Tribute of Bronze Whaler

[vittorio.azzano]

Forgive my bad English

A special thanks goes to Simon McGowan of the center of fishing Sea Ace Hanties's Bay - Namibia


Something had changed, the scent was in the air.
Godfrid loaded the car slowly, without the usual rush, Simon had lost that electric charge that distinguished him in other days.
I got up from bed, I went to make myself a nice cool shower.
I played with the children of Simon before they came to school, we had breakfast slowly, laughing, joking.
The tension, expectations, the anxiety had disappeared.
We were a team, a group of people that reason all with the same head and worked with the same arms.
We finish breakfast and off we go. Not say anything. No use, all three know where we are going. There, in the north, to Mile 100, where the sea has told us to go, to more than one hundred miles from home.
The wind is from behind.
The sea is flat.
The wave is unique, large, dark.
Behind the spots of 'dirty' near the shore, shooting useful cane.
The sun does not decide to emerge from the clouds.
Godfrid Richard tribe of Tamara, breaking his usual silence with a symbolic phrase " Today the sea it's good, and tell you. Yes, today it's the bronzy day".
What we do when our feet touch the sand of the beach will be just what the sea has told us to do.
Wait for the sun and the high tide and in the meantime catch fish to make triggers fresh, with lots of blood.
Two rods with two hooks, sardines and squid wrought. Spike from 175gr and launches frequent, pending spiombate respectively on the first (40mt) and second gully (60mt).















The bites are made increasingly rare symptom that something is changing.
Water. Course!
The tide is rising and the fish are moving in a classical cause-effect relationship. Moving from an area that soon becomes quite dangerous.
Clouds.
A ray of sun comes out from the gray blanket and illuminates the shore.
The cable wave changes, becomes more belly.
Ears feel a warm breath, the wind is falling from the shoulders.
The clouds open and the rays that filters become more and more.
The beach is lit.
The temperature rises rapidly.
Shivering cold.
Mother nature, the ocean, we are offering something unique: every variable is going to the 'bubble', each entity is aligned in a perfect balance.
The bi-calamenti love give way to a steel cable from 120lb of 50cm and two hooks 10 / 0.
The fish is gutted and elephant estrattogli liver.
Godfrid prepares piece Poseidon Assassin 'strong', the Daiwa 50H with 400 meters on a reel of 0.45mm and below other 400mt of Spectra.
Simon and firms up the bite with lycra looks at me, smiling: "It's the moment."
Another shiver.
I want the sea, the ocean wants me.
Slowly unscrew the tank of fresh water and soaking the rotating my faithful companions in battle, those who will not ever leave me, those who must deal with every muscle of the magnificent animal, even if the barrel had to give way.
I can not think.
In these moments you have a thousand thoughts in my head.
Once again the Shark Fishing, the ultimate expression of fishing from the beach.
Even the ocean, the sea that soon will become more and more my sea.
Slowly unscrew the knobs of the mag, on the right cheek.
He is still wet.
Vittorio you still have time, when your bait down there will be no way out.
Or win or lose.
Sclock. The release of the coil.
Suffix red rose on her thumb.
Look again that sea and the meatball goes by the hour, fourteen and then ...
bsssssssssssssssssssssssssssss. Stock.
The coil is again blocked.
I open the clutch.
Release the buzzer on the left cheek.
I make sure that the barrel is well positioned on the picket craft.
All this will be repeated twice more for similar pipes.
Namibian 11.55 hours.
Godfrid opens his usual chair green, comfortable, designed for long waits.
But no, not this time.
I take off my sweatshirt, black Attach the belt, I sit on the sand with gl'occhi closed.
Namibian 12.05 hours.
He jumped up, Simon does not understand, there is no tangible sign.
Namibian 12.07 hours.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
The piece folds up to the handle, so that the tip almost touches the ground and I can not take it off the picket alone.
The buzzer went crazy.
Godfrid helps me.
Sea, ocean, but that's going on?
Cut to the buzzer, point your hands on the barrel, close to three laps, the clutch and step back five ferrite repetition as gunshots.
I feel nothing, just the sound of the reel spool that whistles.
I look down.
Fuck.
The red wire where you finished?
I only see the blackness of Spectra.
Simon wakes me up "It's the Big One! Fast Fast"
Run to the right, in an attempt to retrieve the thread and put less lateral distance as possible between me and this torpedo.
I pant. I run and ride the fast rotating.
Reaches approximately 100 meters to the right point on the railroad decides to show me that mad.
Changes direction, now go left.
We 400mt on the left.
Meanwhile, the nylon is again in the whirlpool.
Decides it's time to get serious.
Yanked me to miss a moment the balance and now has his nose out to sea.
Now Victor is serious.
The coil of the rotary crazy.
Godfrid runs with water and wets the wire.
There's nothing to do, I can not keep it. My 90kg not enough, now, to stop him and make him dizzy.
"Sit down please Victorio."
I sit on the sand and drink a little water.
Catch your breath.
Distributed.
Pumped very slowly, to make him feel that there are.
But it seems that are slow to no effect.
Trying to pump for over forty minutes with no results.
The thread that recovery takes it up with a couple of codate.
"It's very big Victorio"
That did not reassure me at all Simon, indeed, now I have more fear than before to have anything to do with a fish that will make me die of fatigue and that in the end, Domo, will win this challenge that I shot him.
Oh well, there is all.
If you do not want to lose I could stay to fish the fish elephant.
But why should I lose?
By God, if I lose I will but I will long remember me.
It 'almost a hour.
I have the arms that hurt.
Just loosen the grip earns too many meters.
Nylon red is all out now for some time.
I'm fighting a fish, I do not know how big it is, more than 600 mt away from the shore.
I get the chills.
Thousand feet of potential problems.
Thousand feet separates me from Him, from my opponent.
Immezzo the ocean, untamed and unpredictable.
Another shark that severed the wire.
A huge rock, and this effort will end.
For a moment there I hope.
I have the arms that are really bad.
Simon sees that I have the strength in the muscles of his arms to pump and I am supporting the barrel for a few minutes on him. Relax.
I realize that I have the hand that trembled with fatigue.
Well now you pulled shark and now you throw me.
I start pumping, control your breathing, use the back and legs as a lever on the barrel.
Simon leads me "Good good! Very good!"
A foot at a time is coming.
Back to red nylon coil.
Less than four hundred, I think.
Comes.
Quiet.
E 'tired.
I stand up.
I think it's done.
We are at one hour and twenty of combat.
Yeah wishful thinking.
Again to the right and makes me do almost four meters with Simon at my side.
I looked at him worried.
"No vices Victoria
Simon is quiet.
I start to think when he hears the sand on his belly.
How am I going to get him water safe?
Pass another hour and finally it will be close to the tide.
Then it will take another thirty minutes to hook it and bring it to shore.
All fishermen in the area are approaching.
Who shakes my hand.
Simon hugged me.
"It's a Big One Victorio, compliments!"
I have the arms that trembled.
I fought for two hours and forty one fish that measured 2.66 meters to 134kg in weight.
Fought with a line from 0.45mm
E 'capture the fourth-largest center for the fishing of Simon.
And 'the eleventh largest catch of Namibia on the species.
Shark, after caressed, branded and doctored and resumed the open sea.
The meeting with Simon and the great Carcarini Ramati is for March 2011.

[scottw]

WOW!................

[Angler Ace]

AWESOME!!!!!! Great story, great pics, and GREAT catch. No matter where, or in what language. It just goes to show you how fishing brings out the best of men. Nice going.