After a long run the motor winds down from a roar to a deep-throated growl, almost like the low purr of an enormous tabby cat. As I sit staring over the transom at the flowing boat wake, a torrid sun bears down oppressively and a breeze like a breath from Hades beads sweat on my face and neck. Waves and crosscurrents orchestrate a dance that sway and rock the hull along its course. Straining my eyes, I push my mind to stay focused on the handful of bouncing, bobbing teasers and baits weaving in the froth behind the boat. Surrounding sounds, seas, and temperate sensations all work to bewitch me into closing my eyes – just for a second.

I fight the urge, forcing myself to remain alert, trying to will a fish to materialize among the trailing lines. A minute turns into 10, then a half-hour passes and eyelids get heavy and the urge to doze is strong. My head droops, bobs, and when my chin touches my chest, I snap my eyes open and fight to be alert. I haven’t flown almost 12 hours to Central America to sleep, although I have come to fulfill a dream. I’m finally in Costa Rica to do battle with one or two of the high-flying, hard- fighting sailfish the country is so well known for among salt water anglers worldwide.

By the time we are into the second hour of trolling, my enthusiasm for my premier day of sailfishing had ebbed a bit, and my anticipation of action wavered as the weather and waves sedated me. I maintain my attentiveness by once again appraising the eight rods and reels that protruded like porcupine quills from the transom and aft gunnels. Each black, 5-foot, long-handled billfish stick resembled a broom handle more than a fishing rod and only the sturdy roller guides gave away its use. Gold-tinted, anodized Penn and Shimano salt water reels as large as quart paint cans glint in the sun and 30-pound yellow line trails from each into the boat wake.

As we close in on our third hour of trolling, I spread on another coat of sunscreen and apply more lip balm to pass time and remain attentive. Then I concentrate on the four teasers, plastic heads with colorful streamers trailing behind which imitate squid or bait fish that dive, then noisily pop up and run along the surface in the motor wake. The sound, motion, and colors of these attractors are supposed to drive sailfish and marlin wild, and once a fish is among the spread, the teaser is pulled away and a specially hooked bait is substituted. Some of the time a billfish will ignore the noisy, colorful fakes and grab one of the four silver ballyhoo being trolled on two flat lines and two outriggers.

I was just contemplating how minuscule our baits and teasers were in this vast expanse of ocean when the port outrigger clip released with a sharp snap, and line played out, making the reel sound like an electric can opener. Roberto, the first mate, and I both jumped toward the rod at the same time. He pulled it from the holder as I strapped on the fighting belt. A fish had struck the farthest bait and was spooling off more line by the second. I stuck the fighting butt of the rod into the belt gimbal, flipped up the drag lever, and braced my feet.

The rake-handle-thick rod actually bent as I set the hook, and 200 yards away a shimmering slab of iridescent blue muscle with a long bill and fanned out dorsal sail leapt six feet clear of the ocean. More line melted from the reel spool as if I had no drag set at all, and once again the sailfish cleared the water, this time in a long arcing leap that had to cover 20 feet. I knew my mouth must have been agape and eyes wide in shock as I worked the fish, lifting the rod then reeling down to gain line. In my mind I was quoting the memorable words of Chief Brody in the move “Jaws” when he first spotted the shark, “We’re gonna need a bigger boat!”

Controlled chaos

During the first two minutes after a hookup, orchestrated chaos reigns on a billfish boat. The captain stops the forward motion and begins helping the mate reel in all the other teasers and bait lines. They dance around the angler to prevent tangles and remove every rod from the aft decks so no matter which direction the fish runs there are no obstacles. Once all the gear is cleared, the captain returns to the controls and maneuvers the boat to aid the fisherman and offer advice as needed.

Captain Patrick Armstrong, a New Jersey native, has been fishing Costa Rica for eight years, the last four on his own boat, the Miss-Behavin. Pat handles his 32-foot billfish boat like a maestro conducts an orchestra. His hands dance over the controls and wheel while his eyes continually scan the angler, the rod, line, fish, and the surrounding ocean. He backs down to help gain line, then circles left to cut off the fish on a long run and backs up again to shorten the line. It’s like a dance and a boxing match in one, each opponent trying to outguess and outmaneuver the other.

About 20 minutes later after seven jumps, three sizzling runs, and plenty of down and dirty head shaking and bull dogging near the boat, the mate grabs the heavy leader as I strong-arm the sailfish alongside the boat. That touch of the leader qualifies this as a caught fish, but I desperately want photos of my first sailfish, so first mate Roberto Lion grabs the deadly bill and wrestles the fish closer to remove the hook.

