A dark fin cuts through the churning foam, a swirl at the bait, a cry from the deck. Senses sharpened, I can see and hear everything, the fish returning, the worked lure, the take, the run, the rod. "You're on!"

Line paying out, seat the rod, find the reel slots, jelly fingers fumbling as life runs in to slow motion. Both sides clipped, feet on the boards, just as he told you, settle now, settle, wind and pump that rod. But most of all live the moment since moments like this don't come along every day.

Twenty four hours earlier I had been walking on Madeira 's highest peak, breathing the thin air and marvelling in the green lushness of its steep-sided slopes and the harshness of its rocky cliffs. The mountain plunges straight in to the sea, dropping away to an ocean floor thousands of feet below just a short distance from the shore.

Madeira, this Portuguese island in the Atlantic, some 350 miles off the coast of Africa , became a favourite of well-heeled European in the early 20 th century when steam boats would dock at the grand sea-facing entrance to Reid's Hotel. Sunderland flying boats came here shortly after the Second World War and Winston Churchill painted at the fishing village of Camara de Lobos while working on his wartime memoirs.

Today's there's a fading elegance about Funchal, Madeira 's biggest town, struggling to shake off its reputation as a favoured destination for the "newly wed and nearly dead," as one of the locals described it. But those in the know are finding attractions beyond the honey cake and Madeira wine. In winter expert surfers ride the breakers off the south west coast. Walkers trek along the precipitous levadas - a 1,500 km network of water channels - while young French visitors have pioneered the sport of canyoning, abseiling down waterfalls on ropes. As spring turns to summer, the mackerel shoals move northwards and so do their prey. It's time to join the big game hunters. The monster marlin have arrived.

I'm staying on the Palheiro Estate, home of the Blandy family who have lived here in Madeira , perfecting their famous tipple since 1811. A former hunting lodge has been converted in to the Casa Velha do Palheiro Hotel, while the large Blandy home is set back, hidden by one of the island's best loved gardens. One of the family members, Jonathan Fletcher, who manages the estate's property and golfing developments, has caught the big game fishing bug. He is still ruing the loss of a 300 lb big-eye tuna two days earlier. "The fish seem to be coming on to the bite," he says.

Down on the waterfront, as our boat is prepared for the day ahead, we meet Peter Bristow, one of the legendary skippers of international game fishing, who cut his teeth in pursuit of black marlin off Cairns in Australia during the 1970s and 80s. Today he is settled in Madeira . I had come across him two years earlier on a winter visit and it was then that he told me of the island's big blue marlin.

At the time I was staying in an apartment at the Pestana Grand hotel about a mile west of Funchal and he told me where they find the fish. "Two miles out to sea due south of your balcony, there's a rocky shelf where some currents intersect. Marlin congregate there in July. It's one of the very best spots off the island and one of the best in the world," he said.

A vivid image of big marlin cruising in the depths had haunted me ever since. So it didn't take much persuasion to fly out when the opportunity came along. "They call this Jurassic Park, the fish are so big," says Jonathan, whose boat, Balancal, is part of the small fleet of specimen hunters that patrol Madeira's waters all summer long in search of the elusive "grander" - a blue marlin exceeding 1,000 lbs.

With its twin 300 bhp Perkins Sabre turbo diesel engines, the boat has all the power it needs. Everything about this kind of fishing is about power - the five short stubby curve-butted rods, Shimano reels the size of winches, 130 lb line, lures like milk bottles and hooks that cover the curve of your palm.

The lines are baited quickly since the fishing begins not far from the harbour. Anibal Fernandes, our Madeiran skipper is heading along the coast for the very spot described to me all those months earlier. Gazing down in to the cobalt waters there is a sense of something primeval in the depths. "Are you ready for the hot seat?" asks Jonathan.

I'm going through the drill with Nick Bayntun who looks after the back of the boat. "You need to get the rod from here," he says, pointing to the side seatings, "to here," the slot in front of the chair. "It seems simple but you'd be surprised what can go wrong with hundreds of pounds of thrashing fish tearing away with your line."

He adjusts the chair for my height and takes me through the winding and pumping action needed to bring the fish to the boat. Apart from taking the rod on that first run I will not need to hold it once it's seated. The right hand is for winding and the left for guiding the line back on to the spool.

The golden machined Shimano Tiagra reels, packed with 200 yards of fluorescent line and 800 yards of Dacron, are glistening in the morning sunshine. One by one the rainbow-coloured acetate and rubber teaser lures go over the side. At up to $100 apiece you don't want to lose your bait.

