Take the rod!” my buddy Steve begged. His cheeks had transitioned from apple red to a pale, ghostly shade of gray. Sweat poured down the back of his neck and soaked his shirt. Even in October, Costa Rica’s tropical climate can sling a hot, crippling blow.

I was rethinking that handle of Tito’s I had bought in the duty-free shop when we arrived in San Jose the day before. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but we over-imbibed like excited tourists and put a sizable dent in the bottle of vodka after dinner. Steve was feeling the weight of it. Dehydrated and dejected, the fish had him pegged in the corner of the transom, his feet slipping on the wet soles of his flip-flops.

Steve is not a veteran angler by any stretch; he’s more of a dabbler. He owns two fishing rods, hand-me-downs he scored from my garage. A fishing trip for him provides a rare chance to crack through the mundane. He’d never been on an adventure like this or a boat of this caliber. We were fishing on Pelagic, a 58-foot Garlington custom sportfish outfitted to the nines. The boat is owned by Ron Kawaja, founder of Pelagic fishing gear and a friend of more than 20 years. Ron had invited to stay at his fishing lodge, Club Pelagic, and was giving us the full rock-star treatment.

The offshore waters out of Marina Pez Vela in Quepos, Costa Rica, are full of potential. 

Running out of Marina Pez Vela in the fishing village of Quepos, our original plan was to target sailfish and marlin. But the billfish bite wasn’t exactly red hot, so we made a collective decision to switch gears. We headed to Furuno Bank, dropped some live baits and immediately connected with a monster bottom dweller. Ron fed the fish, and once it was solidly hooked, he handed the rod off to Steve.

I don’t know if Steve had ever held a conventional rod like the 50-pound-class Shimano Talica he’d just been given. There were no training wheels, no safety briefing. Steve was underprepared and outgunned. This fish was kicking his ass, and I must admit, it was kind of fun to watch. Steve, however, wasn’t having much fun.

“Please,” he begged, sounding a bit like my 10-year-old when he asks to stay up past his bedtime.

The cubera snapper is fearsome foe that will pin you the gunwale of the boat and pull like a freight train.

“Cubera,” Ron said with a laugh. “This is going to take a minute.”

Steve couldn’t gain an inch. He kept pleading with us, but I wanted him to dig deep and harness the strength and determination within him. I’ve found myself in this situation many times over the years.

I like taking newbies fishing, and the internal fight they face when battling a trophy fish goes with the territory. When they ask me to wave the white flag, my first tactic is to go full football coach: You got this! Use your lower body. Sit back and load the rod. Crank the reel handle on the down stroke. Don’t give up! Don’t ever give up!

The Club Pelagic crew is adept at catching anything that swims so when the billfish bite slows, they can switch gears to keep their anglers tight to big fish.

This was Steve’s chance to discover his hidden Ahab. To flip the switch from desk jockey to fish warrior. Whatever white whale he was facing in life was no longer a metaphor; it was pulling on the other end of the line.

“Come on, man, you got this!” I said. He disagreed. My next move was to let the toxic masculinity pour out. Name-calling and insults were tossed at him in a last-ditch effort to piss him off and fire those muscles in his forearms. It didn’t work. Steve was cooked.

Looking at the man falling apart in front of me, I reminded myself that fishing is supposed to be fun. We’d traveled to this amazing country and were fishing on a gorgeous yacht with a seasoned crew and every piece of high-end equipment you could ask for. But, still, the cubera was too much for him.

The tangle between man and fish is called a “fight” for a reason. The loser may perish and end up on a dinner plate. We weren’t in it for the fillets. We just wanted to land the fish, to feel that sense of accomplishment and joy, the triumphant gladiator. There’d be no ceviche, only some photographs, shared around the socials like a gold medal. The fish would be revived and sent back to its watery home, away from the harmful eyes of man.

Ron Kawaja poses for a quick pic with a nice cubera snapper before releasing the fish. 

Steve flat-out quit. I took the rod. The power of the fish pulled me to the covering board, where I wedged my knees under the gunwale to gain some leverage. Once I turned the fish’s head, it came up much easier. When we saw its chimney-red color, a sense of victory crept in. It was the largest cubera snapper I’ve ever seen — easily 60 pounds. We slid her through the tuna door and took turns posing for the camera. Steve found his smile and couldn’t wait to show his co-workers back home. It wasn’t technically Steve’s catch, but the strangers on social media wouldn’t know and wouldn’t care. The likes would flow in just the same. 

For more info on Club Pelagic, visit pelagic-adventures.com.