We headed out to deeper waters in the skiff to try our luck and calm the nerves. Poseidon, decided to toy with me, suddenly a pair of 12-foot sailfish danced in the waters below, without thinking about the circumstances, and forgetting the heartbreak of the GT, a quick cast and we had the sailfish turned, a second cast to the pair and one of them took the fly. The next few minutes were complete mayhem, the guide dashed to the front of the boat and helped me feed the remaining line to beast awoken on the end of my line, once we had all the line out, and I had braced myself onto the transom, I now envisaged myself stuck here like ‘ The Old man and the Sea’ a character in Ernest Hemmingway’s novel, where a fisherman had hooked more than he could handle and three days later arrived back at shore exhausted with a skeleton of a fish to show for his troubles. What happened was far far worse, after what seemed like 10 minutes but in reality was more like two minutes, the fish dove deep and all I could do was watch my backing peel away into the dark blue waters of the Indian Ocean, dread, despair and disbelief building faster than the line was being stripped out. Suddenly, the line stopped going out and held, as the fish gave me the smallest glimmer of hope that I was going to win the battle. I was wrong. A final surge, and then he was gone. I was left shaking like a leaf, wondering what went wrong.