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Some of you may remember the story I posted a couple of years ago about my experiences mako fishing. Well, I received a lot of positive feedback from what I now consider my friends here at THT, so, I've decided to write another one, this one dealing with my addiction...an addiction most of you can relate to.
MY TUNA ADDICTION
I was recently talking to a gentleman, a non-fisherman, who was crying over his beer at a local pub. He claimed to have spent close to a quarter million on his addiction, which was gambling. As he told his tale, he made a comment to the effect that only another gambler or addict could understand the grip that his addiction had on him. I told him that I understood completely. “Oh?” he asked, “And what’s your addiction?” “Tuna fishing”, I answered.
My tale begins back around 1974, when my best friend’s Father bought a shiny new John Almand fly bridge to go with his new waterfront summer home in Lavallette, NJ. I spent several days there during that summer, the highlight of which was a trip “offshore”, to Manasquan Ridge and the western edge of the Mud Hole, where I caught my first tuna, a 15 pound bluefin, while trolling with cedar plugs and squid spoons for bluefish and bonito. That small bluefin would be responsible for a life-long addiction, one for which the only cure is more of the same!
My next encounter with the Thunnus clan came in November of 1979, during a bottom-fishing trip on a party boat out of Belmar, NJ. We had stopped on a piece of hard bottom in the Mud Hole, targeting Ling & Whiting, which proved to be quite thick, as even yours truly had no problem filling every hook on a gang-rig with tasty ‘frostfish”. Then, it happened: Someone got spooled by an unseen monster as they were cranking up a loaded rig from the bottom. Then another, and soon afterwards, yet another. The captain and mates immediately knew who the culprits were, and grabbed a couple of freshly caught whiting from a fare, then impaled them on 12/0 hooks attached to 9/0 trolling outfits that they produced from a rod locker.
The captain soon had a run-off and subsequent hook-up, and the mate handed me his rod as he went to his skipper’s aid. Within minutes, I found myself hanging on for dear life when the outfit in my hands suddenly came to life, courtesy of a 180 lb medium bluefin tuna! This was on a seven-foot long, solid glass trolling rod with a wooden butt and chromed gimble knock. There wasn’t a rod belt or harness to be found anywhere on the boat. “Just lay the fore-grip on the rail, and lever the bastard!” advised the mate. To make a long story short, about 45 minutes later, arms trembling, hands cramped into claws, the mate and captain finally sank a pair of gaffs into the second tuna of my career. My addiction had just grown worse!
The following year (1980), there was a fantastic run of medium and giant bluefin tuna in the mud hole. There wasn’t a single fish per day quota on giants back then, so even party boats got in on the action. I stepped aboard the Super Spray II on a Tuesday morning that September, paying my $35 dollar fare and $15 rod rental fee, expecting to see, and possibly hook, another medium bluefin. What I experienced that day instead, was the most incredible giant tuna fishing that I will ever see, even if I live to be 110!
We anchored up in the vicinity of the Oil Wreck, and started chunking just after daybreak. There were probably 15 fares on the 85 foot party boat that day, plus the captain and three deckhands, which amounted to 18 lines in the water, some baited with whole bunker, some with whole butterfish, and a few (like mine) with freshly caught ling.
The first run-off wasn’t long in coming, just two places down the rail from me, on a live ling. I was next, with a screaming run-off, a real “sayanora” hit, stripping every last yard of 80 lb test off the 9/0 reel on the rental rod. I never got to see that fish, and just stood there in awe, too shaken to say anything. “Get’em another outfit” ordered the captain.
Ten minutes later, and I was hooked up again, this time, a scant 50 feet from the boat, close enough to see the fish swallow the bait. I’ll just say, well, it wasn’t small! “Looks to be about 600, maybe” said mate Tom Wier. This one I managed to hold on to for almost 10 grueling minutes, before the line rubbed on the anchor rode. I was now shaken, too shaken to fish…this just wasn’t ‘fishing” as I had come to know it. I decided to take a breather, while one of the mates spooled up another reel for me, helping out by tossing bunker chunks. That led to “shock & awe” session number three of the day, where I witnessed fish as big as Volkswagens eating chunks practically right out of my hand! I find it hard to convey to my readers what it was like to see fish approaching the half-ton mark swimming mere yards away, eating whatever tidbits I threw to them, as if they were Carp in a pond.
