Columnist Jon Ralston: Harrowing time on high seas

Friday, July 22, 2005 | 4:54 a.m.

Jon Ralston hosts the news discussion program Face to Face on Las Vegas ONE and publishes the Ralston Report. He can be reached at (702) 870-7997 or at ralston@vegas.com.

WEEKEND EDITION

July 23-24, 2005

KAUAI, Hawaii -- Until last week, the happiest moment of my life was the birth of my daughter, Maddy. But that was supplanted Monday by the moment that the fishing boat Maddy and I were aboard pulled into Slip 112 at Nawiliwili Harbor.

To say that the sweet, sweet sensation of feeling the boat sidle up to the dock ended the four most harrowing hours of my life is no understatement. I have been threatened by a former mob lawyer mayor and challenged to a fistfight by a rather large governor. I have flown in one of those tiny planes from Reno to Elko and had to turn back because of weather. But I have never experienced anything like being in 1,000 feet of water with the wind blowing and the vessel being tossed about as easily as cliches at a gubernatorial announcement speech.

Oh, my daughter's life and my life were never really in danger. Or so Capt. John ("Oh these are just average conditions") later told me. And don't be misled into thinking this is some story of a landlubber's brave sojourn on the high seas.

No, this is a tale of how I somehow managed not to faint or to vomit and how a 10-year-old showed more fortitude than her supposedly brave Dad who so gamely takes on the power elite for a living.

This horror story begins when we arrived here and I immediately sought out a deep sea fishing tour for Maddy. She loves to fish, as our frequent afternoons at Sunset Park will attest. She enjoys just being there and chatting with the other fishermen.

But she has always hectored me about going out on a fishing boat, so this was the opportunity. We jumped on board about 2 p.m. with 10 other visitors, including a couple of middle-aged brothers from Florida, one of whom was an experienced fisherman. Maddy and I were the only neophytes, and I was thrilled to see her so happy.

It didn't take long, though, to realize we weren't in Sunset Park anymore. A few minutes after Capt. John pulled away and First Mate Nick set the poles, it was clear this was going to be like being on a roller coaster. For four hours. Nick's preternatural sense of balance was only matched by his annoyingly consistent upbeat nature, constantly giving us a thumbs-up and a beaming smile.

Maddy, bouncing around in her seat, kept looking up at me declaring, "This is fun." And even though I was disconcerted, I nodded and forced a smile.

When one of our fellow shipmates reeled in a 20-pound ono about 45 minutes into the trip, which was something to see as Nick beat the remaining life out of it with what looked like an aluminum bat, I started to think this might be an enjoyable, educational adventure.

And then it hit me as the seas rose and the boat rocked. First I felt feverish, then queasy and then lightheaded. I looked at Maddy and could tell she was feeling the same. Then, suddenly, out of the cabin came one of the veterans, his cheeks puffed out, ready to unleash what the collegians once called a power hurl. He made it to the side of the boat just in time. I figured I wasn't far behind.

Nick applied cold compresses to our necks. He generously placed a bucket next to Maddy. "Just in case," he smiled. "Stare at the horizon," Nick urged me. "That always seems to help." So as I stood in the back of the boat holding on and praying I wouldn't pass out, what raced through my foggy brain? I didn't think of Melville or Verne, although I would not have been surprised had the great white whale risen out of the foamy water at any moment, sending us 20,000 leagues under the sea.

No, for some comically horrific reason, the strains of the "Gilligan's Island" theme coursed through my head. "A three-hour tour. A three-hour tour." And we had an extra hour for things to go wrong.

The other image I couldn't shake was George Clooney's boat in "The Perfect Storm" thrashing about in those unruly seas, destined to go under. One of the Florida brothers explained that he had been in Atlantic Ocean storms and "these swells today are bigger." And this was supposed to be helpful!?

I glanced at Nick and meekly asked if there were any chance to finish up early. It was not yet four o'clock. He just smiled. Annoyingly.

The queasiness thankfully passed, but not the fear. The boat occasionally seemed to go airborne and smashed down into the Pacific. "We're going to need a bigger boat," I thought to myself.

Maddy the Brave got her second wind and moved to the very back of the ship and sat down, astonishing the others and terrifying me with her pluck. I had visions of her 52-pound body being swept overboard. And there were still two hours left.

Finally, after a seeming eternity, Capt. John turned back toward land, with only one fish caught. I tried to contain my joy as the seas seemed to get rougher and I tried even harder to contain the contents of my stomach. The sight of the dock was nirvana.

Maddy insisted we stay to watch the ono gutted -- lovely sight that -- and then we stepped off the boat. "Two words," I said to my daughter. "Never again." Replied Maddy: "Two words, Dad: I agree." For the rest of what turned out to be a wonderful trip, everything tasted better, smelled sweeter, seemed better. By the end of the vacation, the fishing nightmare was a dim memory and my indomitable daughter's birth once again had ascended to my No. 1 happiest moment.