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And actually thought about what we do and where we've come from?
It seems like yesterday, I was no more than a little guy bailing flounder and weakies in the bay with my father. We would sit, drifting minnows on the bottom, and I would watch the big sportfishers come blasting through the channel. They looked so awesome to me. Like giant castles fit to house a king and his court. Riding off into the unknown to do battle with sea monsters beyond mortal comprehension.
As time wore on, that gravitational pull became stronger. Needless to say I was a persuasive young guy. Slowly I coerced my father to make the move offshore. We went from the bay to the inlet, then flounder fishing out front to chumming bluefish at the ridge. Back then we didn't have GPS or even Loran. We had a depth finder and a compass. We would take our little orange line that came with the chart, run it from the compass rose to where we wanted to go, and just go. When the sounder read the right depth and we saw boats, we knew we were there.
Then Loran came. Now based on a small screen full of numbers, we knew exactly where we were. We were officially in the 21st century. That lasted for a short period before GPS came along. Now you had a diagram. This was glorious! About then was when we started running "offshore".
Exploring the 20-30 mile frontier was like going to outer space. We ran a 27' Sea Ray Amberjack. Twin IO gas. No outriggers. Two rod spread. Mixing it up with false albacore, bonito, bluefish, and the occasional mahi mahi was fun. I will never forget the first time I watched the line melt off a Senator with a 5 lb. falsy on the end. My first "tuna".
I wanted more and more. Dad followed suit. About the time I was 15 we purchased our first offshore diesel express. It was a custom. Not the greatest boat looking back, but capable enough to get us to the deep blue none the less. That marked our first canyon trip. Leaving at 6am we pointed the bow towards the Lindenkohl. 72 miles sure did seem like a lot. It was October. Hot, 78 degrees on the water. Nothing about it...the run, the weather, us...seemed right. There was some kind of unreal yellowfin bite going on. Armed with 2 50w's and these weird looking critters called butterfish we reached the edge. Man I didn't know the water was that blue off NJ. Reaching the edge I began sawing through butterfish. Thinking to myself "There has to be a better way of doing this? Well at least the knife is sharp...OUCH %&%!@" There went the tip. 10 years later I still see the scar. Then came the vomiting. There I was 72 miles out, bleeding, puking...no fish, wanting to go home.
God has a funny way of breaking you down, then building you up. If this is one thing offshore fishing has taught me...it often gets worse before it gets better. Looking over the side, a blue shadow appeared from the deep, then another...and another. They looked like airplanes flying through the water. I yelled to my father "Fish!" sent a hook over and WHAM! Off goes a 60 lb. yellowfin. I had never seen a fish so powerful. Line came and went. Finally we sunk the gaff. I was so proud.
From that point on I was hooked (no pun intended). I'll be honest and say I've never had the pleasure of decking/releasing something over 300 lbs. Then again...how many people can say they have? How many people can say they've had a 300 lb. blue marlin pile on a flatline and melt 400 yds. of line in an instant? Or perhaps tangle with 400 lb. + bluefin in the Hudson the middle of November? Even send the flyer home on the gills of a 250 lb. thresher only to have it hand your own ass to you on the rope? Not many...
About 19 years old I obtained my OUPV 50 ton offshore "Captain's License" In that time I have put the steel fish I never dreamed of. Not to mention let many more swim away (willingly and unwillingly). With those fish came stress. Growth. Growth is not always good. With growth came responsibility. Just today, sitting at my desk, looking at a deteriorating NOAA offshore forecast and an escalating bluefin tuna bite, I thought to myself: "This is stressful." Ten years ago, if you asked me if I ever thought I'd be 25, running a 30' Albemarle express diesel, in the pitch black, 50 miles out, with 5 people on board who's lives I am responsible for...the answer would have been no.
Want to test a man's edge? Put him at the helm in a 6-7 footers, at night, on the goddamn deep blue. Fight or flight comes into play.
So here I sit. Four guys at home waiting for my call saying "Pack it up guys, be at the boat by 1am, we're running" All the while worrying to myself: Is the weather window big enough? Do I have enough wind-ons? Are the fish still there? Man my bank account is getting kinda skinny.
And ya know what? Would I have it any other way?
Hell no.
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Originally Posted by Ace1st
