I’ll never forget my first kiss, the first time I got punched in the face or my first blackfin tuna on a jig. During winter 2006, I heard a rumor that Hatteras skipper Scott Warren was catching blackfin tuna on vertical jigs. In those days, few people fished Hatteras in winter, hardly anyone used vertical jigs and big blackfin were an anomaly. A few phone calls later, I was scheduled to fish on Warren’s legendary Big Tahuna.

Windblown and sea-smacked in the cold months, Hatteras is a seasonal ghost town. The tourists have long since left the isolated island off the coast of North Carolina, most of the charter boats are perched on blocks or visiting southern seas, and even the commercial fishing fleet is quiet.

The parking lot at Teach’s Lair Marina was empty that February morning when I pulled in a few hours before dawn. Only one boat was lit up at the dock, diesel engines already rumbling. I struggled to make out the faces of Warren and mate Kenny Koci (who later captained Big Tahuna) wrapped in sweatshirt hoods.

A few minutes later, Big Tahuna‘s anglers for the day piled onto the boat, and we were off through the pre-dawn twilight.

Known as the Graveyard of the Atlantic, Hatteras Inlet is no joke any season of the year. Winter is especially exciting. In addition to howling winds, a strong Gulf Stream current and huge rollers, the days are short and temperatures can be frigid. We started the day layered in fleece and nylon.

The 50-foot sportfisher rolled through the slop without complaint, carrying us to the fishing grounds — a series of seamounts that the locals call “rocks,” 22 miles southeast of Hatteras Inlet. Shortly after we passed over the color change from dirty-green inshore water to the deep-blue Gulf Stream, Warren slowed the boat, and the party emptied out of the comfort of the cabin.

Fishing Vertical Jigs for Blackfins

Big Tahuna motored in circles while the captain watched the fish finder. Six anglers lined the covering boards, 6-foot rods dangling foot-long metal jigs over the side. We waited for the signal to drop the lures as the boat rocked in the choppy seas. A sharp wind drove whitecaps into the side of the boat, dousing those in the cockpit with showers of warm spray on a cold day.

“Try this, six colors!” Warren called from the bridge. Six colors equates the depth at which he marked fish on the sonar to the regular changes in color on our braided lines. I flipped my high-speed conventional reel out of gear and watched the color on the depth-indicator line change six times, knowing that each color measures 30 feet.

I kicked the reel into gear and started jigging. Sticking the rod butt under my left arm, I turned the reel handle as fast as possible while jerking the rod tip. Three jerks into my retrieve, the jig was whacked in a fierce strike.

The slight rod tip bent to the water as line shredded off the spool. I moved the rod butt to my lower gut as the fish made its first run. When the line slowed, I began to retrieve. The fish continued to buck and run while I used every resource to gain line. As I jammed the rod above my groin, my forearm burned, and every run produced grunts and groans as the fish beat my ass.

One by one, the other anglers had hooked fish and now struggled similarly to gain line. In minutes, we were bobbing and weaving through crossed lines and quickstepping to stay standing. Koci raced from angler to angler while Warren called the dance from the bridge.

By the time I spotted the first silver flash of my tuna 10 feet below the boat, the whole bunch were cursing and laughing while slipping and sliding. Koci moved in to gaff my 20-pound blackfin and flip it into a fish box already bloody with spastic tuna.

The protocol was repeated for the next five hours. Make a drop; hook a burly blackfin; fight for your fish; dance, slide, yell and holler. The beefy blackfin were a perfect match for our medium-action jigging gear. The fish box began to fill up amid the fast-and-furious action. Bouncing around the mosh pit had me sweating and peeling off layers.

By the end of the day, the winds calmed and the chop turned to a rolling swell. Warren turned Big Tahuna toward Hatteras, and the crew ­shuffled into the cabin to lick wounds. I sported purple-and-black bruises; every muscle ached, and my hands were hamburger. I felt great.

Blackfin Tuna in the Atlantic Ocean

Blackfin tuna are the smallest member of the genus Thunnus (the true tunas: bluefin, yellowfin, bigeye and others); the world record stands at 49 pounds, 6 ounces, taken off Marathon, Florida, in 2006. The North Carolina state-record blackfin, taken in 2011, weighed 40 pounds, 11 ounces.

They might smaller than other tunas, but they’re prolific and tasty. Each winter, blackfin gather in the warm Gulf Stream water as it swirls over the rocky edge of the Continental Shelf, gorging on huge clouds of baitfish caught in the considerable current.

Also during winter, the cold Labrador Current pushes down the Atlantic coast from the north, colliding with warm, clear Gulf Stream water from the south. Where the two currents meet, the water temperature can differ up to 20 degrees.

On the cold side of the break, the water is dark, dirty green; the warm side appears clear blue. The current and waves are calmer on the cold side. In the stream, the current can run to 4 knots, whipping the sea into a frenzy.

Where the Gulf Stream pushes over offshore rocks and ledges, bait and predators line up to play out the food chain. Amberjack, false albacore (little tunny) and huge sharks mix in the melee, in addition to blackfin tuna. Amberjack and albacore put up a good fight, but they aren’t locally favored for eating. Most are released.

To avoid sharks, tuna anglers need to work fish to the boat quickly. That can be tough to do with a blackfin as they pull and run without mercy. Dally on the retrieve, and a man‑eater will eat the tuna.

Tuna in Changing Conditions

As Hatteras boats explored the winter blackfin bite, they discovered more than one way to skin that cat. Over the past 20 years, blackfin jigging has waxed and waned. Some years, the bite is hot; other years, it’s cold.

Changing conditions also affect how anglers target tuna. Capt. Andy Piland on Good Times, a custom 47 Carolina sport-fisher, has made a science of catching blackfin tuna. His former partner Capt. Tim Hagerich, who now owns Black Pearl Charters, insists: “You have five ways to catch a blackfin, and you’d better be ready to use each.” On any given day, Hatteras skippers might troll ballyhoo, work a greenstick, fly a kite, drop jigs or throw topwaters.

Fishing over the years, I’ve done it all with these captains. Sometimes we fish three or four tactics in one day. Changing tactics allows the crew to stay on the blackfin bite through winter and into spring. As the season progresses, the tuna seem to get more finicky.