Tom Wier’s outfit came to life soon afterwards. I recall it was an 80W International spooled with 130, on an 80 class blank. Tom jumped on it, and was soon locked in a grim battle with what we suspected to be at least a 600 lb fish. It took him around the boat so many times, that I lost count. One of the other mates handed me a freshly spooled outfit, which I refused to take. I just followed Tom around the boat, helping him work the rod around other lines and the anchor rode, for several hours. Tom finally bought the fish to gaff, and it took six of us to hold it with long gaffs, while the captain attached a tail-rope to it, and lifted it aboard using another boat’s gin pole. It later weighed in at almost 800 lbs, making it the largest fish ever caught from a party boat.
As for me, well, I gave up fishing after seeing the futility of trying to land a living locomotive on a mere 9/0 outfit, from the deck of an anchored boat!
That year was awesome, as the fishing lasted into late October. It was capped off by Al Ristori’s awesome 1022 lb NJ state record bluefin. It’s fair to say that more fish up to and over 1000 lbs were taken from NY Bight waters that year, then any other before or since.
The following year started off with me purchasing a small center console for inshore fishing, which saw quite a lot of use on the fluke and bluefish grounds. Bluefin tuna arrived right on schedule that year, and I decided to try my hand at chunking for smaller tuna inshore, from the deck of my very own boat. I had no trouble attracting bluefish, bonito, and false albacore, but the small “mickey mouse” bluefin tuna that had been plentiful on the inshore lumps a mere seven years earlier had been all but fished out by purse-seiners.
I again had to settle for a party boat trip out to the giant tuna grounds, this time, as a freeloader; a mate. The fishing that year was a let down after the wild blitz I’d experienced in 1980, and the horrendous weather conditions on the day I went out didn’t help, either. The 8-10 foot seas kept most of the fares on their backs in the cabin, suffering from mal de mar, as only four of us fished. We felt lucky to return with three large medium bluefin that day, including my first fish over 200 lbs.
That year (1981) Al Ristori again caught a record-breaking bluefin, only to be beaten by his friend Roy Parsons on the same boat (the Runaway), with 1030 pounder, which remains the state record to this day.
I was now more determined then ever to purchase a larger, more sea worthy craft, capable of taking me to the offshore grounds in comfort and safety, and landing a giant from it’s deck. The following year saw me move the bar a few notches upward, when I made my first ever canyon trip.
Great story. I too have the same addiction. Your right, the only fix is to get out there and catch more tuna. BTW, I'm having fresh bluefin steaks for dinner tonight from my most recent battle with my addiction.
Part II: I'm posting as I write this thing, so please bear with me!
Sometime during the late spring of 1982, I came across an article on the fantastic fishing that was available at the Hudson canyon, 77 miles east of Manasquan inlet. The author described a typical day of canyon fishing, which included a leisurely run offshore on a moon-lit night, experiencing sunrise out at the continental shelf, and then the fishing, which he described as “too good to be true”, with tales of yellowfin tuna, long finned albacore, Wahoo, and white marlin. I’d heard of the fantastic fishing before, but this article, written by a since-forgotten scribe, really put the hooks in me. I decided to charter a suitable vessel, and then put a crew together.
That vessel turned out to be a 38 foot Bertram, the “Crisdel” owned an operated by Captain Frank Criscola, and sailing out of the Belmar Marine Basin. I managed to book him early enough in the season to reserve Labor day weekend, which Frank’s co-captain, John Mautner, explained fell right in the middle of the best month’s fishing at the shelf.
The days, weeks, and months seemed to drag on forever that season, as I read every newspaper column, magazine article, and book on big game fishing that I could lay my hands on.
Finally, the big weekend arrived. I called all the members of my charter party, needlessly reminding them what to bring and were to meet, when the phone call came. It was Frank Criscola “Looks like it’s gonna blow tonight, and I’d hate to do it, but I’ve got to cancel the trip.” Oh No! “We still might have a shot at it, as I don’t have anyone booked for Saturday into Sunday, and the weather service says it should lay down by Saturday afternoon.” Thank you, God!
We set out sometime after 9 pm on that balmy Saturday evening, and found ourselves sailing through slick-calm seas illuminated by the light of a an almost full moon. Just like the story in the magazine article!
I had trouble sleeping that night, as I was excited at the prospect of the morning’s fishing, visions of big tuna and leaping marlin running through my head as we made our way eastwards towards the continental shelf. I finally managed to get a little shuteye, and woke only when I felt the drone of the twin Detroits change as Captain Frank throttled the boat down to trolling speed. I ran out on deck, to find my friend Matt Billerman climbing down the bridge ladder. “We’re just a few microseconds west of the letters,” he said, whatever that meant.