"The fish here don't give themselves up," warns Jonathan. "It's possible to go days without a hook up." A group of South Africans had chartered five days just before our trip, without a bite for the first four days. Then on the afternoon of the fifth, while most of the party are snoozing in the cabin, a pair of Marlin leap across the lines, each taking a lure. One is quickly lost but the second is brought to the boat.

"It's rare to get a double hook-up like that, but it happens," says Jonathan. That's the nature of fishing. You never know when something is going to strike. I have two days to catch my fish and the hook-up ratios suggest that I should at least get a bite. But there's a risk I will remain fishless. As a lifelong angler I can live with that.

Not yet an hour out, we're easing in to the thrumming rhythm of the boat, motoring along at about eight knots when there's a shout. A dorado has snatched at the furthest most lure. It doesn't take. But then another shout and this time I see the fin. It's a blue marlin moving up on the bait, attracted, perhaps, by the commotion. Nick has seen it and expertly releases the drag to slip the lure back in to the fish's jaws. We're on.

Once in the chair I find my eyes drawn down to the line dipping in to the sea about twenty yards to our stern only to see the foaming turbulence of the fish bursting the surface nearly 200 yards farther out. Just a few more winds of monofilament remain on the reel, but I'm winding now and arching backwards.

I'm vaguely aware of those around me but time has almost stood still in a quiet zone where it feels that it's just me and the fish. In reality there's a blur of activity as spare rods are cleared away, the skipper manoeuvres his boat and the crew don their reinforced gloves, waiting to "grab the wire". This is the leader that must be touched to record a fish. Wiring a marlin is a perilous job, risking a stab from its thrashing bill or a powerful fish dragging you over the side. This kind of fishing is a team effort. Without the boatman and the deck crew, the fish would almost certainly be lost.

I can see the orange leader-join now and know this is my fish. I've had the same feeling about salmon. Sometimes you know they're yours. Other times are less certain, often culminating in a lost fish. Not this time. Nick reaches for the leader but the fish pulls away. Another pump, a couple more strenuous winds and he can grab the line.

It's not a giant, not a grander, and the crew debate the weight. Anibal thinks 400 lbs; Nick thinks it's nearer 350 lbs. I'm with the skipper, naturally, but the weight doesn't matter. You only have to see its shimmering flanks, the colours changing to pale greens, azures and mother-of-pearl, to know this is a beautiful healthy fish. Down she goes to feed and grow to match her bigger sisters. All the blue marlins here are female. It's the beauty of the beast, the beauty and the power that leaves you with a sense of awe.

My mouth is as dry as sandpaper. I'm feeling I have done my bit. There are handshakes and back slapping. Today Balancal will hoist her blue marlin pennant as she comes back to harbour and, who knows, there may be more. Jonathan takes the hot seat but six hours later we must be content with our morning's work. One other marlin is caught that day and it's in the thousand pound class, landed by the Ribeiro brothers whose father pioneered marlin fishing in Madeira .

The next day I join another boat, skippered by Trinidadian "Frothy" de Silva and worked on deck by James Roberts, a long-time game fisher who came to Madeira in the early 1990s. James is a warm-hearted larger-than-life figure with a gold diamond-studded hook barbed in to his left ear. Frothy is trying to capture the "small fry" International Game Fish Association blue marlin record for his 11-year-old son, Curtis, who lost an 800 lb marlin only the previous day. We steer through shoals of big-eyed tuna churning on the surface but fail to get a bite.

As the afternoon draws on, the sea has calmed to a light ripple. I'm standing on the upper platform staring in to the deep, following the tracks of slanting sunrays when I see what I think is a dolphin just ahead of the boat. But it's bigger with a bill and sail, glowing in dark blues, greens and purples. A blue marlin is cruising ahead of us. With a kick of its tail it is gone, like an apparition, leaving an image that will stay in my mind for the rest of my days.

Was it worth the trip? Oh yes, fish or no fish this is hunting in the raw, not so intimate as the chalk stream, but brassy, heart-pounding stuff with days full of promise and hope. Peter Bristow believes there are fish out there that could beat the current record of 1,402 lbs set off Brazil in 1992. "The island had its first grander in late May," he says. "It's a good year this year and looks like it might go on and on."

I stayed at Casa Velha do Palheiro as a guest of Jonathan Fletcher.

Big game fishing charters on Balancal are 1,300 euros a day in the summer season, less if you stay at the hotel. Charters can be shared among parties.

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