Word: peacocking
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Precisely at 7 o'clock on a muggy, mosquito-filled evening, we pushed off from a south Miami marina and sped east into the open Atlantic, heading for the deepest reaches of the Gulf Stream. Our skipper was Pete Peacock, 41, a contractor by trade but a fisherman by avocation, one of the best in the Miami area. If anyone could find the big broadbill, it was Peacock. Two other fishing boats tagged along in convoy as we tore out of the Cape Florida Channel at 30 m.p.h. The CB radio crackled with reports of battles near...
After nearly an hour, Peacock cut the twin Mercuries. "This is the spot!" he called. We floated noiselessly on a dusky patch of sea. The jagged line on the Fathometer confirmed that we were in the swordfish's favorite haunt, a 1,100-ft.-deep stretch of the bathtub-warm Gulf Stream. Broadbills normally stay hundreds of feet down-one reason they are so hard to catch-but in the early '70s, Cuban refugee fishermen discovered that these fish rose from the depths at night, apparently to feed on squid that in turn were feeding on microscopic plankton...
...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...
...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...
...there alternatives? If the tie is one of a man's few opportunities to peacock a bit, then presumably a substitute must involve some color too-a brocade vest, a plumed hat. For summer at least, the newly revived turn-of-the-century collarless shirt, without the celluloid attachable collar, has possibilities. It is neat and extraordinarily comfortable. If only the collarless shirt did not reek so disagreeably of a sort of Bloomingdale's chic, which has the effect of somehow trivializing the wearer. For years Filipino men have managed to be both elegant and comfortable...