Early in winter, blackfin feed deep in the water column, where a vertical jig matches the menu. The best jig bite starts in January and runs through March, when the water is dingier.

Read Next: Tunas of the World — An Illustrated Guide

In early spring, the water over the rocks clears and the fish turn their attention to chasing flying fish, and local skippers switch to trolling baits. While jigging for blackfin tuna has a certain maso­chis­tic appeal, the biggest fish often come to a trolled bait. “We catch blackfin up to 30 pounds trolling, when they won’t bite the jig,” Hagerich says. “The tuna will jump clear out of the water to grab a flying fish 5 feet in the air.” The key to fooling the tuna is getting a bait into the air.

“When it’s rough as hell, we catch blackfin on ballyhoo,” Hagerich says, trolling Sea Witches with medium ballyhoo at 6 knots so the lures leap and splash from wave to wave. When it’s calm, the fish respond to a rubber squid dangling from a greenstick. By late May, the water is clear and warm, and the blackfin become pickier. “The kite works best in the clearest water,” Hagerich explains.

Suspending two rubber flying fish from the kite line is the sneakiest way to fool blackfin. Hagerich cites many days when he spent hours jigging, trolling ballyhoo, and even fishing the greenstick until the crew put up the kite, and trophy blackfin suddenly exploded out of the water.

Battling a Monster Blackfin Tuna

Excited by the prospect of a near-world-record-size blackfin, I enthusiastically jumped aboard Good Times. Riding in the bridge, my teeth clenched tight and hands gripped the hardtop as Piland navigated the boat through the shallow shoals and crashing breakers of Hatteras Inlet.

Like professional guides, weekend warriors can’t pick their days, so I found myself rolling and pitching an hour and a half to the fishing grounds. Choppy, windswept rollers are tough on fishermen, but tuna treat rough water like an amusement park as they leap out of the water, chasing flying fish through the air.

Seconds after Piland slowed the boat, Hagerich deployed a dozen rods pulling Sea Witches with ballyhoo. In minutes, chunky blackfin began exploding on the baits. Piland continued to troll as line after line went down. Before he pulled back the throttles, most of the rods were bent over and bucking.

While the anglers cranked in big blackfin, Hagerich worked to keep the lines straight, gaffing fish and rigging baits. When I spotted tuna skying out of the water 10 yards off the stern, Hagerich grabbed a hefty spinning rod and shoved it into my hands. “Cast!” he ordered.

I launched the popper off the stern, somehow managing to clear the lines, outriggers, teasers and halyards. The 8-inch popper splashed down in the middle of the tuna air show. I pulled the rod and cranked the handle. The plug chugged, throwing a cup of water. I cranked; the lure popped again. On the third turn of the handle, a burly tuna flew out of the water to descend on the plug.

Excited, I hauled back on the rod — and yanked the plug out of the tuna’s mouth. “You got to let him take it,” Piland said, laughing from the bow. Feeling the pressure of 16 eyes watching my moves, I chugged the plug again, and the fish attacked.

This time, I slowed and dropped the rod tip to the fish. The line came tight, but I gave the fish a breathless pause before lifting the rod and putting on the pressure. The blackfin responded with another blistering run, jabbing the rod butt into my armpit and forcing me to cross the deck until my thighs slammed into the covering board.

The rest of the crew cleared the trolling lines, leaving me to battle a big blackfin tuna. As Hagerich shouted orders, Piland worked to keep the boat straight and my line in the clear. I put on the pressure, wedging the rod butt into my groin and stretching my forearms for maximum power to winch the stubborn fish from the depths. I got my first good look at the beefy tuna at the same time the fish had its first good look at me. My muscles had redlined, but the tuna found more fight in the tank; it turned and rushed for the darkness, line again disappearing from the reel.

Eventually, with the silver-and-black missile boatside, Hagerich reached out with the gaff, and swung a 25-pound blackfin tuna over the gunwale and into the fish box. My arms were like Jell-O and pudding filled my legs as the tuna continued to kick its tail like a jackhammer until the lid was closed. Piland quickly pushed the throttles forward, and Hagerich deployed the rigs.

No rest for the weary, but there’s no better way to stay warm in winter off Hatteras than pulling on blackfin tuna.

About the Author
Ric Burnley is an angler, editor, author and teacher who lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia. When he isn’t fishing or writing, he’s in the classroom teaching at-risk teenagers that the pen is mightier than the sword.

The post Catch Big Blackfin Tuna Off Hatteras appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

For three days, Danthony Winslow and Lathan Price had been, as they call it, “tuna wishing.” They’d been drifting live bait for bluefin tuna off the coast of North Carolina, facing sub-freezing cold in an open 23-foot skiff in the Atlantic, which at least had been mercifully calm most of the time.

“We’d been out there three days and didn’t get a sniff,” said Winslow, a 22-year-old commercial fisherman from Morehead City, North Carolina. “And we’d frozen our butts off.” They needed to break the spell, so on the fourth day they did something a little different. “We brought along a Mr. Buddy propane heater,” Winslow said with a laugh. “In an open boat, it wasn’t much.”

Price, a 21-year-old whose primary gig is as a charter captain, agreed. “At least it knocked the chill off,” he said. The pair, friends since middle school, were huddled around the heater when something else happened that made them forget about the cold. They finally got a bite.

Bluefin Tuna from a Skiff

More than five hours later, the men finally had the fish aboard — and it was nearly half as long as the boat. The 115-inch bluefin would core out at 700 pounds — not a record, but an amazing catch from a small boat.

Price and Winslow are both from fishing families. Price is a captain with Legacy Fishing Charters out of Morehead City. His uncle Eric Price runs the Offshore Outlaw, which has been featured on “Wicked Tuna.” Most of Winslow’s commercial fishing centers on multi-day bottom-fishing trips.

When tuna season opened on Dec. 1, that became their focus. They really hoped they could get it done on Price’s 23-foot Riddick Bayrunner flat-bottom skiff.

“The tuna come in really shallow here,” Winslow said. “We were fishing what we call the ‘Shoals’ off Cape Lookout in about 50 to 60 feet of water. We could see the Lookout lighthouse where we were.”

They were live-lining 3- to 5-pound live bluefish — which they’d caught the night before — on 14/O Owner live bait hooks. “We were out there with about 10 other boats,” Price said.