The crew got busy deploying the outriggers, attaching lures to the International 50 and 80 equipped rods, and getting the boat squared away for the day’s action. At that point, my charter crew got together in the boat’s salon, and decided to determine who got the first fish, by drawing straws. I wound up getting the last turn up at “bat”.
It didn’t take long for us to get into the thick of things, and my fellow tuna addict Matt was first up, on a single albacore. The next strike came as a triple, with my buddies Mike Costa, Ziggy Turkewicz, and my brother Lou taking their turn at the wolf packing long fins. My turn came, as did Matt’s, with a brace of albies.
Mike’s next fish, I’m sure, is seared into his memory forever. It came amidst another multiple of albies, yet Mike’s fish seemed stronger, as it should have been. Mike had picked up a 50 lb outfit that had an estimated 300 lb bigeye tuna attached to its business end, and it was his second-ever tuna! Mike battled that fish to exhaustion, his exhaustion, that is. He was growing weary of that fish circling in plain site just a dozen yards or so beneath the transom, and captain John Mautner decided to do something about it; he tried hand lining the tired fish in close enough to get the double line on the reel. Bad move, as on the third or forth pull, the line parted right at the bimini twist. Mike slumped back in the chair, beat after the hour-and-a-half struggle.
Another outfit replaced the one with the tortured line, and we were soon back in business, yanking in long fin albies like so many Boston mackerel. Just after one in the afternoon, the bite slowed, and since we already had 15 albacore over 50 lbs in the fish box, Frank decided to troll back towards home, while the crew washed the boat down, and prepared to call it a day. That’s when John spotted a big blue marlin finning on the surface, a few hundred yards away. I’d like to say that we hooked that magnificent beast, but it wouldn’t be true. We made so many passes trying to interest that fish in our offerings, that we probably bored the hell out of it, and it decided to sound.
All too soon, we reached the inshore edge of the Hudson canyon, and Frank had us reel in our lines, for the run back home. We had an uneventful trip back in, sailing through a glass-like sea, broken only by the occasional swirls left by leaping skipjack tuna as we crossed the 40 fathom line of the mud hole, running into a stunning sunset.
I decided right then and there that I needed a bigger boat, one that would allow me to experience this kind of fishing whenever time and weather permitted!
Another tuna addict here: Got hooked by catching my first tuna, a 15# bluefin, all on my own, just south of the BA buoy, northern edge of the Mudhole, August 1984. Trolling a jap feather...Never have quite been the same since. Keep writing!
Ed, we have talked before so you know I share your addition as well. I also know that in time that day will come when I catch one from my own boat and what a glorious day that will be. If the bite out at the elephant trunk happened a month earlier I would have been on it for sure. Next year...Until then I'll read your stories.
Fubar, What a small world. I also got hooked on the "Giant" fishing out of Belmar. I caught my first giant on the Skylarker with Capt Tom Bryant. I mated for him and several other boats out of Belmar and Brielle. I fished with all the Giant guru's!! Pisano,O'Donnell,Donofrio,etc. etc. They are an awesome fish. I will be taking my 38 Blackfin to Hatteras this winter. Let me know if you want to come down and fish. I now live in Hilton Head SC. allwett@lycos.com
Gagglehead, then you must know Gary, who now runs Bob's old boat, the Tuna Hunter. I worked with Gary, and Tommy Wier on the John DeRose's boat, the Super Spray II, then the Spray III (with Tommy and Steve Ormsby).
And, speaking of Belmar; how can you forget Barry Goldman, about the most 'colorful' person I've ever had the sorry pleasure to fish with! Or Chris Destafano, from the TFH?
It's truly been a pleasure to have worked and fished with these gents.
All during that fall and the following winter, I visited boat dealers, went to boat shows, and contacted boat brokers, searching for a sea-worthy craft capable of fishing offshore in reasonable weather, and not requiring the finances of a millionaire to maintain. Sometime in March of 1983, I found two year-old, 23 foot Mako center console, with a Merc 225. The boat had seen little use by its previous owner, who simply wanted to get out from under the bank loan, so he could purchase a boat with a cabin.
