Tu Tu, the great fish, seemed to be getting weaker, bleeding out, and probably the reason we were able to stay with her for the past two hours. The 80-pound tackle was nothing more than ultra light tackle to this "honored grand mother.' This made for quite a tug-of-war.

There were brief moments when I could make out the marlin clearly; blood still trailing ominously from its gills. The color had changed to a light watermelon red that faded quickly in our wake.

The crew and my anglers could occasionally make out the great shadow at the other end of the line, but they could not get as clear a picture as I could from my vantage point on the bridge.

"How big is she. Is she a grander?" those below demanded. I knew that soon enough they'd be able to make up their own minds. Their persistence finally spurred me to blurt out, "If you chopped off her f---ing head and weighed it, the head alone would weigh 1,000!"

Stunned silence from the cockpit. No one said a word. The realization of what was at the other end of the line left everyone nearly in a trance.

We worked the fish closer. The angle on the line decreased. We all sensed the same thing: we were going to see her. She might even jump.

The fish was a mere 40 feet away when her enormous body raised from the waves in a display that brought her out of the water to her anal fin.

Pink blood washed from her mouth, and the muscles in her flanks rippled and flexed as she fell back, splashing a geyser in all directions.

Her monstrous head thrashed from side to side, and she blew out her huge stomach, disgorging its contents.

Reef fish, large and small, were strewn over the surface and floating every direction. The amazing volume of partially digested fish created a large oil slick, and gross stench surrounded us. This experience was so incredible I never mentioned it, sensing no one would ever believe me.

After this display, no one on board doubted what we had to deal with. This fish was 25 feet long on an 80-pound rig deployed for 200-pound tuna.

A strange new fear came over me unlike any I'd ever known before, I was afraid of making a critical mistake and losing this incredible opportunity, I'd been hunting for a "tonner" and now had something far larger hooked up near the boat. This was the realization of my quest for a truly great marlin.

Over the years, I'd worked hard to learn all about these fish, their movements and migrations—the ways to appeal to the very biggest that lived in this infinite sea.

I'd experienced thousands of battles—some lost, some won—and understood the best attitude to carry into the fight was one neither "positive" nor "negative." Never wish things to happen. Accept your limitations and try simply to stay in step with whatever occurs. Stay mentally focused and learn to react to each move the fish makes. Avoid mistakes by being sure your gear and crew are up to any challenge. Put yourself in the right places at the right times and use all your skills and experience to tip the scales in your favor.

Now four hours since we first hooked Tu Tu, the fight had changed. She was no longer headed out to sea. We were forced to follow her back to where she first took the bait meant for another, 15 times smaller than her remarkable size.

We were going back to the sacred fishing grounds off Milolli, her shadow still visible some 40 feet under the surface of the clear, blue water. We lost some line as she kicked her massive tail, but she always came back and settled in at the same distance, just beyond our ability to reach her.

We could watch, but we couldn't touch! The frustration was overwhelming. We knew she would also destroy any preconceived notion of big blue marlin grow.

We were back at the B Buoy, and she headed directly for one of the commercial skiffs. I waved frantically, trying to let the commercial fishermen in her path know we were hooked to a big marlin. He took a moment, but the look on his face told the story… "You're on your own!"

I realized that we'd get no leeway from this busy village fisherman. Fortunately, the fish turned at the last minute. If my taut line had crossed that of the tuna hand-liner, mine would have been cut off, no doubt.

I was tired of the game of "dog walking man." The fight was bordering on monotony, and began to think that if I had only put out my "stump puller" outfit, (an unlimited-class rod with a 12/0 Zane Gray reel loaded with 130-pound Dacron and a 700-pound leader, 12/0 double strength forged hook), I could apply enough drag to finish the fish.

It certainly wouldn't diminish the magnitude of the accomplishment, and the heavier gear might let us turn her head and lift her to the boat. Damned if we weren't stuck trying to do the job with the wrong tools!

It forced me to walk a tight rope: staying with the fish, applying only as much pressure as the 80 allowed, hoping we could hold her until she bled out, hoping the sharks didn't hone in on the blood trail before it was over. I counted my blessings.