Fishing had turned on and several boats had hooked up, including Price’s uncle, Eric. “We saw some birds and started making our way over toward them,” Winslow said. Then, boom! The tuna took off on its expected long and fast run.

Fighting a Giant Bluefin from a Small Boat

“They just smoke the reel,” said Price, who was using a Penn International 80-wide spooled with a combination of 200-pound braid, a top shot of 200-pound mono, and a 200-pound fluorocarbon leader. “This one was a solid run of 400 to 500 yards.”

After getting the boat turned and closing some distance, it was time to go to work. “It took us probably an hour just to get him close,” Price said. The pair traded turns on the rod, which was secured in a bow-mounted swivel rod holder. After a few hours the tuna finally showed itself.

“It came up and was just paddling on the surface,” Price said. “Then I knew what we were into.”  

Eventually they got the fish to the boat, but it wasn’t over. “You still lose a lot of them when they get close,” Price said. “It gets hectic.”

The men were able to secure the tuna with a harpoon and tail rope. The next challenge? Getting the fish into the boat, which GPS showed had traveled more than 12 miles during the fight.

Fortunately, Eric Price was on site in his boat and more than happy to help his nephew. After marrying up to the younger Price’s skiff, Eric Price and his two crew came aboard. Together the five men were able to get the tuna aboard the skiff. At the dock, the tuna measured 115 inches, fork-length and weighed exactly 700 pounds after being cored (head and entrails removed).

A Bluefin Tuna Payday

Lathan Price’s previous biggest tuna was a 658-pounder caught while fishing with his uncle. Winslow said he doesn’t know a bigger bluefin in his family’s long fishing history.

At the dock the pair made a deal with a broker. It will be a couple of weeks before they find out how much the tuna will bring at market. It could be $10 or more a pound.

As they wait for their payday, Price and Winslow haven’t been loafing. Every day that weather allows, they are out looking for another big tuna. They haven’t had another bite in the days after their catch, but it doesn’t sting quite so much. “It will be a not-so-cold winter now,” Price said with a laugh.

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The talk of fishing social media this past month has been about a possible new world-record yellowfin tuna landed off Mexico. Here’s the complete story: On a 10-day fishing trip to the Pacific waters of Baja, led by Capt. Justin Fleck of the Excel, a group of anglers set out in search of giant yellowfin tuna. Mega yellowfins are sometimes called “cows” and range in size from 200 to 300 pounds.

No one can argue that angler Earl Gill IV came out on top, bringing to the boat a jaw-dropping 443-pounder. Now, he might be an IGFA champion. His “super cow,” a rare yellowfin tuna weighing more than 300 pounds, was weighed on a certified IGFA scale and submitted to the IGFA on Saturday, Nov. 17, 2024, in San Diego, California. If approved, his catch would take over as the new all-tackle world record for yellowfin tuna.

Fishing for Giant Yellowfins

“We went down to the Lower Banks and there was one particular bank that had all the signs of tuna,” said Capt. Fleck. “It seemed like they were just starting to filter into the area, but the ones [showing] were nice big ones.

“On the first day we got there, we saw them swimming around the boat, but they were lethargic and wouldn’t bite. We only got one fish that day — a 309-pounder on the chunk. We had a family meeting and talked about if we wanted to give it another day, and everyone was up for the challenge.”

The morning of Monday, Nov. 11, another angler aboard the Excel got tight to a giant, hooking into a 275-pound tuna on a sinker rig. After that catch, it seemed like all life disappeared from the area.

Just as Fleck was about to pull anchor, a couple of fish started showing up on the radar. Gill quickly deployed his chunk line after the captain announced they spotted fish. Armed with a California-style rail rod and Okuma Makaira 20 — a 2-speed lever drag reel spooled with 100-pound-test line — he worked the aft corner of the boat.

A Yellowfin Tuna Catch to Remember

The yellowfin tuna took Gill’s chunk bait sitting 150 feet down, sending him racing toward the bow, ripping line the whole time. He knew he had something special on the line. Looking around the boat, other anglers were hooked up battling fish, but his fight felt much different. His fish took an amazing amount of 100-pound-test line, eventually stopping before the reel bottomed out.

After a tense one-hour standoff with his super cow, Gill found himself at a standstill. Fleck had to pull anchor to try to budge the fish from the bottom. The captain positioned the boat over the top of it, and Gill got to work. As the fish rose closer to the surface, he couldn’t feel the tail beating of a tuna swimming in death spirals, so the crew wondered if Gill had hooked something other than a yellowfin.

But they soon had an answer. As sometimes happens when targeting monster blue marlin, Gill’s fish died down deep. He had to pull the dead weight of his super cow up from the depths, a more grueling task than if the fish was still alive.  

“It was my first cow!” explained Gill. “I was hoping for a warmup cow, but I ended up getting the big one. The Makaira gearing worked perfectly. I think a lot of things lined up to help me land this fish.”

Capt. Justin Fleck isn’t new to putting his anglers on near record-breaking tuna. The boat, captain and crew have one of the best reputations in the San Diego long-range fleet, serving up trips that produce giant cow tuna. This record yellowfin was caught on Okuma’s Makaira Black Series reel, which features a silver-etched yellowfin tuna on its frame. How fitting that Gill had the right tackle at the right time to land his historic catch, potentially beating out the current world-record 427-pounder.

The post Yellowfin Shatters Current World Record appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

It should be noted that however long the catch took (from hookup to grabbing the leader at the boat), all of these records were approved only after the IGFA ascertained that no angling rules were broken in the capture of a fish.

Often with the application form in the record folder are letters from the angler, crew and witnesses offering additional information or testimony. That’s particularly true when catches are outlandishly quick. But most of those are made by anglers out to set records, with a crew well-prepared to act quickly and decisively once a potential-record fish is hooked. However, some “instant catches” are more serendipitous than calculated, as was the case with the two‑minute world-record tuna.

Monster Yellowfin Tuna Caught in 120 Seconds

The very thought of battling — especially stand-up from a dead boat — a 388.5-pound yellowfin tuna is enough to make most bodies ache. But for Curt Wiesenhutter on April 1 (no fooling), 1977, there wasn’t time enough to experience any pain, nor much strain.

