Reeling in the Deal: Deep Sea Fishing in the Pacific
By the time the sky bruised with dawn, I’d already washed and dried my hair, gathered my gear, and stepped onto the dock with purpose. It was 4:30AM in the islands—black water, salt in the air, and a day meant for big catches.
The boat cut through the current as the horizon bled orange. I wasn’t there to fish. Not really. I was there to play point on deals, capture content, and host a few VIPs—men used to high stakes risks, who’d flown in expecting more than just open water. A week earlier, we’d struck a different deal on this boat. High-value. Scalable. Mutually beneficial.
The day started strong. I filmed as the men pulled in over $5,000 worth of fish; neon rainbows of Mahi Mahi and bright blue tuna, destined for the island’s top restaurants.The guys filled the coolers before noon, the first mate grinning like a kid on Christmas. I stayed behind the scenes, camera in hand, grease in the wheels. But then came the moment.
They thought it was Mahi Mahi—a small thing, light work. As the only woman on board and the only passenger who hadn’t yet wound a reel, they insisted I give it a go. Just for show. So I sat down, half-laughing, took the rod.
But what surged beneath the waves was no Mahi.
The marlin broke water in a streak of muscle and tiger stripes. The crew strapped me to the seat. For 45 minutes I fought to wind the ever unwinding line—my long hair flying, sweat slicking my neck. The men around me calling out encouragement like a chorus. One found my hat and placed it on my hair, sweep hair from my face between bursts of action. “Keep going!” They called. “Your husband is going to be so proud! Your kids will never believe their mom was strong enough to bring in a marlin!”
“F— yeah they will,” I shouted back, my voice strained with effort. “They know me!”
The captain bellowed laughter. Our GM, twisting the fighting chair I sat on, laughed aloud. “Oh hell yeah, I work for her!”
Somewhere in the blur of it, the line went slack. Just before the first mate could spear it, the marlin had cut loose. The men were crushed, and each took turns patting my shoulders, offering their sympathies, telling me I’d put up a hell of a fight. It didn’t matter an ounce to me. If I’m honest, I was relieved. I wouldn’t have let myself give up in front of those men, and that marlin wasn’t about to lie its life down for me. The creature and I, we’d been locked in something primal. It was it or me. In the end, we’d both survived, our lives linked by fate the same way the line had bound us earlier.
Still, I walked off that boat different. Not because I’d caught the marlin, but because I’d faced it—unflinching, unprepared, and wholly myself. I’d proved something: a tenacity, a determination to see a battle to the end. The men saw it. They felt it. And in that moment, our deal wasn’t just inked in business. It was sealed in salt, sweat, and the wild beauty of risk.
