I have to say that I'm not quite certain how to correctly frame this day in totality. This is one of those occasions when it is better to focus on the immediate, embrace the positive, and go with it. No use crying over spilled milk; or un manifested opportunity.

The action we were seeking did occur. Swarms of small yellowfin tuna attacked virtually anything following a nail biting first half of the morning that produced nothing. We ran on solid reports of good sign and fishing for school size yellowfin tuna and yellowtail. Very good water conditions, perfect current, loads of fish - the whole picture sounded great and fit the bill to perfection. We set our strategy in motion prepared to slide in at the crack of dawn and get down to business. One can imagine my dismay as the water temperature plummeted two degrees, the current was screaming in the exact opposite direction than was relayed, the water color was green, and the culmination of our two hour effort was two small white fish; one of which didn't even bite a baited hook. It was snagged in the rear. Long range fishing at it's finest.

It was one of those occasions when the threatening sentiment was defeatism. To see that kind of change overnight in advance of our arrival definitely had the flavor of injustice; especially after the beating endured for three consecutive days prior. It was almost laughable. But not a joyous laugh. A sardonic laugh of contempt and disgust. Rather than succumb to the temptation to pout however we hit the road looking. I would classify the overall atmosphere at the time as grave; border line shell shock on deck.

A few hours into the hunt we came upon the happy hunting grounds. The fact that it was small tuna at that point really didn't matter. The fact that we were amidst hoards of voracious fish that wanted to die definitely did. Wave after wave mounted their assaults, and wave after wave were cut down by anglers starved for action, and production, over the past three days. We didn't get carried away or anything, but we definitely slapped plenty of tags on tuna that would have otherwise been released on most occasions. So be it. The therapeutic exercise of tearing those tags off, depositing a few in the hatch, and catching fish after fish to our heart's content went a long way toward restoring confidence and enthusiasm for the effort. The long rods came out, surface poppers were smashed nearly every cast, every bait was mercilessly chased and hammered for the guys fishing up the side - it was the exact pace necessary to engage even the staunchest trophy hunter's interest.

No one was under any illusions about the overall setting. A bunch of small tuna does not a long range catch make. But, today's action was a chance to cast the purist trophy objective aside and relish the essence fishing. Fishing for the pure fun of it. We all love to catch fish. The kid comes out in us whether fishing for giant tuna or bluegill in a pond when they are biting. That is really why we are crazy enough to come out here and drive around the ocean for days at a time. To capture that moment, preferably those moments, when we can let it all go and connect with a primal pleasure unfound in our daily chores. This was a taste of it albeit a miniscule hint of the world class flavor we had our sights on.

There you have it. It wasn't a trip saver, or a crowning moment of pride for Royal Star and our anglers on board. But would we have been better without it? No. I'm not going to venture that this is exactly what we needed; but we needed something. Something we got. The effect on morale was palpable. So the journey continues as we head for another day of something or better. Yellowfin tuna and yellowtail are still on the menu as we ply the southern waters for a final full day before working our way up the line. First things first however. We are not done, down, or out yet; not by a long shot.

Tim Ekstrom