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  Cap Cana White Marlin Tournament, Dominican Republic, 2017

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The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. ~Lao Tsu

It all began with a telephone call from Gary.  “Do you have a current passport, and do you mind being on TV?” “Yes and no,” I replied.  It sounded like an adventure in the making to me. 

“Great, we’re fishing in a white marlin tournament in the Dominican Republic that will be taped for my friend’s TV show.” I was fairly new to the sport, and my first thought was Whoa, there are fishing shows? My second thought was—Oh no.  The biggest fish I had ever landed was a thirty five pound striped bass, of which, up until that point, I was quite proud. Suddenly that fish paled in comparison to what my mind imagined would await us in the Dominican Republic. A spot on a tournament team would be totally out of my league, something that would become readily apparent to those around me. There wouldn’t even be an option of taking my rod and reel and going home; the DR was a long way off from New Jersey. I consoled myself that it was Gary they really wanted there, not me, and it wasn’t long before my Adventure and Never Say Uncle genes kicked in, and we were on our way.

“Just listen to what the first mate tells you,” Gary said—but I had no clue what he was going to say, and no amount of frantic googling seemed to help me out.  Back then I had no idea that his only directive would be to “reel, reel, reel.”

Day dawned in all its glory on the first day of the tournament.  I boarded our boat, The Black Pearl, joking with my teammates, keeping up the pretense I had adopted the night before at the tournament launch dinner of an excited, not terrified, lady angler.  It wasn’t long before the first marlin took the bait.  Gary, always looking out for me, turned to offer me the first catch. For a second I froze, and then, in a “magnanimous” gesture, I insisted he take it.  I had dodged a hook. After an intense twenty minute fight, the fish broke the line off at the boat, and I guiltily breathed a sigh of relief.  I would not be the only one to lose a fish that day.

An hour passed as I sat up front, my eyes glued to the water, only slightly aware of the hum of voices around me.  Normally never seasick, I sipped on cold water to quell the queasiness that was developing in my stomach. Then the hum turned to shouting—shouting directed at me.  “You’re up.  Now.”  Someone yelled, “Move it,” and my feet answered the command.  I took the first step forward, and that step sealed my fate.  The fish was mine in the rotation, and there was no longer time for me to think.  Someone came from behind and strapped a fighting belt around my waist.  It cut into my body, but I didn’t dare complain.  I now know the belt shouldn’t hurt like that, but back then there was no way I was going to be labeled a wimp.  The fish took to the air at least a dozen times, the captain maneuvered the boat, the first mate yelled, “Reel, reel, reel” in a voice so loud and commanding that catching this fish took on an urgency I had never felt as an angler. I reeled like a crazy woman, my wrist spinning faster with each shout from the first mate–trying my best to keep the slack out of the line as the marlin pirouetted across the water, trying my best not to get caught up in the beauty of its dance and lose my concentration on the logistics of the catch. Gary, normally by my side offering quiet direction and encouragement, now had his cap on backwards, his camera glued to his face, dancing around me and successively snapping shots like his…oh yeah, like his job depended upon it. My mentor was at work, and I was on my own. 

I don’t know how long it took—looking back, it seems like forever or perhaps just moments, adrenaline skewing the passage of time—but I finally brought the fish to the side of the boat where the first mate, Roberto, was able to release it.  He then bellowed something and jumped into the air, landing with a resounding thud. Had I screwed up at the last moment? Committed some tournament faux pas? It was then that I saw Roberto smiling–ear to ear.  I had caught my first white marlin. 

I went on to catch and release two more over the course of the tournament and remarkably was one shy of tying for the win in the female angler division.  That tournament changed things for me, but, surprisingly, it was less about how others viewed me but rather how I saw myself. Everyone always told me how lucky I was when it came to catching fish—but three white marlin? For the first time, I entertained the notion that maybe, just maybe, I might have some fishing ability.

Two years have passed since that tournament, and it’s been quite the adventure. I’ve gone on to fish other enchanting species—powerful kingfish, iridescent salmon, and formidable redfish—but taking that first step into the white marlin rotation is what allowed me to mentally embark on this journey.

“You’re up.  Now.  Move it.” With that step into the rotation, I really was on board.

Special thanks to Gary Caputi and Frank Crescitelli for making this adventure possible.