Old Man of the Sea

A spanking line squall worked its way along the Florida Keys and its backlash sent a wet wind whistling into the Key Largo bedroom of Captain Tom Gifford. The stocky man in the double bed rolled over and mumbled: "Southeast wind--that means the tuna are at Cat Cay." More concerned with her own comfort, Mrs. Esther Gifford got out of bed and closed the window. "Damn that man," she grumbled. "He can't stop fishing even in his sleep."

Tom Gifford has spent 40 years fighting with fish and the men who want to catch them. He has done the job so well that he is generally rated the greatest saltwater fishing guide in the world. Over the years, he calculates, he has boated some 300,000 Ibs. of fish and has thrown back twice that much. His customers have broken 24 assorted world records.

Private Rules. Gifford's fee is $70 a day, and much fancier boats than his stubby, 26-ft. Stormy Petrel are available for less. But Gifford is booked up six and seven weeks in advance. He has his own standards, and they are exacting. He will not fish with a man he does not like, or with a man who will not try Tom Gifford's theories. One of them is that trolling is not the best way to get sailfish; more can be caught using live bait while anchored or drifting along the rim of the coral reefs that edge the Gulf Stream. Snorts Captain Gifford: "The charter thinks he has to troll when he goes big-game fishing, and he gets mad as hell when you stop and anchor. A lot of them say: 'Whatcha doing? You going to bottom fish? I didn't come out here to catch grouper.' I tell them to go to hell; if they want to catch fish, listen to me."

Another rule: no more than 72-lb. test line for anglers who weigh under 200 Ibs.; no more than null test line for the heavyweights. Gifford has nothing but explosive contempt for "muscleheads" who insist on fishing for saltwater monsters with "rope." He explains, between oaths: "Most fishermen aren't strong enough to handle 39-thread (130-lb. test line) and keep pressure on a fish. I've seen them taken off the boat dead or go back home and die of a heart attack. Secondly, rope doesn't give the fish a fair chance. If you can't fish for fun, then you haven't any business fishing. These guys out after publicity give me a pain in the neck."

Potbellied Boat. When he was a five-year-old kid in Long Branch, N.J., Tom Gifford's father had to tie him up with sash cord to keep him from going fishing. "There wasn't a seafaring man in the family," he recalls, "and I collected blisters on my bottom because I wouldn't stay away from the water." After a stretch in the Navy during World War I, "Mom wanted me to be President and the old man wanted me to be an admiral. Me, I wanted to be a charter boatman. I bought a backyard-built, potbellied boat called the Bonita in Bay Head, N.J., put my mother, father and girl friend on board, and headed for Miami. The girl got off in Maryland, but we made it to Miami." In those days "the water in the bay was gin-clear, and you could stand on the bank and catch twice your weight in fish."

By 1926 Gifford had enough money to have a boat built to his own rugged specifications. With it, he became a nomad of the fishing world, roaming from Catalina to Cuba, from Nova Scotia to Mexico. He broke into the big time with Big-Game Fisherman Mike Lerner (Lerner Shops). "Those were wonderful days," says he fondly. "We fished for the giant tuna in open dories off Nova Scotia, and opened up Wedgeport. I've only known two men capable of using 39-thread line, and Mike was one of them."

At 63, Tom Gifford shows no signs of slowing down, will be taking Stormy Petrel to the summer tuna tournaments at Bimini and then north to Montauk Point. Everywhere, he will be busy cussing out the muscleheads and catching fish. Sooner or later, the men who want to catch the most will seek him out. When they do, they will take orders--or else.

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