My previous boat was put up for sale, and was gone within two weeks. I used the cash from that sale to buy a brace of international 50Ws, and two matching Fenwick IGFA 50 class rods, with aluminum buts (stand up tackle had yet to make an appearance in our area). I also picked up a pair of 80 class rods, matched to Bigfoot style guides, and mounted 12/0 reels on them, spooled with 130.
The ’83 season had its share of surprises in store for anglers fishing the NY Bight. It started in early July, when a body of warm, tropical blue water invaded the inshore grounds of the mud hole, from the area of the Arundo wreck, southwards. First, there were scattered reports schools of white marlin being encountered by shark fisherman working the HA buoy, Monster ledge, and the Lillian wreck. This bought out the trollers, who immediately encountered schools of yellowfin tuna. It was amazing, as no one had ever remembered any numbers of yellowfin being seen inshore of the Texas tower before.
I managed to get in a few of good trips between late July and Labor Day, often returning with 3 or 4 35-60 lb yellowfin, all caught on the troll. The thing that amazed me back then was how wary the yellowfin were inshore, as compared to the same fish in the canyons. You really had to put in a full day’s trolling, and avoid bunching up into a fleet.
At this time, I still did not have a LORAN C on my boat, so I used a time honored navigational system, known as SWAG to plot my position; Scientific Wild Azzed Guess! I would plot my position based on running time, water depth, and the presence of other, better-equipped craft. I also kept a 25-mile leash on my activities.
When September rolled around, we were in for a bit of a disappointment, as the inshore bluefin run did not materialize until late in the month, and even then, the action was sporadic, with only the real pros enjoying action. As a rank amateur, I had to settle for the occasional blue shark or thresher, as my offerings were being ignored by everything else.
I also had a chance to make a walk-on canyon trip on Marty Tave’s Renegade out of Belmar, though the trip I went on failed to produce any more then six tuna and one dolphin, all taken on the troll (and shared amongst 10 anglers!), as chunking had yet to catch on at the canyons.
I took a day off from work that October, and made a Bacardi trip on the Francis Bogan’s Atlantis, then out of Point Pleasant. There had been a really decent run of school bluefin and yellowfin tuna in the area of the Bacardi wreck, about 67 miles offshore. I managed my first yellowfin on jigging tackle, and took the pool with a 167 lb bluefin. The Bacardi run that year was the precursor of a fantastic fall fishery that lasted until the end of the decade.
In early 1984, I found myself being asked to work more and more overtime at my shore job, and found myself with a lot less time to fish. On the bright side, I managed to accumulate enough money to help pay off the boat loan, and to finally purchase a LORAN C unit for the Mako. An inexpensive LORAN unit ran about $900 back then, roughly equivalent to $2500 in today’s dollars, so, it was a major expenditure. I also installed a set of trim tabs, which certainly made my back feel better after a day’s run to the grounds.
1984 will not go down in history as a great year on the inshore grounds, and the Mako’s limited fuel capacity and lack of shelter did not make her a canyon runner. Not, that it mattered though, as canyon fishing that year was spotty at best.
The inshore bluefin run was somewhat better then the previous years, and I even managed couple of 200+ lb mediums on back-to-back weekend runs out to the Monster ledge. This was with conventional IGFA rods, on a boat without a chair; needless to say, I missed more then a few days of work that September due to a sore back! Standup tackle was just beginning to come on the scene here on the east coast, and the boys out east in the Montauk were having a great time with it. Speaking of Montauk, my friend Matt Billerman had a great day’s fishing that September with Al Ristori on Al’s Sheri Berri, catching and releasing an incredible number of school bluefin.
The run at Montauk that year was fantastic, as was the offshore run at the Bacardi. I managed to make a trip on Ralph Pennington’s Sea Devil out of Pt. Pleasant that fall, and I limited out on 50-60 lb bluefins in less then an hour, and then enjoyed a short blitz of school dolphin on spinning tackle during the early afternoon.
By the end of that year, I decided to succumb to “twofootitis” once again, and traded my Mako for a slightly larger, newer craft that sported a few amenities. Lack of shelter had limited my season to May thru October, and had often deterred friends and family from joining me on snottier days. After carefully reviewing my options, and taking into account what I wanted, and what I could actually afford, I settled on a Wellcraft 248 Sportsman, powered by a single Yamaha 220 horse “V6 Special”. I equipped that boat with a Lowrance X-15 paper machine, a SiTex LORAN C unit, trim tabs, and hydraulic steering. I had a custom bimini top fabricated for it, with 6’8” clearance, and a full enclosure with thick eisen glass. I rounded it out with a dual battery system, a built-in charging system, and shore power with a custom fabricated AC panel.