Landing a yellowfin approaching 400 pounds would be a formidable task in even an optimal situation. But on a drifting San Diego-based long-range boat (Royal Polaris, in this case), among dozens of lines in the water around a rail high above the water, where an angler can’t easily follow a fish around the boat on his own, you might figure landing such a behemoth would be impossible.

Whether the catch was “sporting” is subjective, but the IGFA — after months of investigating and correspondence with the angler, captain (the late, legendary Bill Poole) and others — determined that the fish was landed without breaking any rules; it became the all-tackle world record at that time, and it’s still the men’s 80-pound record today.

Here’s how it went down. Wiesenhutter was soaking a live caballito (scad — a Pacific goggle-eye) off the port side of the 115-foot long-range boat when he was bit and then, as they say in California, bendo. In a letter to the IGFA, the angler explains, “The fish took 40 to 60 yards of line, then turned back at the boat.” It circled near the boat and darted under it, coming up on the other side.

His friend, Larry Ward, fishing in the starboard corner 30 feet across from the port side, said he looked over the rail and saw the huge tuna for whatever reason “laying on its side, splashing” water as high as the rails. Ward yelled that it looked like a record fish. By then, Poole was on deck and had gaffed the fish, but many more hands were required to bring it up the boat’s high sides, so three more crew/anglers (including Wiesenhutter, who apparently had set down his rod in free-spool), stuck the fish with gaffs, and eventually the group had the monster on the deck.

On August 30, 1977, IGFA president Elwood K. Harry wrote to Wiesenhutter to say his catch “now holds the all-tackle and men’s 80-pound-line-class world record.” That did little to quell the raging (within the angling world, particularly in Southern California) controversy surrounding the catch. San Diego fishing writer Chuck Garrison reported that Wiesenhutter acknowledged, “I have very mixed emotions about [this record].” But a record it remains.

Tarpon: A Tale of Two Records — one of Minutes and one of Hours

Angler Thane Morgan is proof that every fish, and the circumstances at the time, determines how a light-line battle will go down. The one fairly reliable prospect of such battles is that they will defy expectations, and often ruin the most carefully laid plans. Morgan’s battles with two current tarpon records, in 2011 and 2013, couldn’t have been more different. The Amarillo, Texas, angler never expected to land one record fish in just three minutes nor to fight one slightly smaller for six hours. Fishing with his friend Capt. Dustin Huff — son of famed Florida Keys guide Steve Huff — Morgan was determined to set a new IGFA fly-rod record for tarpon on 4-pound tippet and did, with a 119-pounder.

“We’d probably hooked a hundred on 4 that we never landed,” Morgan says. That changed on October 13, 2013, near Marathon in the Keys, when the angler put a mullet fly in the path of yet another big tarpon. At the sting of the hook, it “went crazy, jumping,” says Morgan. No big surprise there, but the pair was surprised when the tarpon “basically belly-flopped and came down stunned.”

They quickly ran up on the fish and put a gaff in it. At that, the tarpon took off, and took Huff with it, pulling him over the side and dragging him behind, Morgan says. Huff wasn’t about to let go. In about three minutes from when the fish was hooked, it was in the boat. (Morgan had, of course, paid for the tag necessary to boat a tarpon because he was explicitly fishing for a world record.)

Two years earlier, fishing with Huff, Morgan boated an 88-pounder on 4-pound that overtested, so it became a 6-pound world record. However, that fish required not minutes to land, but hours — 18 in total. At about 4 p.m., in outer Florida Bay, Morgan hooked a large tarpon on 4-pound line. Sometime late in the day, they discovered the gaff point had been rolled. So while Morgan fought the fish, Huff ran the boat while trying desperately to sharpen the gaff point using the only thing they had — a little fish-hook file.

Even with a good gaff, a big tarpon is hard to stick. In this case, “We probably hit it 12 times through the course of the night,” says Morgan. Three times during the night, the tarpon laid up on bottom in the Man O’ War Channel. On 4-pound tippet, it became an immovable object, Morgan says.

Finally, at noon the next day, 15 miles from where it was hooked, the pair subdued the fish. The bad news for Morgan: The line overtested. The good news: Breaking at 5.2 pounds put it into the 6-pound-tippet category, breaking Stu Apte’s existing world record for that class, so it became a world record after all.

Seven Hours Fighting a Bigeye Tuna

In 1986, legendary angler Stewart Campbell and Capt. Bark Garnsey ventured to Africa’s Ivory Coast to fish for blue marlin. At that time, they didn’t have a boat, so “we just kind of borrowed a guy’s boat. But the price was that he came with us.” The boat, its setup and its tackle weren’t really conducive to pitch-baiting, as they preferred, so they just trolled small lures on his outriggers, says Garnsey, on 30-pound line. With marlin in mind, they hooked a triple — of bigeye tuna.

They purposely broke off one in hopes of managing the double, but of course, the big fish wishboned the pair of anglers — Campbell and the boat owner. In order to follow the boat owner’s fish, Garnsey says, “we put Stewart on a French guy’s boat.”

Fortunately, the seas were calm, but it was still a tricky transition, with Campbell holding the rod under his arm as he climbed aboard and Garnsey yelling at the crew, who were trying to be helpful, not to grab the rod. Eventually, Campbell climbed back onto the original boat after the owner ended up losing his tuna, and finished the fight from there.

“When we finally got the fish in the boat,” Garnsey says, “it was almost dark. That was the first bigeye I’d seen at that time.

“I asked Pete Gray, who was with us, what he figured the world record for a bigeye on 30-pound might be. We ended up calling the marlin club in Abidjan and found it was around 240 pounds.” That made their 329-pounder the line-class record, as it remains to this day.

How did Campbell hold up over the course of that tough seven-hour battle? “He was bionic,” says Garnsey, noting that he later saw Campbell through much longer fights, including an estimated 750 blue on 16-pound line. Ultimately, that fish came up in the darkness under the boat and jumped, breaking off right there. That, Garnsey says, was a real heartbreaker.

The One-Minute Marlin

How does an angler come to land a 226.5-pound marlin in a minute? One instance happened this way. Saundra McMurray, at that time of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, was fishing out of Los Sueños Resort off Costa Rica on February 19, 2002, on the 63-foot American Custom Stephanie Lee. Aboard were Capt. Tony Carrizosa and three mates. McMurray was loaded for bear — with the equivalent of a high-quality peashooter, her Shimano TLD 20 filled with 6-pound line. Obviously, McMurray and her crew were out to break a world record.

