It took some real imagination today. Imagination, fish savvy, timing, and again no luck; this just isn't that kind of fishing. Success thus far has been a manifestation of the guys working their tails off to get us on the fish - then we have to catch them. And again catching them was no easy task, at least in the case of the bigger tuna. We did enjoy some wholesale slaughter action on mixed knee and ball slapper grade dorado that were associating with a partially submerged object we encountered mid day. The prolific, ravenous dorado provided a well deserved respite from the tuna action, or lack thereof, as "aquarium style" conditions, and suicidal appetites produced a bite every time for as long as we liked.

As so often occurs in such dorado frenzies the heated action consumes time in a flash; before one can almost blink it is all over. In today's case, with all urgency to finish quick and move on checked by a lack of morning sign, we practiced deep breathing, slowed ourselves to enjoy and appreciate each moment, and methodically harvested the beautiful demons one by one. And then, fully sated and satisfied, we moved on.

Unfortunately for yours truly I later suffered one of those hindsight experiences that so often come when working solo offshore. I was pretty certain of where the trophy tuna were going to pop up for the evening show, but, being a long way from that point, we had to fish our way toward my chosen zone. Plenty enough scattered indications kept detouring our efforts all the while eating up the clock that spins alarmingly fast at this time of year. When we finally did see what we were looking for the race was on.

It wasn't a race against another competitor this time, thankfully we are at least temporarily liberated from that nonsense, but a far more formidable, unbending source exerted pressure contrary to our objectives. With the sun already below the horizon, we ran this old girl like a young filly racing against nearly unbeatable odds; we literally had five minutes to make it happen at best, if we arrived in time. The adrenaline was pumping, along with my heart, as we flew into a final stop with barely enough light to see; zero margin for error; one single shot to make or break the day.

Long time veteran Ed Dahlkamp was manning the kite that my guys masterfully deployed in record time. One could barely see the bait swinging a hundred yards down swell. Then, even if one couldn't see the bait, what happened next left no doubt as to where it was; and 'was' is the correct tense in this description. A bomber explosion erased the bait from the picture as a charged up cow (giant yellowfin tuna) arose to snatch the bait amidst it's air breathing buddies. The epic battle that followed culminated with the rod breaking at the final moment and crewman Steve Gregonis applying his veteran skills to make good a terrible situation rife with peril.

203 was the weight of the vanquished beast in addition to another 150 picked off on the sardine by veteran Tommy Walker. It ended the day on a high note but oh did I long for what could have been. Watching the sign for the final thirty minutes - big spots of fish breaking under thousands of birds, all while pounding up into it at full throttle knowing that we would be in the game, gettin' 'em, if we were there, was torture to my fishing soul. Could've, would've, should've; if we hadn't of stopped here or there, if we would have kept going; the incessant rehashing the afternoon's events; at least we were fishing. And in the end - catching, a little bit.

Something is better than nothing. And, like I said, one is worth a lot. I had to rely on a photos from a few days back as I was thoroughly caught up in the heat of the moment this evening - photos were the farthest thing from my mind. Fortunately they weren't a few days back when I grabbed a shot of co charter master Glenn Evans with his 155, and Nacho Camerena pulling on what became a 177 on the bow.

Tim Ekstrom


Photo Here...

Photo Here...