My first encounter with the Thunnus family that year came during an early June shark trip out to the triple wrecks area. As I was running along the western edge of the Chicken canyon, I witnessed acres upon acres of school bluefin leaping out of the 59-degree water, heading in a generally northeasterly direction. We did not try for them, as it’s been my experience that they usually will not feed when they’re behaving this way.
On one Friday evening in early July of ’85, my friend Mike Costa, and my brother Lou, set out for the Hudson Canyon on my 25 foot Wellcraft, the “Land Shark”. We left at 11 PM, and our plan was to arrive at the edge by daybreak, and commence trolling. The seas were calm that night, and we motored out at minimum planing speed, or about 17 knots. We’d taken along extra fuel in (4) 12 gallon portable outboard tanks, and our plan was to use up the fuel in the portable tanks first, then lash them up on the side decks as we emptied them. Much to our surprise, we had erred on the conservative side, as we barely used 36 gallons (3 tanks) to reach the tip of the Hudson, and were forced to troll with one tank still in the cockpit. Not that it mattered to the 50 lb yellowfin that soon became the Land Shark’s first Tuna.
The fleet working the tip of the Hudson canyon must have numbered over 100 boats that morning, and they didn’t appear to be doing squat. We motored on south east, towards the area known as the unexploded bombs, and picked up another small yellowfin. The morning wore on, and it was soon midday, so we decided to troll towards the northwest, and home (we had planned to head in at about 1 PM). Just short of the edge, we had one knock down, then, another, without any hookups. I reeled both lures in, figuring that we’d snagged some debris, when much to my surprise, a lit-up white marlin came up behind the boat and inspected the lures on the short (flat) lines, before moving on.
By the time we decided to call it a day, we just had two yellowfin tuna in the box, which while not generally considered too good, was much better then most were doing, judging by the chit-chat on the VHF.
My next trip out to the canyon was a month later, and produced all of three school dolphin, that decided to commit suicide via Tuna-Clone. On the way in, we decided to hit a wreck on the southwest corner of the Chicken canyon, and jig some Pollock. The Pollock were cooperative, and we soon had four 25-30 lb fish in the box. That’s when I noticed readings at mid depth, or about 90 feet, as we drifted off the wreck. I tried dropping an 8 oz diamond jig down to the same level as the readings, but it never made it. Instead, it was intercepted by a 67 lb yellowfin. My partner in crime that day, Pete Latos, also decided to jig, and was soon hooked up. It makes things kind of interesting when there’s no one available to gaff a fish for you, because they’re fighting one too!
It was about then that boats began returning from the canyon with incredible numbers of yellowfin tuna. Sometimes, well over 30 or 40 fish! Their secret? Chunking with butterfish at night, while tied up to lobster pots at the 100-fathom curve. Unfortunately for me, my work schedule again prevented me from taking advantage of this opportunity, and it wasn’t until after late September, or, after hurricane Gloria came thundering through, that I was able to get out again. Pete Latos and Matt Billerman joined me for a trip out to the Bacardi, where the chunking action had been non-stop day and night, for both yellowfin and bluefin. Unfortunately, we’d planned this trip based on a forecast of fair weather and calm seas, courtesy of NOAA’s New York office. Instead of the predicted 2-3 feet waves and 10-15 knot winds out of the southwest, we found ourselves battling 8-10 foot seas and 30-knot NW winds by the time we were 17 miles offshore! We turned back, and that was the end of the season for me.
In February of 1986, I decided to take a week’s vacation at Marathon Key, Florida chartering Capt. Ed Boland’s Nancy B for the week. During a trip out to the hump off Marathon (aka “Magic Mountain”), my friend Pete Latos, my brother Lou, and myself scored on blackfin and yellowfin tuna up to 40 lbs. The climax of that trip, was a wahoo that blasted a small orange Kona jet trolled at 14 knots, that we set out on the way back in (much to the surprise of the captain and mate!).
On my first trip to the canyon that year (mid-June), I was a guest aboard the late Capt. Greg Venturo’s “Sea Lore”, a 34-foot Luhrs. We trolled up 7 yellowfin up to 80 lbs all along the west wall of the Hudson, without the benefit of a LORAN, as it had gone fubar when we reached the tip! We simply followed the bottom contours on the big Raytheon color scope, and used lobster pots to give us a visual clue as to the lay of the “land”.