Around 1 p.m., the stripe came up on the right-short teaser. “I picked up the [pitch-bait] rod and pitched back a mackerel rigged with a circle hook,” writes the angler in her letter to then-IGFA president Mike Leech to explain the circumstances. The fish whacked the bait, then circled and came back to hit it again. “I let him run, then locked up the reel. As soon as he knew the fish was hooked, Tony threw the boat in reverse, and I wound as fast as I could as the boat was flying backward toward the fish.” The marlin was “windshield-wipering” (thrusting its head side to side above the water) as the boat came back to it, says mate Barry Gottlieb.

In seconds, McMurray had wound the leader to the rod tip, and one of the mates grabbed the leader, yelling, “Caught fish!” By IGFA rules, of course, that was so. Two other mates, already standing by, immediately put gaffs into the fish, and Carrizosa, who had rushed down into the cockpit, added a third gaff. The fish was caught and now boated. Hard to imagine? The IGFA didn’t have to imagine any part of it: The angler provided video that showed the whole very fast and furious moment.

Sharks, Blues and Permit Fishing World Records

The five catches described above by no means represent all of the exceptionally brief or extended battles with record game fish. Here’s the short version of a few others.

BLUE SHARK CATCH, 7 HOURS

After spotting two big bronze whaler sharks lurking in the burley (chum) trail, Dave Kahlenberg, of Rotorua, New Zealand, drifted a bait back to them. He was fishing 8-pound line mono on a Tiagra 12, hoping to beat the 130-pound line-class record. The shark took; the angler set and then held on as the fish made a screaming 100-yard run. Then began the long battle. After several grueling hours, the fish cleared the water in a number of surprisingly high leaps. But it wasn’t until more than seven hours had elapsed, 12 or so miles from where they’d hooked up and far into the night, that Kahlenberg and his mate finally managed to get the shark on the swim platform. The record catch on 8-pound line in December 2010 weighed in at more than 400 pounds.

BIGEYE TUNA CATCH, 57 SECONDS

“I remember that fish coming in on the left long,” says Capt. Jason Pipe of that June day in 2008 off La Gomera, Canary Islands. “That fish” would go on to be the men’s 6-pound-test world record once the 357-pound blue marlin was weighed in. Angler Gary Carter put a pitch bait in front of the fish, and it was hooked. The marlin jumped, coming straight up, then began thrashing as Pipe thrust the 37 Bertram Bocinegro in full back-down mode. The blue came out again, “and mate Jason Brice took his gaff shot and nailed her in midair, right in the arse!” Pipe recalls. Mayhem ensued, but eventually the fish was subdued. Pipe recalls the time from hookup to the mate grabbing the leader as exactly 57 seconds.

PERMIT FISHING CATCH, FIVE HOURS

Fishing for a world record was about the furthest thing from the thoughts of Tom Sebestyen, of Deerfield Beach, Florida. In fact, he was just fishing for live baits with sabikis off Fort Lauderdale. When a couple of big, fast-moving fish went around his boat, Sebestyen grabbed a spinning rod that had on it the little yellow bucktail jig he used for blue runners. He tipped it with a piece of shrimp and cast in front of the fish. He saw the shape follow the jig down, then came tight on it, and instantly it was ripping drag, so Sebestyen and his pal Mike followed — and followed. Sebestyen says he kept a light drag and just persisted. During the dogged fight, Mike cast out liveys and caught a couple of nice kings. At 10 p.m., roughly five hours after the hookup, the pair landed the all-tackle world-record permit of 56 pounds, 2 ounces (since defeated, but the catch remains the men’s 20-pound-class record).

The post Fishing’s Shortest and Longest World-Record Battles appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

World Record Pacific Bonefish from Honolulu, Hawaii

Triana holds seven all tackle and line class records for Pacific bones, including one 10-pounder.

“Pacific bonefish on ultra light tackle in Hawaii has been the most challenging record to break,” notes Triana. “It’s difficult to find a Pacific bonefish large enough to eclipse an existing record, because those
larger specimens are few and far between, and spook so easily.”  

World Record Yelloweye Rockfish from Seward, Alaska

Triana has captured 19 IGFA records in this small town two and a half hours south of Anchorage. Among the record-breaking species: yelloweye rockfish and Pacific cod.

“These species are some of the oldest fish on the planet, reaching 80 to 100 years old,” says Triana. “Having the opportunity to fish for large specimens gives you multiple chances to encounter that perfect fish.”

World Record Grass Carp in Miami, Florida

Triana’s hometown has provided him access to myriad oddball species including hornet tilapia, Orinoco sailfin catfish, Oscar, and a record-breaking 48-pound, 12-ounce grass carp caught in the suburb of Palmetto Bay.

“Grass carp were introduced into the South Florida canal systems decades ago to control the rapid growth of hydrilla weed that completely choked the waterways,” Triana explains. “They are the largest member of the minnow family, and grow to massive proportions.”

World Record Andalusian Barbel from Portugal

As Triana does for all his travels, including family trips, he researches species that are unique to the area. The Andalusian barbel record came in the summer of 2022 during a family vacation to Portugal, where they spent a good chunk of their time in the southern region of Algarve.

“The barbel is a common and popular freshwater game fish in the United Kingdom and throughout Europe,” Triana says. “They belong to the carp family, and can be found in river systems and reservoirs.”  

World Record Talang Queenfish from Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Before it was the megalopolis of today, Dubai was a fishing village, and Triana’s research revealed that Talang queenfish is a popular game fish in the Persian Gulf. Triana made the trip with his family in March 2022.

“I rigged a Clouser fly with 6-pound tippet, and waited for the chance to cast,” he says. “Like a light switch, schools of talang queenfish appeared all around the boat chasing small minnows. A queenfish attacked the fly. It fights down and dirty like a jack crevalle, but jumps like a tarpon. After multiple loops around the boat, I landed the fish.”

World Record Black Durgon from Varadero, Cuba

Triana wanted to explore the untapped reef fishery, but Cuba only allowed government-run fishing vessels that troll outside the reef line.

