(Originally published January/February 2021)
By Capt. Stephen Rhodes III
Flashback to the summer of 1989: I find myself sitting in the cockpit of my father’s 35-foot Downeaster in the middle of the night at the wreck of the Durley Chine (aka Bacardi). We are waiting for a bite in the middle of a fleet of 150-plus boats in a sea of lights 70 miles from the Manhattan skyline. From out of nowhere, I start to hear boat horns blaring and the radio crackle to life … ”There is a huge ship running straight into the fleet, watch out guys …” I start to look around and see an enormous black hull bearing straight down on our boat. My father jumps up to the flybridge, trips the rope leading to the pelican hook on our anchor, starts the single 3208 Cat, and spins Linesider out of the way of the Panamanian tanker, now a mere 50 feet from our hull. The boat next to us starts to shoot shotgun shells at the pilot house of the tanker to try to wake up the captain. Shock, fear, and panic on the radio ensues and boats try to figure out if any boats were struck. Many were pushed aside by the tanker’s bow wake, and barely escaped tragedy. The morning soon comes and the bluefin and yellowfin bite turns on. We do a number on the tuna and head home with memories of a wild bite and a scary reminder that danger lurks where you least expect it 65 miles offshore.
