“Are you sure you want to come out with us tomorrow, Archie?

We’re leaving early.”

“Of course I want to go, I’m always the first to wake up.”

It was true that six-year-old Archie usually woke first but it was also true that he sometimes fell asleep during the day – a latemorning nap or a snooze in the car on the way home from school. And when it came to boating, Archie always fell asleep on the boat. A couple of times he’d woken up to find he was back on shore and the others were hosing the salt water off the boat.

“I definitely want to come with you. Where are we going, Dad?”

“Tia wants to make the snappersoup recipe we found in the Fishing News,” Dad said. “What do you reckon we try to find a snapper?”

“You need a sandy bottom,” Archie said, pleased to have the information, and Dad grinned over at his sister.

“We know just the place.” The next morning the three of them were out and on the water by five o’clock. Dad and Tia found the secret spot their grandad told them about years ago which the family always called ‘X Marks the Snapper’. The bottom of the ocean was clear and sandy, although there were some dark, deep pockets.

“Drop the berley, Archie,” Aunty Tia called. “And then let’s get you in the water, first.”

“I’m not going in,” Archie laughed. It was an old joke that never failed to land. “There might be sharks down there,” he added, peering over the side.

“I doubt it,” Aunty said, but she stared into the water, too. Then she baited up Archie’s hooks as Dad dealt to the anchor. “I’ll put some yummy octopus on your line.”

Sea birds were already coming in to have a look, the wind was gentle and the boat tugged and bobbed in a circle. Archie dropped his baited hooks carefully into the sea and let them fall until his sinker touched the sand, then he wound the line up a bit, just as he’d been taught.

He felt alert and focused, poised to pull on the rod if he got a bite. Aunty opened a thermos of coffee and she and Dad relaxed into their fishing, remembering other trips from when they were kids. Archie listened for a while but soon leaned his head back against the cushion of his lifejacket to stare at the distant horizon. It seemed a long time to keep his mind sharp and his rod poised. He let them both drop a bit and closed his eyes – just for a moment.

Something took his bait so furiously it nearly yanked the rod from his hands. Archie woke with a shout, his heart hammering near his throat. “It’s n-n-not a s-s-snapper,” was all he could stammer.

Dad gave Aunty his rod and came to help Archie who clutched the jolting, jerking fishing rod as tightly as he could. Aunty wound in the other lines so they wouldn’t tangle and she moved away the coffee cups and cellphones. “What’ve you hooked, Archie?”

“I don’t know. But it’s so heavy.” His arms strained with the effort of holding his line and there was no way he could reach the handle to begin winding. “Help! Help me, Dad.”

“I’m here,” Dad said. He leaned over and held the rod, too. “You try and wind,” Dad said but Archie couldn’t even make one full turn. “Hmmm,” Dad said, “What sort of taniwha have you disturbed?”

He began to wind the handle and even though it was awkward, Archie kept a grip on the rod, too, so that if it turned out to be a massive fish there was no doubt he was the catcher. Gradually a dark shadow appeared deep below them. It twisted and turned in a spooky way but it was well hooked and it couldn’t break free. “What is it?” Archie felt afraid.

“What if it’s a shark?”

“I think it is a shark,” Dad said, “But we’ll see properly in a minute.”

Aunty stayed on her side to keep the boat steady but Archie could hear her phone taking photos. He wanted to be chilled out because he knew he would use this tale, and her photos, for a class story. But his voice trembled as he said, “Don’t bring it on the boat, will you, Dad?”

“No. That wouldn’t be fair to us or the shark,” Dad said. Then he gave a long whistle. “Wow. Tell me what we’ve got here, Archie.”

Archie gripped the side of the boat and leaned just a little way out to look. He saw a glistening grey, slightly green-tinged shape and when it rolled in the water, he saw that its belly was much lighter, almost white. There were bumps and battle scars along its back, but the strangest thing of all was the monster’s T-shaped head and he cried in terror and awe, “A hammerhead!”

“It sure is,” Dad said. He led the shark to the back of the boat to try and remove the hook.

Illustration by Lisa Allen

“No!” Archie cried. “Don’t touch it.” The shark didn’t want to be touched either. It thrashed and contorted in the water then wrenched and yanked on the line, trying to break free.

“Hang on,” Dad said to it. “I’m trying to release you.” He reached around to stare at his tools and called to Tia. “I need something to cut this line as close to the hook as possible.”

“Oh, but what about the shark?”

Archie cried. He was torn between releasing the beast and not hurting it.

“The hook will rust away. A big shark like this will be fine.”

Tia passed some pliers and Dad leaned right over the back to perform his surgery. For one second the shark hovered, still and scared and Archie stared at the eye on the end of its flattened, wide head. He felt afraid but sad, too, and thought the shark would be feeling much the same.

Tia took a photo of Archie and the hammerhead just before it was cut free. “Mangōpare,” she murmured. They watched the shark turn, using its powerful head and tail to steer and then it disappeared. “That’s special for you,” Tia said. She stared down to where the shark had been. “Mangōpare represent strength, determination, strong will and a fighting spirit.”

“That’ll be why the shark picked my line,” Archie grinned.

“More likely because you were snoozing,” Dad said. “It must have thought, some sleepy angler has left his octopus buried in the sand for me.”

Archie ignored his father’s teasing and asked his aunty, “What’s a good name for my story?”

“What about A Fighting Spirit,” Tia suggested. “That title works for you and the shark.”

“Yeah,” Archie said. “I like that.” But Dad said, “I reckon you should call it, Sleepyhead Hooks a Hammerhead.” He kept chuckling to himself for the rest of the trip.