“We anchored in the clearest water I’ve ever seen, and I break out my light spinning rods with 6-pound-test line, and diced-up lobster for bait,” Triana recalls. “I can see the school of black durgon on the bottom.” He caught a 2-pound fish, topping the existing record of 1 pound, 14 ounces.

World Record Tiger Trout in Salt River, Wyoming

Call it world record by bycatch. While fly fishing along the banks of the Salt River in search of brown trout, Triana caught a baby tiger trout. He quickly made his way back to his car to reference the IGFA yearbook he always travels with to check the tiger trout records.

“I saw there was only a 2-pound fish as the existing record on 6-pound-test line class. I quickly put together my 6-pound spinning outfit and began casting a fly. It wasn’t too long before caught another tiger trout in the same exact area.” Except this time, it was a much larger specimen.

World Record Collared Large-Eye Bream from the Great Barrier Reef

Triana traveled to Australia in 2001 hoping to catch a black marlin. After the liveaboard anchored up one evening, “I rigged up one of my light tackle rods and began bottom fishing, catching a multitude of species,” Triana recalls. “One of them was a very big collared large-eye bream. I kept it on ice until I had a chance to do some research the next day.” It turned out he had caught an IGFA world record.

The post One Man’s Hunt for Record Fish appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

The best Florida saltwater anglers know how to follow the fish. A hotspot one day might be barren the next when fish are on the move. Migratory fish urges set in once autumn arrives, and depending on the Florida species, cooling waters can trigger fish to scatter along the coast, or even offshore. Both resident and highly migratory species are involved. 

The home bodies — such as spotted seatrout, redfish and snook — don’t go far. Popular beach runners such as pompano, Spanish mackerel and bluefish are the long-range travelers that come from northern waters. They follow their preferred water temperatures into Florida when fall arrives. Still, surf casters can tell you these three species are available year-round in Florida waters in limited numbers. 

Water temperature is the main driver for all of the aforementioned fish movement. However, forage availability (which is tied to not only water temperature, but to salinity and habitat changes) also has a bearing on when fish move and where they go. 

When Gamefish Move from Open Waters to Backwaters

Years ago, I learned how seasonal changes affect fish in the Ten Thousand Islands area on Florida’s Gulf Coast. I quickly learned enough of the territory to know the difference between the “inside” and the “outside” waters. Inside was from a line roughly halfway between the open Gulf of Mexico and the mainland creeks that lead deep into the Everglades’ freshwaters. Outside meant from that same point out to the open Gulf. 

My favorite spring and summertime grass flats on the Gulf side became devoid of the specks by late December once cold fronts came through twice a week. I lucked into tight schools of them around oyster bars of the inside bays. Severe January cold snaps forced them into the salty mangrove-lined creeks and rivers of the mainland. 

The same was true about red drum and snook. During September and October, the two species were commonplace around the outside islands and oyster bars on the edge of the Gulf. But when it cooled down, they moved deep into the backcountry. And they did not come out until April, unless winter was mild. Those migrations are very short, but unmistakable.  

Moving from Flats to Offshore Waters

Florida Bay might have the best summertime inshore mangrove snapper fishery in the state, mostly over grass in 5 to 8 feet of water. It peaks in late summer, but by November, most of the fish of legal size move out to deeper water, on both the Gulf and the nearshore Atlantic reefs off the Keys. The void they leave is quickly filled by hordes of Spanish mackerel, cobia and pompano that originate in Panhandle waters. Those fish stay until May, before heading north, and the snapper return. 

Gamefish Head South for the Winter

Pompano — officially Florida pompano — are sensitive to water temperature fluctuations. I chase them both in the surf with bait and surf gear and with fly rods when they enter the Indian River Lagoon. By January, chances are the water temperatures from Hobe Sound north may fall below 63 degrees F, and that triggers them to move south en masse.

Though it’s been on the mild side in recent years, I recall a handful of seasons when the pomps vanished from their normal spots, so I scouted waters as far south as West Palm Beach. The beaches there were swarming with pompano. A 5-degree water temperature difference was the key. 

Biscayne Bay bonefish are a perfect example of a fish on the move. Autumn water temperatures are ideal, so October and November see lots of hungry fish on the flats — both on the mainland and oceanside. But a cold December through February sends them to primarily the Atlantic oceanside flats, or into deeper water such as nearshore patch reefs. 

Inside Tip: Bonefish are known to “huddle up” in schools of hundreds and head south to the Keys to find the warmest water possible. 

Fish Ranges Expanding Due to Climate Change? 

Florida anglers are continually reporting catches of saltwater species farther north of their typical range, and just recently, multiple tarpon were spotted by anglers as far north as Maryland’s northern Chesapeake Bay. An occasional sighting has happened over the years, but this summer’s numbers are impressive. Warming Atlantic waters allow for this, and many biologists and anglers think climate change is the trigger. This is strictly migratory behavior — the tarpon must head back south as winter approaches, or they perish. 

Florida snook are creeping northward into the Florida Big Bend. On the Gulf coast, snook typically ranged to Tarpon Springs, but by 2020 they were encountered in the Suwannee River, 80 miles to the north. Since that time, state wildlife researchers are hearing reports of the popular linesiders in the Florida Panhandle. The term “neo-native” applies to snook, and any fish species native to a particular region, but is expanding to nearby regions because of climate shifts, such as fewer hard freezes in winter. 

Like tarpon, snook can’t withstand prolonged cold weather. In fact, snook typically die in water less than 50 degrees after more than a few days. You have to wonder if any snook in the Florida Panhandle have actually survived a winter? There was a small snook kill in 2018 around Crystal River, where snook were not present years ago. Three nights of freezing weather killed them. 

And it’s no secret that the peacock bass, a tropical fish first released in South Florida canals and lakes to control other invasive species, are now flourishing in waterways as far north as Boynton Beach. The original northern range was northern Palm Beach County, with the epicenter of the population being Dade and Broward counties on the east coast. Gulf side, it was mostly Everglades waters, and Collier and Lee counties. 

Peacock bass do not tolerate water temperatures under 60 degrees, though they have survived cold snaps in some of the deeper canals. Considering a recent string of warm winters, without hard freezes south of Orlando, it’s anyone’s guess how far peacock bass will push north.

