Fishing: Gladius the Gladiator

Cervantes could have written a novel about a swordfisherman. He knew the type. Dr. John Staige Davis, for example. A Manhattan internist, Dr. Davis, 66, has spent a considerable part of the past 37 years pursuing Xiphias gladius, the broadbill swordfish, from Montauk, N.Y., to Cape Hatteras, N.C., and from California to Peru. The quest has cost the good doctor something like 3,000 man-hours and many more thousands of dollars. And for what? In those 37 years, Dr. Davis has been privileged to see 100 swordfish. He has hooked eight.

He has yet to land one.

If Leo is king of the jungle, Gladius, the gladiator, is surely king of the sea.

There are bigger fish in the ocean—but not by much. The alltime record is 1,182 Ibs., caught by the late Lou Marron off Chile in 1953, and monsters easily twice as big have been seen. To that frightening bulk add fantastic speed (up to 60 m.p.h.), a long, terrible sword with which Gladius slays his prey, and a personality of regal, often violent, disdain for virtually anything and everything he encounters in the water.

That very fearlessness makes the swordfish a regular item in supermarkets. Ordinarily he feeds down deep, and then when the mood strikes him, rises to the surface for a snooze in the sun, never dreaming that anyone would dare commit lese majeste. Commercial “stick” boats run right up to the basking fish and let fly with harpoons. But, ah, for the sport fisherman, armed only with rod, reel, and a passion for punishment, it is an altogether different kettle of fish. Swordfishing, wrote Zane Grey, “takes more time, patience, endurance, study, skill, nerve and strength, not to mention money, of any game known to me.” And Kip Farrington. who has probably landed more big fish than any man alive, says: “I would rather take one swordfish than five black marlin, ten blue marlin, or 50 white marlin.”

Throw It at Him. Experts estimate that the odds against an angler simply spotting a broadbill on any given day are 10 to 1. Even then the odds against hooking the fish are 15 to 1. Swordfish have to be coddled into taking a bait; with a full stomach only the most dessert-happy sword can be tempted by mackerel or squid. Fishermen have been known to make ten or more passes before a lazing giant without achieving so much as a blink from those cold blue eyes. On the wildly illogical assumption that he does swallow the bait, the battle is generally lost then and there; the only soft part of a swordfish, naturally, is his mouth. More often he is foul-hooked—in the dorsal fin, back or cheek—as he rolls around, batting the bait. But a foul hookup does nothing to impair his fighting ability.

So then the struggle begins, and an unfair battle it is—for the angler. Gladius in a towering rage can strip 1.000 yds. of 80-lb.-test line off an angler’s reel in the space of seconds. Unlike his cousin the marlin, he rarely wastes effort on grandstanding jumps. He runs and rolls and thrashes about, often entangling himself in the protective wire leader on the end of the line—and snaps the 500-lb.-test wire like a piece of string. Or he may charge the boat—and if he does, the boat had better get out of the way. Nantucket fishermen still talk about the time a broadbill rammed the whaling ship Fortune, ran its bill right through the hull’s copper sheathing, a 3-in.-thick hardwood plank.

12 in. of solid whiteoak timber, 21 in.

of oak ceiling, and a cask of oil. In July, off Charleston, S.C., a 200-lb.

swordfish, practically a baby, took umbrage at the 16-ton research submarine Alvin at a depth of 2,000 ft., rammed its sword through the fiber-glass outer shell, causing such trouble that the submarine was forced to surface.

The Last Cigar. Or take the case of Walter Margulies, 53, an industrial designer from Scarsdale, N.Y., who caught a 602-lb. swordfish on 80-lb.-test line.

A few weeks ago, he tied into an even bigger fish off Montauk, N.Y. “I fought him for 5¾ hours,” says Margulies, “before the reel jammed and the line finally broke. By the time it was over, the pressure on my leather shoulder harness had cut my shoulders and rib cage to ribbons, and I was covered with blood.” At least he doesn’t have to live with the experience of New York Attorney Frank Bramm, who connected off Montauk. Bramm battled the fish for two hours, skillfully thwarting his every stratagem. At last he maneuvered him to within 10 ft. of the boat. Leader up! Ready to gaff! At that point, Bramm was so excited that the cigar tumbled from his teeth and—Poing!—burned through the fiddletaut line.