The Hooking of the Marlin

The Hooking of the Marlin is the decisive action that transforms Santiago's solitary fishing trip into an epic struggle. After eighty-four days without a fish, the old man, fishing alone far out in the Gulf Stream, finally feels a tentative pull on his line. This moment, occurring at noon on the eighty-fifth day, sets in motion a three-day ordeal that will test his endurance, skill, and will to the absolute limit, and it marks the point of no return from which the entire narrative of the book unfolds.

The Approach and the First Touch

Santiago had been watching his lines with precision, keeping them straighter than anyone else, when he saw one of the projecting green sticks dip sharply. He shipped his oars without bumping the boat and held the line softly between his thumb and forefinger. He felt a tentative pull, not solid nor heavy, and knew exactly what it was: one hundred fathoms down, a marlin was eating the sardines that covered the point and shank of the hook. The old man held the line delicately, unleashing it from the stick so it could run through his fingers without the fish feeling any tension. He spoke aloud to the unseen fish, coaxing it: "Eat them, fish. Eat them. Please eat them." After a harder pull, there was nothing, and Santiago feared the fish had gone. But then he felt the gentle touch again, and then something hard and unbelievably heavy—the weight of the fish itself. He let the line slip down, unrolling off the first of the two reserve coils, still feeling the great weight through his almost imperceptible pressure.

The Strike and the Initial Tow

Santiago allowed the fish to take the bait well, letting the line slip through his fingers while he made fast the free end of the two reserve coils to the loop of the next line, giving him three forty-fathom coils in reserve. He waited, speaking to the fish, willing it to swallow the hook so the point would go into its heart. Then he struck hard with both hands, gaining a yard of line, and struck again and again, swinging with each arm alternately with all his strength and the pivoted weight of his body. Nothing happened. The fish just moved away slowly, and the old man could not raise him an inch. The line became so taut that beads of water jumped from it, and it began to make a slow hissing sound in the water. The boat began to move slowly off toward the northwest, towed by the fish. Santiago realized he was being towed by a fish he had never seen, and he said aloud, "I wish I had the boy." He held the line against his back, watching its slant in the water and the skiff moving steadily. Four hours later, the fish was still swimming steadily out to sea, towing the skiff, and the old man was still braced solidly with the line across his back.

The First Sight and the Commitment

It was not until the following morning that Santiago saw the fish for the first time. The line rose slowly and steadily, and then the surface of the ocean bulged ahead of the boat. The fish came out unendingly, water pouring from his sides. He was bright in the sun, his head and back dark purple, with wide, light lavender stripes on his sides. His sword was as long as a baseball bat and tapered like a rapier. He rose his full length from the water and then re-entered it smoothly, like a diver. Santiago saw the great scythe-blade of his tail go under, and the line commenced to race out. "He is two feet longer than the skiff," the old man said. He knew then that he was fast to the biggest fish he had ever seen, bigger than he had ever heard of, and he was alone, out of sight of land. He committed himself to the fight, saying softly, "I'll stay with you until I am dead." He also declared, "Fish," he said, "I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends." This moment of recognition and commitment transforms the hooking from a mere physical event into a profound personal and almost spiritual contest between the old man and the great fish.