark hung vertically, lifeless at the side of the boat, obviously stunned from the blow. Within seconds he was pirouetting vertically on the line. I grabbed the rope in an attempt to pull him up to secure a tail line and put the final nail in the coffin. In one final act of defiance, the shark bolted straight down ripping the line through my bare hands and pinning my left hand against the rail. Jon grabbed the line and together, we pulled the shark to the surface. Jon tied off the harpoon line while I effortlessly secured the tail line.
I could write a complete trip report on our efforts to get the fish back to dock, but to protect the identities of the innocent, I’ve chosen to omit those details.
Once at the fuel dock, the fish weighed in at 511lbs. and measured out at 9’0" total length. It took me two days to clean, vacuum seal and package the over 400lbs of meat with the help of Jon, my wife Emily and an comprehensive crew.
Thanks to all those who helped, everyone at Purfields, and the sales guy at Lowe’s who sold me the new freezer.
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