The post Temps Trigger Migratory Fish Movements appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

That the ocean’s most advanced and highly developed swimming machines are also among the most popular of game fishes with the world’s saltwater angling enthusiasts is hardly a coincidence. As anglers, we have tremendous respect for the spirited fighting qualities of tunas — difficult to release, should we wish to, because they truly will fight their hearts out when hooked. So what is it that makes tunas the über-fish of our oceans? The more we learn about our favorite game fish, the more fascinating they are.

Are Mackerels Tuna? What Are True Tunas?

Tunas are part of the family Scombridae, which also includes mackerels, large and small. But there are tunas, and then there are, well, “true tunas.” Two groups (sometimes known as “tribes”) dominate the tuna clan. One is Thunnini, which is the group considered true tunas, characterized by two separate dorsal fins and a relatively thick body. The 15 species of Thunnini are albacore, bigeye, black skipjack, blackfin, bluefin (three species: Atlantic, Pacific, southern), bullet, frigate, kawakawa, little tunny, longtail, skipjack, slender and yellowfin.

The other tribe is Sardini; these tunas — the dogtooth tuna and several species of smaller true bonitos — are somewhat more mackerel-like (notably with a more elongated body and a row of sharp, conical teeth).

How do Tuna Swim so Fast and Hard?

Sport fishermen know that when they hook a large tuna, they’re in for a long, drawn-out, relentless battle. Nothing characterizes tunas more than their powerful, tireless swimming. In fact, these fish have no choice but to swim endlessly: As explained more thoroughly below, they’re ram ventilators, meaning forward motion is required as they move with mouth open to force water past their gills.

Most fishes, such as groupers, snappers and jacks, can remain motionless and respire by opening and closing their mouths to push water through their gills. Tunas have lost the ability to do that (even if they could, such small pushes of water wouldn’t offer their large gills the tremendous flow they require to supply their systems with oxygen). A suitable motto for tunas, then, is “swim or die.”

How tunas have evolved to move efficiently through the water is reflected in their design, both externally and internally. Of their fusiform body shape (tapering fore and aft), Sport Fishing Fish Facts expert Ben Diggles says, “Their almost-perfect hydrodynamic shape minimizes drag with a very low drag coefficient,” optimizing efficient swimming both at cruise and burst.

And these torpedoes are perfectly streamlined, their larger fins fitting perfectly into grooves so no part of these fins protrudes above the body surface. They lack the convex eyes of most fish; rather, a membrane covering tuna eyes remains flush with their heads, maintaining a surface with minimal drag. Keels and finlets in front of the tail provide stability and help reduce the turbulence in the water ahead of the tail.

Unlike most fishes with broad, flexible tails that bend to scoop water to move a fish forward, tunas derive tremendous thrust with thin, hard, lunate (moon-shaped) tails that beat constantly, capable of 10 to 12 or more beats per second. That relentless thrust accounts for the unstoppable runs that tuna make repeatedly when hooked.

As with other fast-swimming fishes, a primary limitation on top speed for tunas is cavitation, which at high speeds can slow them and even damage fins. (Cavitation is caused when negative pressure forms tiny air bubbles, which then collapse and form shock waves. Cavitation can damage the metal in propellers — and cause lesions in the fins of fish that swim “too fast,” such as tunas.)

Why Is a Tuna’s Meat Red?

While many of the characteristics that account for the tuna’s remarkable swimming ability are visible externally, some of the most astonishing adaptations are internal.

Certainly, that includes their extensive aerobic red muscle. Many fishes are ambush predators, relying on bursts of speed to feed but swimming slowly otherwise. Their bodies are mostly filled with white muscle — glycolytic fibers used in infrequent burst swimming. Tunas employ far more red muscle; their oxidative fibers prove ideal for long-haul, constant swimming without fatigue. Also, red muscle is full of myoglobin, which stores oxygen in the muscle tissues, for use as needed.

With so much red muscle demanding that much more oxygen, tunas’ gills — their organs for respiration, of course — are huge. For example, a tuna has seven to nine times more gill area for its size compared to relatively sedentary trout. And, not surprisingly, you’ve gotta have heart: Moving great amounts of oxygenated blood through their bodies requires tunas to have far larger hearts than most fish. Not only that, but another way tunas have advanced beyond most fishes — which have a constant heart rate — is their ability, like mammals, to vary their heart rate, maximizing efficiency.

Can Tuna Warm Their Bodies?

Arguably the most striking and sophisticated adaptation we can’t see — but science has revealed — is the ability of larger true tunas to heat certain areas of their bodies. They do this through what are known as the retia mirabilia (“wonderful net”), an ingenious counter-current vascular heat-exchange system. Basically, parallel veins and arteries exchange blood, allowing tunas to conserve metabolic heat via what is called regional endothermy, warming their red muscle tissue, brain, eyes and viscera well above ambient water temperatures.

This regional endothermy gives them the same metabolic advantage that Homo sapiens and other mammals enjoy. In fact, tunas couldn’t sustain the swim-or-die lifestyle nor be the relentless eating machines they are without that higher metabolic rate, allowing them to swim longer and faster, their brains and eyes to function better in cold water, and their viscera to digest more quickly and efficiently.

Further demonstrating the brilliance of their plumbing, larger tunas can shed excess heat from their bodies during periods of intense feeding (in essence, while doing wind sprints) via their retia mirabilia, which uses blood from gills cooled by ambient water to reduce body heat. This system also undoubtedly comes into play as one factor in the amazing endurance that hooked tunas show to resist their capture.

How Deep do Tuna Swim?

Much of the evolutionary success of tunas derives from their ability to transition from warm to cool waters in a way that most — less advanced, cold-blooded — fishes can’t manage.

Satellite tagging has revealed much about the feeding behavior and movements of large tunas, including their tendency to dive into deep, cold water. Scientists have documented that yellowfin feed at times in waters much deeper than once believed, but the bigeye is a champ in the deep-dive category, often feeding in waters exceeding 1,500 feet — and diving to more than 5,000 feet.

Apparently, these daytime deep divers are taking advantage of what’s known as the deep-scattering layer, a concentration of biomass (plankton and larger organisms) typically settling by day into 1,500 to 2,000 feet of water (which rises to or near the surface nightly). This is the same DSL in which swordfish feed during the day. Perhaps not so surprisingly, daytime swordy anglers have been hooking some large tuna while dropping deep.

