All the Tuna We Wanted--A Perfect Day of Winter Fishing

By Jim Field

March 20, 2010 will be a day on-the-water long remembered by those who were lucky enough to be onboard the Sea Ya Bea. About a month previously we had spent two back-to-back days in perfect weather trolling for tuna, and had gotten skunked. Ironically, the ocean on those days was calm and literally teeming with life--hundreds upon hundreds of porpoise, whales, sharks, baitfish--but the tuna simply weren't biting for their own (inexplicable) reasons. Days like this can leave a fisherman mentally scared and beaten. With this weight on our necks, March 20 carried with it expectations of a catch: we were owed (by the fishing God); we had payed our dues; it was our time to come home with fish in the coffin cooler.

Our chosen day was gorgeous weather-wise: blue sky, 10-15 knot winds, 2-3 foot seas with no chop, high 50s air temperature. And did I mention that the water was deep blue and crystal clear? Well, it was.

We departed Pirate's Cove at first light, so around 6:30 am. The crew consisted of Tim, Jon, Dan, myself, and Andrew, my son, 13 years of age. Andrew remained in his bunk for the 7 mile inland waterway transit to the Oregon Inlet bridge and channel. And then he remained in his bunk for the 40 mile transit Southeast to our first targeted fishing grounds. The boy just can't get enough sleep.

With respect to our first targeted fishing grounds, our plan was to head Southeast on the compass going all the way down to the 280 Rocks on the 100 fathom line. We had surmised from fishing reports and word on the peer this was where the yellowfin tuna were concentrated. Upon completing the 40 mile transit from OI channel, we shut down and put out our spread of ballies and an orange plastic squid spreader bar. Looking around, there were four or five charter boats trolling in our vicinity. Our hooks were in the water for less than five minutes--no kidding, five minutes--when the rods went active, line peeling off to the beautiful accompaniment of the clickers on the reels. We had four on. We yelled for Andrew to come topside; he ran from the cabin and picked up one of the rods; from bedside to transom in 15 seconds. This could be his opportunity for a first personal tuna catch.

Minutes later we had four yellowfin onboard. So 4 for 4 on the encounter. We re-organized the cockpit, cleaned up the blood, put out a new spread, and within 15 minutes had another single yellowfin onboard. So now five in the coffin. At this point the question became how many to catch? I mean, how much meat can one group consume? We decided we had taken enough, and so proceeded with Plan B, which was to head North to where we had heard the bluefin tuna were congregated, around the 400 line on the 100 fathom curve, the idea being to troll toward the Point. We picked up the spread, put on knots, and eventually closed in on perhaps and dozen charter and private boats under the troll. The VHF radio had been silent, suggesting a lack of action with the bluefins so far. We shut down, put out spread #3 for the day, and within five minutes--yes, five minutes--we had two hooked up.

Current regulations allow one bluefin per boat per day, so we had to make a decision of which of our two fish we would take, and which we would release. Playing it safe, we decided to take the first one we brought alongside--take the one you have (i.e., love the one you're with) and eliminate the chance of releasing the first and then losing the second should something go wrong (as it often time does). Not knowing the size of the second fish, the decision boils down to taking the first one even though the second could turn out to be a grander prize. As it turned out, the bluefin we took weighed about 50 pounds. The second one turned out to be significantly larger, maybe 70-80 pounds. That's simply to way it goes.

Releasing a fish intact--any fish, and particularly a large one--to survive for another day is a tricky task, and to pull this off successfully, we decided to open the transom door, drag the fish through it on the swell, and bring it up on the cockpit deck. It worked like a charm. We removed the hook and slid it back into the water like a torpedo exiting a firing tube. Away it swam; we closed the door; everything done smoothly, just like you'd want it to go.

With six tuna onboard, we decided to continue trolling just for practice and the pleasure of it all. (How many times does this happen? Like never!) We caught and released an additional bluefin and then picked up and headed for home around 4:00 pm. We had about 35 miles to OI. The ocean was still calm. We ran the engines to make 28 knots. How good can it get? Fish in the box; all we cared to take; smooth seas and beautiful sky and water; friends and my son onboard. And oh yes, Andrew got his first personal tuna, hopefully the first of many for him across a lifetime of sportfishing. Life is good--great!--at such moments.


Dan shows his (excellent) form on the rod


Andrew midstream in catching his first tuna


The second bluefin--minutes later skillfully released


Big Jon puts on the heat


Father and son


The Crew--left to right, Tim, Dan, Andrew, Jon

Fish tales--reviewing the day's events headed back to the barn


Dan taking his "return to port" nap--don't it feel good!


In port and showcasing the day's catch


The boy and his fish--welcome to big-time sportfishing