My second trip was memorable, as it resulted in a brace of bigeye tuna for my friends Rich Warden and Pete Latos. We hooked them up first thing, just after I set the rigger lines, and before I could place the first flat line in the transom-mounted clip. Rich in particular was impressed, as it was his first tuna, and anyone who’s tangled with a big eye can attest to their insane strength! This was my second and last canyon trip that year, as the best fishing in years was yet to come.
1986 turned out to be a wild year inshore, with both bluefin and yellowfin tuna settling into a chunk bite by late July. This of course made for some huge fleets, and lots of lost fish. It was possible to hook a giant bluefin, lose it, and hook up a 60 lb yellowfin ten minutes later.
I soon tired of the nonsense resulting from following the crowds, and would head off by myself, striving to find similar bottom structure and bait concentrations away from the crowds. This paid off handsomely on several occasions, and it was a rare day when I would come in empty handed. A typical day would result in several yellowfin and a large school or medium bluefin or two. The hot bait turned out to be live ling (squirrel hake) live-lined into the chunk slick. Small peanut dolphin, and even banded-rudder fish were also used with success.
In mid August, I joined Matt Billerman and my brother Lou on Al Ristori’s Sheri Berri, then a 25 foot Mako center console, out of Montauk. We had an interesting day, as we hooked several large fish (losing all of them), and returned with one 65 lb yellowfin each. While fishing out in the Butterfish hole, we listened to NOAA radio forecasting tornado warnings inshore, throughout the Hamptons!
This wild fishing lasted well into September that year, and resulted in the market price of giant bluefin, and even yellowfin tuna plummeting, which helped thin the fleets out a bit.
1987 was a virtual repeat of the year before, with the exception of the discovery of a giant tuna bite early that June, in the triple wrecks and Texas tower areas. This was a trolling bite, utilizing squid and mackerel spreader bar rigs. I believe it was Capt. Bob Pisano of the “Tuna Hunter” who took the first giant that June. Now, these fish had always been out there, as the occasional one was taken by shark fisherman as early as Memorial Day weekend in previous years.
By early July, these fish, along with huge (150+ lb) yellowfin tuna, had again invaded the inshore waters of the Mud hole, from the Oil wreck on south to the Monster ledge. I again scored using my “fleet avoidance” tactics, but soon tired of catching tuna like so many bluegills in a pound, and did something relaxing instead. I went shark fishing!
By September, the inshore tuna fishing died out to what became known as a “professional bite” with only the real pros scoring. Offshore, though, things were different at both the canyon and the Bacardi, with yellowfin, school bluefin, albacore, and big eyes all willing to commit suicide on a regular basis.
An interesting observation: One boat reported scoring, without the benefit of chunking, by simply tying up his boat to a lobster pot, and running his generator! It seems the fish had become so adapted to boats, that they arrived in numbers anticipating a free hand out.
I made a trip out to the Bacardi in early September, anchoring by 1 AM inside a small fleet. Within thirty minutes of chunking, we had fish in the slick, and Matt Billerman and myself limited out on bluefins before daybreak, and tagged and released over a dozen more by 11 AM!
I winterized the boat in mid October that year, as again, my work scheduled literally demanded me to work overtime all that fall and into the following winter.
Fleet at the Oil Wreck, August of 1986. I'm fishing over a small piece of structure, probably a sunken barge, and using live hake to catch fish away from the fleet. This spot is less then a half-hour from Shark River inlet.
A typical inshore tuna catch from 1986. Five yellowfin, and one large school bluefin.
Keep it comin' You are really telling my story, as I had two-footitis and traded my Mako 224 for a Mako 258 in 1985. Had the same rods, reels, and electronics, too. Some fishing those years. What contributed to my demise after that bluefin I mentioned in a previous post was The Day of the Dolphin, as I call it. A discarded lobster crate at 17 Fathoms, on Labor Day, 1984, produced 24 dolphin for me and my friends...sealing our fate as offshore afficionados...!
Great story!! Looking forward to the next installment!
I am looking to tow my 25' walkaround to Lavalette for the first two weeks in July next year and hope to find some tuna (It's been a long time for me...)!!
"But, he thought, I keep them with precision. Only I have no luck any more. But who knows? Maybe today? Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready."