The other abyss-loving tuna is the bluefin. What large yellowfin, bigeye and bluefin have in common that enables them to feed at great depths is body mass. Juveniles and smaller species of tuna, lacking that, lose body heat too rapidly to allow them to leave near-surface waters for long.

Heat is lost in the frigid waters at depth, but rewarming occurs when tunas move up into warmer waters — where heating occurs at 100 to 1,000 times the rate that it’s lost. (This may be facilitated with blood bypassing lateral heat exchangers, so blood warmed and oxygenated in the gills by ambient, warmer waters enters the red muscle directly.)

What large tunas have in common that encourages them to feed so deep is simply an abundance of food in these cold but productive waters.

How Far do Tuna Travel?

The same motivation to find more and more food accounts for far-ranging horizontal movements as well as vertical dives into colder waters. So, for example, in the North Atlantic, the world’s largest giant bluefin are caught at the most northerly edges of the species’ range — the Canadian Maritimes — and in the South Pacific, the largest giants come from the most southern part of the southern bluefin’s range — off New Zealand’s South Island. In both instances, only the great body mass of giants provides enough thermal inertia — a small enough ratio of surface area to volume to prevent rapid cooling — so they can take advantage of vast schools of prey.

Large tunas are truly superfish, at the zenith of evolutionary design and success as predators among the ocean’s fishes. Little wonder they’re among the very most popular targets worldwide among saltwater recreational fishermen. The more we as anglers understand these magnificent fish, the more we can appreciate the opportunity to fish for and catch them.

Is Disaster Imminent for Tunas?

Tunas occasionally make it into mainstream news, and when they do, the circumstances (for continued survival of the species) usually sound pretty dire. However, a scientist at the University of Washington, found that just 30 percent of commercial tuna stocks had an abundance below that which would produce maximum sustainable yield.

Recently, Atlantic bluefin tuna have made a noticeable comeback. And anglers are taking advantage of it. In particular, many Northeast area anglers have spent the summer months targeting tuna of all sizes, both inshore and far offshore.“ The abundance of tunas and their relatives has declined from pre-industrial levels, but in general, they are at sustainable levels,” said Maite Pons, Ph.D..

The post Common Questions About Tuna appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

shark release

All those teeth and bad reputation notwithstanding, some sharks aren’t all that tough. In fact, in terms of how they hold up after a battle at the end of a line, some are downright wimps. Studies on post-release survival rates of sharks provide the hard data.

Scientists fought and caught five species of sharks on hook and line using standardized techniques for comparison purposes. While the authors note limitations of this initial study, calling for further research, they did form some interesting conclusions with applicability to sport fishermen.

It seems that the five species reacted differently to the stress of fighting on a line. From this study, tiger sharks qualify as tough customers, with nearly 100 percent of those tracked up to four weeks after release doing just fine. The study lists lemon sharks as being nearly as hardy, based on lactic acid levels and other parameters measured, since post-release survival studies were not conducted on lemons.

Bull sharks fared pretty well after release, with 74 percent surviving. Somewhat less hardy were blacktip sharks. But the most susceptible of all to the rigors of a long struggle when hooked were hammerheads, with more than half suffering mortality during the weeks after their release.

Post Release Fishing Mortality

This makes me wonder what sort of differences in post-release mortality there might be among other closely related game fishes. Anyone who fishes for redfish and trout knows that reds can stand a bit of quick handling before release, but even minimal handling can leave a seatrout too weak to swim. I know that among deepwater rockfishes along the Pacific Coast, some species are too barotraumatized (“blown up”) to swim back down if pulled from 50 or 60 feet of water, while other species can be taken from 100 to 150 feet or so and usually swim back down with no trouble.

The Atlantic’s popular black sea bass readily show signs of barotrauma, such as the stomach being everted from the mouth thanks to expanded swim-bladder gases. Anglers probably wonder — as did scientists — how many of these “inflated” fish could survive, even those that managed to swim down.

Lots of anglers release fish pretty regularly. Clearly, we want them to survive. The more we know about how species react, the more successful we can be at minimizing release mortality. Information like that cited above can help us. So will a visit to returnemright.org, a site dedicated to helping anglers follow known best practices in releasing fish.

The post Do Sharks Die After Release? appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Do you have a photograph of a fish you can’t identify? If so, we’re up for the challenge, and would welcome the opportunity to share your photo and its ID with an international audience of enthusiasts. (Whether published or not, we will personally respond to every inquiry.) Email your jpgs, as large/hi-res as possible, to: fishfacts@sportfishingmag.com.

While fishing from the shore at St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, Dom Porcelli caught two sunfish-shaped fish that he identified as hamlets, though he wasn’t certain, and hoped Fish Facts could confirm.

Dom: You have it right. Both of these are hamlets, sea bass that are closely related to groupers, found in Florida, the Caribbean and beyond in the Western Atlantic. Typical of groupers, hamlets are aggressive predators, so anglers catch the small fish on baited hooks or small lures in shallow coral waters (to at least 150 feet).

Some experts believe there is one species with many different color shades. But other experts cite 13 different species, which means the darker fish Dom caught is a black hamlet (Hypoplectrus negre) and the lighter one a butter hamlet (H. unicolor). The black saddle ahead of its tail makes I.D. of butter hamlet easy.

The post Fish Facts: Little Caribbean Sea Bass appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Jack Crevalle

This fast and robust fighter will make you work for it from hook-up to finish—a beautiful fish that can grow over 3 feet in length.

Atlantic Bonito

The mighty mini tuna packs plenty of drag-pulling action into the game. Plus, they are pretty good in the pan, too.

Red Drum

You can find this one inshore or offshore, in the surf, or off a pier. But in the wash might just be my favorite place to tangle with these great fighters.

Spanish Mackerel

This underrated fish puts up a good fight the whole time, and you just might get some jumping acrobatics, too. Bring a cooler, as they are pretty good eating.

Florida Pompano

There’s a reason the majority of us Florida surf anglers target them! They put up a decent fight, but they really excel in the kitchen, with plenty of meat per fish.

The post Top Gamefish Species in the Surf appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.