Douglas shot up through the companionway and began hauling in whatever it was, while I got the gaff, the gloves, and the bottle of alcohol to kill it. Hand over hand (ours is not a conventional reel), he slowly brought in the fish. There was enormous tension in the line. Hed let it sit a bit, slip back a bit, and reel it in some more, hoping to tire the fish out. There was plenty of line out, and the fish had gone deep, so we couldnt see it for some time. We watched astern, hoping not to lose whatever it was, praying it wasnt yet another barracuda. He reeled, stopped, reeled, stopped, reeled. Then, the fish broke the surface and we were stunned. It was enormous. Douglas reeled some more, stopped, reeled, stopped, reeled. It seemed like forever; probably it was only about 40 minutes. Then, there it was behind us, an iridescent yellow and green, writhing and leaping out of the water on the hook, clearly a dorado (also called mahi mahi). Douglas reeled in the last long stretch of line till the fish was alongside, then he gaffed it and pulled it up, while I winced and poured the alcohol into its gills. Finally, it was dead. What a spectacular creature, I thought, and as usual I felt remorse for killing it, because with dorado, the gorgeous colors turn a mottled brown as it dies, the iridescence seems to evaporate from head toward tail, along with its spirit. Within half an hour, Douglas had cleaned and filleted it, loaded up a dozen zip lock bags, and we were eating sushi. It seemed impossible then to realize that only a few hours ago wed been seasick.