As I watch his body shake and jerk around as he tussles with the feisty sailfish I reconsider; we may not need a larger boat but perhaps a bigger first mate is in order. Captain Pat grabs the camera as Roberto and I haul the sailfish over the gunnel, each of us hanging on for dear life as the 115-pound billfish struggles, causing us to stagger about. Only a picture could describe the radiant colors, long, lethal bill, and the huge dorsal fin that gives the fish its name. Thirty seconds later the fish is back in the water and gone in a lightning-quick, splashy dive.

We shake hands all around on a team effort. I notice my arms are shaking from the intense action, in fact as I take a seat, I notice my entire body is vibrating, more from exhilaration than exhaustion. I’m awash from sweating during the fight and desperately need a slug of cold water. I feel drained. Pat climbs back up the spotting tower and suggests we find another fish and Roberto starts resetting the rods. Perhaps I’m not as drained as I thought. I gulp another swig of water and get up to help set out lines, already thinking of the next strike, the next jump, the next sailfish.

Aquatic afternoon

For the rest of the morning and throughout the afternoon, my adrenaline level had no problem keeping drowsiness at bay. A variety of aquatic action also helped the hours pass quickly and enjoyably.

Porpoise appeared beside and around the boat, surfing in the wake several times, and on two occasions manta rays more than three feet across leaped clear of the ocean and splashed down nearby. On half a dozen occasions, we spotted free-jumping sailfish off in the distance, leaping and carousing about, and twice motored past huge sea turtles much larger than a manhole cover.

Captain Pat pointed out huge pods of bait fish on the surface as well flocks of sea birds feeding on at least a dozen occasions, usually a good sign for billfish action. About a half-hour after landing the first sailfish, a short-line reel began to squeal, but after having it in my hands for less than a minute, we knew it was not a sail. It turned out to be a big silver fish of about 25 pounds called a rainbow runner. Later on in the afternoon I also caught an eelfish, a rather vicious-looking long, silver, toothsome creature.

About noontime the captain spotted a bill come out of the water behind one of the teasers. We pulled in the teaser and lowered a bait back. The sailfish immediately made a pass at it, whacking it with its bill, but refused to return and eat the bait. Still later the starboard outrigger popped free, spooled off some line, and stopped. Robert pulled it in to find half the bait fish was missing, and just then one of the long flat lines had a hit. I took the rod and waited, but once again it was a false alarm. This bait, too, was bitten, with only the head and hook remaining.

Just before 2 p.m. we had a legitimate take, and I set the hook on another sailfish, which went airborne instantly at the feel of steel. The rod removal two-step began again with Roberto and the captain hustling about as I put pressure on the sailfish during a long sizzling run. Half a minute later the billfish made a lateral dash and somersaulted up and out, throwing the hook and leaving our trio crestfallen. That was the end of action for the day as we stopped fishing at 3:45 p.m. to make the 22-mile, 80-minute run back to the marina. Although I was pleased, my crew was disappointed, reminding me that catching half a dozen sailfish a day is fairly common. Many boat captains complained of slow fishing due to the full moon, but I managed to take one more sailfish the next day, a 100-pounder, and also hooked and lost another. I can’t imagine what a six- or eight-fish day is like, or the chance to hook one of the big marlin that also patrol Costa Rica waters, but I intend to find out in the not too distant future.

Hooking up

I’ve heard many sportsmen refer to Costa Rica as the common man’s Hawaii. Accommodations, food, and fishing are all reasonably priced and readily available. I flew into San Jose and made the two-hour drive to Los Suenos, a resort on the central western coastline. Although there are condos available to rent, I chose to stay at the Los Suenos Marriott Ocean and Golf Resort, which is five minutes from a huge new marina.

Nonfishing friends and family can enjoy a private sand beach, a huge meandering pool with several nearby hot tubs, an 18-hole golf course that offers nine ocean-view holes and nine through the rainforest, and a small casino. There’s even an entire play center building for kids, with inside and outside entertainment and daycare available. Lighted tennis courts, a huge modern fitness center and spa, and countless watercraft sports are also at hand. Daily tours to view volcanoes or hike and traverse the rainforest on zipline canopy tours to see a myriad of exotic birds, monkeys, and iguanas can be booked. There’s snorkeling, world class surfing, sailing, and whitewater rafting for water lovers and, of course, the celebrated deep sea fishing.

Los Suenos translates to The Dream, and any Maine angler who wants to get out of the cold for a few days and cash in on one of the world’s best sailfishing locations needs to live “The Dream” in Costa Rica. Those seeking more information may call 011-506-630-9000 or check out the resort at www.marriotthotels.com.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com