It was an early June evening in Florida, the sound of the Bullfrogs and night callers echoed out across the water as the Sun slowly slipped into the Gulf.
Marty was idling the 200hp Yamaha’s as he waited for me to gather up the rest of our fishing gear.
The boat a 47 foot open topped v bottom is what the press likes to call a go fast,with a small tuna tower and a Furuno Radar mast. If the 4 200hp Yamaha’s were all wound up she could do 75 or 80 miles an hour.
Most of the time we would run on just the two outer motors…unless as Marty said expediency was the better part of valour.
We took fishing gear of course in case the Sheriff or the Coast Guard ever decide to take a look and a cooler full of squid and mullet for bait…but our real fishing gear was a set of 10 ft long Gaffes and 5 stainless steel grappling hooks.
I passed Marty the cooler with the squid and then moved forward to cast off the bowlines…
Marty held the boat gently against the pilings with a nudge of the throttle…as I cast of the the stern and jumped aboard…he expertly swung the wheel hard over and we idled away from Smith Point and took a bearing to take us around Hannah reef mid way across the mouth of the East Bay .
As soon as we crossed the no wake zone Marty throttled up and we began the transit to Port Bolivar and beyond that the Gulf of Mexico.
Marty never told me how he came across the schedule as he called it…but somehow he had…and for the last year most Wednesday nights nearest the full moon would find us out in the Gulf of Mexico ostensibly fishing…but in reality we were on a different mission.
The Furuno Radar picked out the coastline and the grandly named Bolivar Tower in reality a metal skeleton with a radar beacon to make the narrow channel to Galverston Bay…
The light chop became a slow 3 to 4 foot swell as we cleared the channel and Marty grunted at me to take the wheel…I gently turned the wheel until the compass settled on heading 335 and then slowly spooled up the engines until we were skipping along at 45 miles an hour…
We were heading for a little Spot just off Stetson Bank…in maybe 32 fathoms of water…it was not our usual place to start…but Marty as usual gave no reasons…just a heading…and serious look…
As I held the wheel loosely I trimmed the drives until we were running on the pad…and with no more throttle than before the needle nudged 60 miles an hour…
The last sliver of the sun was slipping below the horizon as the Gulf itself blazed with a hundred man made stars…the drilling rigs which worked 24 hours a day and 7 days a week…
Marty was stretched out forward on the bench which ran 3/4s of the way down the center line of the Marauder…hat tipped over his face only the occasional glow of his cigar let me know that he was still awake. We ran for maybe an hour without a word passing between us just the sound of the wind water and the motors as the Yamaha’s ate the miles and the fuel. . As twilight faded into night I throttled back and as the bow settled down and rose and fell on the advancing swell Marty sat up and looked at the few stars just visible in the Western sky and said OK Stan…cut her here…this should be good…
Marty stood up and stretched…not much wind he said…and the current is going to take the way we want to go anyway…that said…I knew we were not going to dump a sea anchor out to slow our drift or keep our bow pointed… Marty fired up the radar took a bearing to a rig 5 miles away on the Horizon…May as well put a line out he said…we got a while to wait…and with that he left me to it…retreating to the bench…hat clamped firmly over his face and cigar stub in the corner of his mouth. It was 10pm and the Gulf of Mexico was ablaze with lights and the sky awash in stars …with little option I hooked up a couple of small squid on a leader and cast as far astern as I could and settled in to wait as the line slowly settled towards the bottom.