At least she stayed in easy range, and was visible. If she slugged it out deep and died there, we'd never be able to lift her lifeless body to the surface with this outfit.

We were now six and a half hours into the fight. Suddenly, the angle on the line changed, and she came to the surface. I reversed hard, the gaff was lifted from the deck, the wireman readied himself and angler pumped harder. This was it—the moment of truth. She was about to slide up the starboard side, her massive black eye tired to the point of appearing drugged.

I slid in and out of gear ever so carefully, trying to let her finally be transferred from the rod to the wireman's gloved hands.

At that exact moment, a flood of positive energy coursed through my consciousness. "We're going to catch her! She will easily weigh some 3,000 pounds! She is 25 feet long!"

My brain almost screamed in my ears ..."My God, she's twice the size of the 1656!" How can any man be so lucky? The photos that will be taken—the stories that will be told! Too bad it wasn't a more impressive fight, just a huge fish that finally bled to death.

Suddenly, there she was, lying on her side, her colors still vivid. Broad bands of copper, the jet-black back, blues and purples and a pearl-white belly all shown like she was lit from within.

The wireman stretched out over the gunnels, reaching for the leader when inexplicably his posture changed. He turned his head away from the fish and looked up at me with abject disappointment in his eyes.

He was trying to tell me something, but all he could do was mouth the words... no sound passed his lips.

I looked at the great marlin and watched in horror as Tu Tu weakly paddled her massive tail ever so slightly slowly propelling her huge mass down and out of view. She was gone, forever!

I bounded from the flybridge, reaching the fighting chair in several steps. I grabbed the line, which had broken near the rod tip. I inspected the line at the break, no chafe or wear was visible. Bryan, who had so valiantly fought the great fish for all these hours, sat heart broken, literally hurt with the grief borne of defeat. The crew was disgusted—sick—both mentally and physically. There was nothing to say, nothing that would have changed the moment or relieved the private sense of hell we all felt.

Having fought and lost before, our crew recovered rapidly. For Bryan, this was another story. He'd made a mistake, one we'd learn about later when we reviewed the battle. He had put his strong thumbs on the spool at that last moment in an effort to put just a little more pressure on the fish to get it to the wireman.

He could never have known the little extra would cost us all, not only a fish of a lifetime, but a fish of a million life times—a fish only a privileged few would even glimpse, nevermind hook and fight.

Returning to the helm I throttled the Black Bart toward home. It was late, and it would be dark before we made the harbor at Kailua Kona.

The breeze freshened like it had early in the morning when the day was fresh with promise.

I laughed out loud, but could not be heard over the drumming of the big diesels.

I smiled, remembering the snapshot that had danced through my head just as the great fish was pulled alongside the boat. A snapshot of all of us—captain, crew and Tu Tu, too—standing tired and proud. The flash bulbs were dancing brightly, like so many fireflies.

The cool Hawaiian night and fresh trade winds calmed me as the brightness faded to black.

PROLOGUE
While you might doubt the size of the marlin recounted in this very true story, I can assure you there are specimens swimming the oceans of the world that far exceed any that have been brought to boat by hook and line.

The 1,656-pound Pacific Blue Marlin I caught in 1984 was aged by biologists at 32 years. This was determined by analyzing the annular rings of the otoliths, small bones found in the skull that provide an accurate method of determining age. It is believed that blue marlin can live to be 50 years of age.

From many discussions with biologists who study the great ocean predators, I firmly believe not only age, but genetics play an important part in determining the potential size of each large female blue marlin.

Some are genetically predisposed to grow larger and faster than their sisters.

The largest marlin I have seen caught over the years (mine as well as others) had their stomachs full of deep water sea-life, indicating they probably spend the majority of their senior years feeding deep where clouds of easy prey are abundant.

We encountered Tu Tu using a live aku fished down 20 fathoms, probably the upper limits of her deep water foraging.

Maybe some day Tu Tu will be caught and smash the all tackle record, she is certainly there... if you can take her. Great fishing. Aloha!