Fishing trip with Pepe

I have always loved fishing. As a child my grandpa would take me down to the pier and "allow" me to skewer a unsuspecting worm bought at the local bait store or dug up from the garden on a hook tied at the end of a 3 meter line. A red and white round floater and a bamboo stick would complete my sophisticated fishing gear but at the time I was on cloud nine and had the best fishing tackle in the world. Perch and bass would be our catches, about 15cm long and these would be tossed in flour, fried by my grandma, served with coleslaw and cottage cheese and I was happy..... those were the days!
So it's with great unease that I agree to go out on a fishing trip and mount what I think is little more than a empty plastic jello cup with an engine and no toilet (sorry but for us fishing girls out there it's a big deal being sadly unequipped for communing intimately with nature). As usual I am the only girl and with Max and his dad and a 4 strong crew I feel like ...a fish out of water ha ha, well actually I feel awkward. So hungry, thirsty (no toilet= no drinking) and miserable (at 4:30 am I dare you to be happy ) we leave the safety of the Bali shores and head out into the Ocean. Pepe, our French Captain from Marseille, shows us the equipment and I start feeling a bit panicky. The gigs (it took me a while but then I understood that the 25cm lead sticks with eyes painted on them were actually lures....) are heavier and bigger than the fish I ever caught and the belts look alarmingly like chastity belts from medieval times and I feel the sweat starting to drip down my arms and a little voice whispering - can we go home now? - .
Too late, the shores are long gone and this is when I remember the name of the Balinese god of the Ocean whose name my loyal Putu had written down on a scrap of paper so that I would not forget it. Symbaya Baruna, Symbaya Baruna, this is the mantra that will accompany me for the following 6 hours when I think I will probably die at sea from sea sickness or from being pulled into the watery depths by a sea monster...and all I wanted was a bass for the barbie!!!!
The stars are still out at this time of day but we can see the sun rise on the horizon and black, pregnant clouds ready to burst. No wind and it's quiet but out of the bay the swell starts to mount and long, slow waves pick us up and slam us down with sickening regularity. I start to feel green and my stomach heaves, Max does not look much better, staring lifelessly at the horizon. His dad looks even worse and he will suffer for the whole trip. We stop after what seems like an eternity and the captain teaches us how to use his equipment. We will use reinforced fibre glass rods, thick lines that can take up to a 300Kg pull, shiny, steel reels, the pretty squid-like gigs and hooks big enough to hang a half beef carcass on.
The line must drop 80m and touch the bottom before being pulled up little by little with jerky movements upwards in order to fool a passing tuna or mahi-mahi to think he is looking at a fish in distress. How a lead, colored stick could fool a fish....fools me but this seems the way to go. Pulling a heavy line from the bottom of the sea takes it out on you and my arm starts to hurt after only 10 minutes so Max and I decide to alternate our efforts and take turns holding the diabolic contraption. Luck would have it that during my watch a violent tug pulls me out of my sea sickness induced reverie and I realize in an instant I caught something big. I shout for help and in a second Max and the Captain are around me, the crew disappearing in view probably of the colorful expletives soaring from my mouth. Before I know what is happening I feel Pepe playing around with my midsection while glancing nervously at my husband. The chastity belt is hooked on to me and the fight starts to pull my sea monster 80m up. The fish tugs and relents and this is when one must wind up the line, then he tugs again and relents for a second and a second is all you have to bring him closer, to tire him, but your arms scream in pain, your heart pounds and I moan and swear both in English and in French in honor of our Captain. All that is around you vanishes and while I had initially told Max I would pass him the line if I felt I had caught something, in that moment I don't, it's mine to catch, it's my fight and after the longest 5 minutes ever a 4Kg tuna appears on the surface. With one last effort I pull him up to the side of the boat and Pepe lowers a net and it is in. Pictures are taken and congratulations are in order but I sit in a corner of the boat empty and lifeless, my arms shaking with the effort, and adrenaline pumping wondering how I managed to do this. The fishing trip is finished for me, I did what I set out to do but have no strength left to do it again so all that is left to do now is to bring it home and make lovely sashimi for the family.