The fishing was useless…but as Marty’s snores and rocking of the boat slowly synchronised there was a kind of peace…the sort you can only get out of doors and miles from nowhere…
True to his word…the current was running at about a knot and half…and at midnight when Marty finally stirred. Lifting the cap from his face He checked the sky and said…Haul in your line…boy its time to go to work…
…As I reeled in my line Marty turned on the Radar and peered intently…a small blip was traversing the outer edge of the range gate.There go the hunters he said… How he knew this I never figured out…but that he was right…was without question…the Coast Guard Cutter from Miami was out on Patrol…Gonna be a bad night for Law Enforcement…Marty said…but a Good night for us Stan…he laughed and coughed…quite pleased with himself…The blip on the range gate was no longer visible by the time Marty started one engine and idled us slowly out further into the gulf…all the time watching the sky…
It started as a faint hum for 20 minutes…the sound of the wind would alternately bring a sound to us and then take it away…Marty ears cocked like a terrier was turning the bow of the Marauder from side to side idling along and listening; all of a sudden the faint drone became a low buzz and then 10 minutes later the buzz became a roar…Marty flipped on the anchor lights of the Marauder and in a rush of wind and noise a twin engined aircraft flashed overhead and bales wrapped in plastic started to fall out of the sky in its wake…Flipping off the lights Marty eased the boat towards the nearest bale…
I grabbed a gaffe and as Marty eased the boat forward…I snagged a bale and dragged it around to the stern…What do you got Stan,? I eased the hook out of the bale and saw a faint white Sheen on the stainless steel hook…
Its Christmas Marty I said…Good enough he said get it aboard and lets get out of here before the owners show up…
We took one bale over the side and then as Marty ran the Marauder east of the track the plane had been on…I tore open the bale of tightly wrapped parcels and transferred as many as would fit into the bait cooler…the rest I threw over the stern as we ran…I had maybe 15 packages stuffed into the cooler along with 3 dead squid and some mullet…
It was nearly 5 am before the Bolivar Tower Marker showed up faintly on the Horizon…Marty cut the throttles back and grunted at me…Take me home Stan, and don’t cut across Hannah Reef…
I throttled up and aimed just to the left of the tower on the horizon and in about 30 minutes the narrow mouth of the channel…loomed ahead…out in the distance I could hear the sound of a helicopter beating down as the sun slowly came up Marty didn’t move a muscle just lay stretched out on the bench chest moving slowly up and down…as a Coastguard Pave Hawk hove into view and then slowly circled overhead…The marine radio by my head crackled to life and with a slow and practiced movement Marty sat up and waved his hat…before moving to the console beside me…
Reducing the throttle he proceeded to talk fishing with the Coastguard with a dip of his nose the Helo departed and beat its way Westward out into the Gulf.
Remember what I said about Hannah Reef he said,many’s the fool who tried to cut across there at low tide. Hannah Reef had collected more than her fair share of unwary mariners in the last 20 years, even with GPS and excellent charts. The reef a low collection of sprawling coral formed an arc across the mouth of the East Bay.
If you were ever tempted to just push off from either shore and run across the bay unless you had the highest of high tides and the shallowest of drafts you were certain to run hard aground with coral opening your hull like a can opener. Like Marty said it was best just to avoid the calm temptation of the East Bay and stay to the center of the channel.
As we came across the mouth of the East bay, we passed the Local Sheriff in a 38 foot Fountain Patrol cruiser who after asking about our luck…proceeded to tell us about a good fishing spot for Blue Fin Tuna just off of a rig in the Gulf.
As he leaned over the gunnels and looked at the cooler sitting there in the stern he said…”See there Marty that cooler there’s your problem.”…”My cooler Sheriff…what do you mean,”
“Your coolers only big enough for bait!! You have to get one big enough for fish”, With a big guffaw he pushed the patrol boat off the side of our boat and slipped the idling Mercruiser’s into gear…”You all take care now…”
Marty not one to be out done flipped the lid up on the cooler and grabbed a squid sitting on top of the tightly wrapped packages…flipping the lid closed…He tossed the squid over the stern to the Deputy’s boat…and said…You know what Frank I might just do that…in the meantime…heres a squid…catch me some dinner tonight…with a chuckle and wave Marty throttled up and we headed back to Blue Buck Point with a guilty pleasure that only a Pirate could ever understand