One of those love/hate experiences so typical of offshore fishing when signs of incredible abundance just twelve hours earlier are replaced by dust devils and tumble weeds the following morning. Though it is never thrilling to be on the receiving end of such twists at the same time it motivates the fishing instinct that both speaks of the obvious change, and the direction to go. In our case the only downside of the serenade was the direction from which it traveled - exactly opposite of the direction we needed to go; another one of those pivotal, voyage identifying, make or break decisions that create such comfort, tranquility, and ease on the bridge.

It really wasn't all that difficult though we would have loved to slide forward about twenty miles and administer some justice to those wily bluefin. I mentioned the love/hate element to the pursuit above. The truth of it, especially with time at hand, is that such transformations are so stark in their manifestation that one can't help but be amazed. It's the quintessential example of the world turning before our very eyes.

And when these built in changes occur offshore there is nothing better than a collective effort to get relocated. Everyone throws in their two sense, forms a plan, spreads out, and sets to looking. Southerly was our direction; south and east covering hundreds of combined miles in near grease calm conditions that made a beautiful day of it regardless of our results. Many subtleties were obvious in the mild seas among them little spots of what we call "puddlers" and "chippers", and far more prominent spots of yellowfin tuna jumpers.

Although they didn't add up to a whole lot, they did provide a wealth of morning action. For quite awhile we rolled from spot to spot picking off a handful here and a handful there staying busy and regularly putting fish on board. Most important was the inspirational call of Hookup! at almost every spot that sent anglers charging forth to join the fray in a blur of flying baits and lines.

The action fit the stereotype offshore albacore style fishing to the letter; fast and furious, a blur of rods, lines, elbows, and feet as anglers engaged in the familiar dance astern attempting to remain on top of the wild, racing tuna traversing a living maze of lines. With the size tuna we were catching in particular (12 - 20#) the excitement out back was compounded tenfold. No matter how good an angler does it, no matter how much experience one boasts, a hot, fifteen pound yellowfin, on any size line - but especially the short topshot backed by spectra, makes for a wild time of it. Multiplied by eight, ten, or a dozen it can get downright crazy - for about three minutes. Then the smoke clears, the last few come aboard, we re-marshal our forces, and go again.

By about mid day it was all over as we chugged toward a change of scenery and pace. Something a little more consistent, a little less frantic, and a lot more fulfilling will fit the bill to perfection. And as the unyielding perfectionist Captain Toussaint assumes command tomorrow, we'll see how the fish fare - though we've seen it plenty before; they can run, but they can't hide.

Tim Ekstrom