Caught Ovgard: Shark Contrast
FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. — It took a moment for what I'd just seen to sink in. I thought I'd observed a couple of high school kids toss a shark head over the railing of the pier, but that couldn't be right.
The kid at the center of the commotion couldn't have weighed 110 pounds and heaving the basketball-sized object some 20 feet had required assistance from one of his friends.
Riddled with disbelief, I walked over.
Before I could open my mouth, the massive tail of a hammerhead pushing 500 pounds swirled on the surface, and the kid bent back with all of his weight to set the hook. He was horribly undergunned and didn't have a prayer of landing the shark on his setup, but he fought valiantly for almost 10 minutes before it broke off — a feat in and of itself.
They'd thrown the head of a 40-pound blacktip shark they caught earlier that day at the hammerhead after giving the meat to someone else. In one sense, I was awed. In another, I was disturbed. Then, before I knew it, I was frozen in deja vu.
I recounted the story to my friend and Couchsurfing host, Bob Zanengo, that evening, and for once in my life, I felt I was at a loss for words. I was staying in Fort Lauderdale with Bob, and I'd been fishing Anglin's Pier just down the road from his home most of the day. I struggled to describe the emotional attachment I have that at once makes me want to catch every shark I can while making sure every one of them is treated with the respect due the best sportfish you can catch from shore.
Shark Week isn't for a few weeks. I desperately wish I could've timed this to release then, but I didn't want my readers to wait around for this story and lose interest. I've already had enough women do the same. I kid. Kind of.
For as long as I can remember, I've been enamored with sharks.
My first shark came more than 10 years ago while fishing with Sole-Man Sportfishing out of San Francisco while fishing with my best friend, Ben Blanchard. Captain Don was my favorite captain ever.
When I met him, he said something to the effect of, "You're surprised I'm not white, huh?"
He was about the least stereotypical charter boat captain I've ever met. He had no beard, was dressed stylishly for his age but wearing neither a Columbia PFG hooded fishing jersey common with Gulf Coast captains nor the PVC jacket common in the Pacific Northwest. Nope. He wore a black sweatshirt and jeans, donning bibs only later in the trip.
In some 30 charter trips since, he remains arguably my favorite captain.
Captain Don Franklin was raised in inner city Oakland, California, and had a rough upbringing. He told us that many of his friends had gotten caught up in gangs, but he'd gotten caught up in fishing, and it changed his life.
Little did I know, he was about to change mine.
Captain Don had given Ben and me a special deal because he was training his son to be a deckhand. As the day progressed, his son caught on quickly. Despite being maybe 13 or 14 years old — about the age of the kids I saw hook the hammerhead this week, thus the deja vu.
On that trip, the very first fish I caught was a shark. It was small, but as I got it close to the boat, I was ecstatic. It was a shark!
The captain wasn't too impressed with the brown smoothhound I'd just caught, but he appreciated my enthusiasm. Ben caught one early, too, and after we'd posed for a few quick pictures, we tossed back the relatively harmless little sharks.
Captain Don cracked jokes, informed us and made the day all-around pleasant. Perhaps best of all was his boat cat, a curious little fellow in a fluorescent yellow life jacket.
"Well, he went after a fish in the water once," Captain Don chuckled.
"I almost lost him and had to scoop him up with the boat net. We don't want to risk that happening again."
The boat cat was almost as amusing as Captain Don, who jumped up and down and whistled with every fish, embarrassing his son but entertaining Ben and I to no end.
The day was joyous, and we caught several more species before the day took a tragic turn.
My rod sat in the rod holder, minding its own business, when something massive picked up my bait. It ran hard as I lifted the rod, and I feared it might spool me. With the lightest possible pressure, I gently put my thumb on the spool, and the 20-pound mono snapped like thread.
I was informed I'd likely just lost a massive sevengill shark of several hundred pounds. This was the largest fish I'd ever hooked for years, until eventually hooking and losing my own massive hammerhead in Savannah, Georgia, a few summers back.
Since that first shark and that first heartbreaking lost shark, I've been particularly fascinated with these maligned apex predators, and shark fishing has become my single favorite form of fishing.
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