The Old Man and the Sea
Thanks again, for the compliments. I don't consider myself a writer, and I'm glad that no one (yet) has pointed out my grammatical mistakes, of which I'm sure, there are many!
The 1988 season started with Bob Pisano trolling up yet another giant bluefin in the triple wrecks area, early in June. Later that month, Matt Billerman and I got together for a few days of serious shark fishing, and got the surprise of our lives when Matt hooked, battled, and boated a 200+ yellowfin at the triple wrecks. On a mackerel fillet fished on a 275 lb test braided steel leader!
1988 was also the last year that yellowfin tuna invaded the Mud hole in any numbers, and even then, the bite only lasted six weeks or so. The most reliable fishing was offshore at the canyons, and at the Bacardi and Texas tower wrecks.
It was also the year that I boated my first and only (so far) giant bluefin tuna, a mere 389 lb pup, taken from the area of the Gulhuia wreck, near Monster ledge.
I also made several trips offshore to take advantage of the hot bite out at the Bacardi wreck, including one late in the season (November) on Barry Goldman’s “Old Salty” out of Belmar. It was a memorable trip, as Matt Billerman and myself boated 8 of the 27 tuna caught on that trip, using diamond jigs.
The next year, 1989, saw me quit my job, and go into business with my relatives. While this freed up some fishing time during the week, it wasn’t always a bed of roses!
I augmented the Land Shark’s electronics that season, by adding a CRT color scope, a second (hand held) VHF, an EPIRB, and a second, battery powered LORAN C. The color scope proved to be an effective tool, as I could set the fish alarm (a feature which I had previously treated with disdain) to say, go off when it would read a target between 10 and 90 feet. This was quite entertaining when I took a novice along, whom upon hearing the alarm beep would ask, what it was. “Oh, just a tuna or two letting us know that they’re here” I’d quip. More often then not, action would follow immediately afterwards!
That season saw the longest and wildest run at the Bacardi, lasting from July well into late November. I can’t say that I’ve run ever run into anyone who made a Bacardi run that year that came home empty handed. It seemed that those fish would never go off the feed, as there were reports of frenzied fishing at all hours of the day and night.
The fleet gathered there often numbered in the hundreds, and led to an incident that will never be forgotten by those who gathered there one August evening. A freighter (can’t quite recall her name, though it may have been the “Crown Bridge”), running on autopilot almost ran down a number of boats, even though almost all had halogen spreader lights on, as well as the required anchor lights. Thankfully, there were no injuries that I’m aware of, despite tales of the ship’s hull almost scraping the transom of one hapless sport fisherman!
I made several trips out to the Bacardi that Summer and early Fall, almost always returning after a few hours, as there was no room left in the fish box, and I’d run out of tuna tags.
An interesting side note: Several captains and anglers fishing the Bacardi reported seeing a “20 foot long Great White shark”. Of course, those that did not see it treated the sightings with a grain of salt, that is until fishing columnist Al Ristori saw a large white shark swim by, right under his boat. Scary stuff.
The inshore fishing that year was only fair at best, with possibly a dozen giants taken by October, when school bluefin took their place. I had the pleasure of fishing one day that month with Al Ristori on his Sheri Berri II, an Aquasport 28 foot center console out of Point Pleasant.
The following year (1990) saw no run develop at the Bacardi, which unfortunately, proved a harbinger of things to come. The inshore school bluefin tuna run, however, was a throwback to the old days. A mild autumn, coupled with water temperatures in the mid 60’s, ensured the longevity of the fishery, right until NMFS closed the season at the end of October.
I must have made an easy dozen runs out to the Monster ledge that season, and never returned with the skunk flag flying. It was absolutely no problem to catch your limit of bluefin, on bait, diamond jigs, bucktail jigs, you name it! I recall several days when my crew and I would anchor, and have our limit within two hours.
One morning saw a large fleet anchored in deep water (280+ feet) just shy of the ledge, with draggers maneuvering around them, spilling literally tons of hake out of their nets. These hake would float, as their bladders had inflated due to the rapid change of depth. And, large school and giant bluefin were having a field day, scarfing down ‘floaters”, often within a few yards of anchored fisherman. Only a few took the initiative to get off the hook, net a few floaters, and fish them on the drift. They were often as not rewarded with crashing strikes, resulting in modern-day Nantucket Sleigh rides! Unfortunately, most were not equipped to handle the outsized bluefin, and were spooled within minutes.
For Your Reading Pleasure...another story 
