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The night lengthened, and still we waited for the big strike. It was time for fish stories. In that genre of hyperbole and pride, swordfish stories are unique: most of them are true. The broadbill is an aggressive fish, to put it mildly. Swordfish have punched holes in boats, Jaws-style, and have even been known to charge in packs when one of them was hooked. As half a dozen fish bore down for the second time on one Miami angler, he called it quits, cut his line and sped away. Another fisherman lost his broadbill when, after a three-hour battle, it turned and rammed the boat three times. A less fortunate angler broke his ankle in a struggle with a swordfish that charged his boat 14 times.
At 1 a.m., we settled down for a snack of ham sandwiches. Suddenly the No. 2 starboard rod bent crazily in its stanchion, and the whine of racing line pierced the stillness. Strike! "He's here! He's with us!" Peacock screamed. Donn Mann, 48, an experienced sport fisherman, ran to the fighting chair, strapping his canvas harness to the fiber-glass rod. Some swordfish like to tease the bait. Not this one. He had hit with the wallop of a freight train. Mann released the ratchet on the reel to let the fish run. Then, without warning, the line slackened. The broadbill was streaking to the surface. He rose out of the water and fell back with a splash we could hear but not see. The glow of the Cyalume marked him 100 yds. to starboard. We could detect only the eerie green light, which now began tearing across the inky water and around our stern. The swordfish was encircling the boat with line. Mann cranked furiously on the reel, trying to take up slack while Peacock revved the engines, and the boat leaped forward.
In a flash, the fish reversed directions. To our amazement, he was coming straight at our stern. Now he was faintly visible in our lights—400 lbs. of fury, rapier bill pointed dead at us, slapping the water to a froth. Peacock and I crouched at the gunwale with gaffs, ready to do battle.
Then, 50 yds. out, the drama ended as quickly as it had begun. With a magnificent snap of his head, the fish flung the 3-in. hook out of his mouth. And then, with an ecstatic dive, he plummeted free into the deep. We were beaten, but there were no regrets on board. The one that got away had put up a furious fight. The memory would last. There would be other nights to float on the black and silent sea and wait for the electrifying moment when a broadbill would nose up from the depths, ready to duel with anyone who waited to challenge him.