[caption id="attachment_482" align="aligncenter" width="550" caption="32lb Blackfin Tuna shot with the pole spear. NEW WORLD RECORD!!! Super stoked. even more so because it was with a pole spear and I had the video camera in the other hand. I\'ll put it up on here asap so you stop calling BS on it. (For good measure I shot a 24 and 27 lb on video too. Not a bad day!)"][/caption]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because there are so many people travelling in Australia and it is such a gigantic country, it makes sense that you should purchase one of the cheap vehicles there for trips of more than a few weeks.   I’ve always rented a car or borrowed from friends while there but knowing that I was going to be spending the better part of 3 months there I decided in 2004 that I would go ahead and take the plunge and purchase a chariot that would take me to all the places I’d ever wanted to go and then some.

In past trips, I had been particularly fond of some of the SUVs there. I envisioned myself with a 4WD Mitsubishi Pajero (Trooper) tricked out with a Snorkel for fording deep rivers on the way to secret surf rendezvous and deep in the Bush.  Cruising in style and picking up ladies along the way.  Those Pipe dreams were quickly squashed though as soon as I opened up the Trader and realized that with a budget of $2000 AUD, some ugly vehicle (SUV) would be the only thing I could afford.

With 3 surfboards, 3 spear guns, all my dive gear, camera equipment, clothes, Eskie (Igloo Cooler) and countless other gear I was still going to need something big enough to get all my stuff into but more than likely not as tough and cool as a Land cruiser.  So I started looking at station wagons and vans.  In NZ, all the surfers drive station wagons and everyone thinks they are pretty cool.   In the states, you look like a soccer mom. (Not that there is anything wrong with that.  Thank you mom for driving me all those years But when you are 27 years old its tough to get away with and pull the fairer sex.   Vans were my other choice but they were the hardest by far to find since every other feral European backpacker seemed to be looking for one as well.

After a week of looking at the absolute worst vehicles imaginable, I was beginning to lose hope.  Every one I looked at was a fright, missing headlight, no door,  only one window that would roll down,  Spider Farm, 10 year old tires, it was looking pretty bleak.  Then as if in answer to my prayers appeared the Corona.

The $1200 For Sale sign caught my eye as she passed by me in traffic.  I quickly pulled a U-ey and caught up with her as she pulled into what would be her former home.  A quick test drive and $1100 AUD cash and she was mine. And I was instantly in love.

I drove her home proudly showing her off for all to see and reveled in the fact that she had some of the core qualities of other women in my past. At first glance she was clean, cool,  young(relatively that is 1984), fast(130 kph), had plenty of booty(boot is Aussie for trunk), and as we would find out later wasn’t afraid to get a little rough and dirty or pound some drinks.

After a few days of driving around Sydney, Brad Thornbrough and I set off on our adventure with my girl stacked to nines with gear and booze and ready for action.   Within an hour of getting on the highway we started to get to know our girl a little better.   Seems she not only liked her drinks, since we had to put a quart of oil in every few hours, but she could also shake her booty with the best of them.  Not knowing cars, I couldn’t say exactly what the problem was, but I do know that when you push the gas pedal or release it, the car is not supposed to seem to realign itself on its chassis each time.   But,as they say in Australia, no worries.  The AC that I was so proud of was the first thing to go as it just gave up and began exchanging the hot air from inside the car with that of the engine compartment.

With no major disasters though we arrived at the small beach town of Crescent head in NSW which is the home of some of my favorite waves on the entire coast.   With a few hours of light remaining, we left the main town and navigated the dirt road that would lead us to  Brads first Austrlaian Surf session at a secluded break just 10 k’s distant.   This road runs along the swamp land and is graded “every couple of months” as our local friend and certified Wildman Simon Latta informed us.  It hadn’t rained in a while so the road was in good shape and we made 80 Kilometers per hour and were in the water in no time.

A few hours of trading good waves washed away the dirt and stiffness of the long drive and with the sun setting we celebrated our good fortune with a  cold Victoria Bitter and headed back to town to set up our campsite for the night.

Laughing and talking about the prospect of seeing a Kangaroo on the way back we cruised along the dirt road at a safe speed  until it changed into asphalt again and I was able to pick up speed.  With thick brush on either side we were only afforded a milleseconds glimpse of a brown shape before a thump and crunch was heard as a Kanga commited suicide on the front left side of the vehicle. “Whoa!  Did you see that!”

It happened so fast that there was no way to avoid the animal and even if there had been it would have resulted in us going off the road and hitting a tree.   We stepped out to survey the damage and found that the front left side was crushed in and under, the headlight was smashed,  under the hood the battery had broken loose from its mounts,  the grill was pushed in and the Kanga was a complete and total loss.   It was the equivalent of hitting a furry rock for the amount of damage it did to the Corona.

As we’re standing there in the road in the middle of no-where,  a car full of Aborigine’s pulls up and says,”You goys’ awlright?”  Yeah we’re fine but the Kanga has seen better days.  “Mate, you got some good meat on her. Should take those hind legs for the barbie.”   Yeah that’s a good idea, Thanks.

Despite the stellar advice from the thoroughly intoxicated Abo’s we decided against adding to the destruction of the Cerveza that would surely result by throwing a bleeding carcass in the back seat and instead cleared the road to continue on our way.

My girl was beaten up a bit but the damaged only seemed to be skin deep. And there is so much more to a relationship than looks right?   Brad reminded me  of that fact the very next morning as I backed my girl over the water spicket in our campsite crushing yet another panel and the passenger door therefore modifying her even more.   Dumbass.  The door still opened but it now made a hellacious creaking sound and took away from her over all astetics.

The night of the Kanga it started raining and it didn’t stop for the next week and a half.  Back-tracking to the scene of the crime and then past, we discovered that our smooth dirt road had turned in to a continuous series of potholes, rocks and mud.   Where we had done 80 k’s the night before we now bounced along at 25 and it still felt like we were Off-Roading.  We had no business in our vehicle on that road but I’ll be damned if we didn’t give it our best effort and as the days went by and we figured out where the biggest pot holes were, our speed increased and our lack of regard for the vehicles well being plumeted.  Twice a day back and forth we sped, blowing past 4WD vehicles picking their way carefully along the dirt road and scoffing at their babying their machines that were better fitted for the task at hand than our own.

And then our girl started to get angry.  There was a Surf School in town and having made friends with the instructors and some of the sexy young students were invited to join them for dinner our last night in town.   Enroute to our date the Corona must have caught wind of our intentions and showed her disgust with us by sputtering and gliding to a stop right at twilight in the most mosquito infested section of the road way out in the middle of the bush.  Brad was quickly under the hood but despite his jiggling of wires and cleaning of the fuel filter she made not a sound for 30 minutes.  Temper tantrum over, she started up like nothing had ever happened and the remainder of the evening we let her rest while we (unsuccessfully) chased around sunburned hotties who thought the world of us after we delivered a cooler full of fresh fish and lobster for the feast.

Hung over or still half drunk at 0500 the next morning we crawled back to the Corona on our way North to meet some friends for a dive 200 Km’s away.   Back on the open road once again it felt good to smash the pedal down and we laughed once again at the booty shake and as we became more cognoscente we started to notice some new quirks as well.  With the exception of a muscle car or Harley, no vehicle has any business making as much noise as we seemed to be now.  The roar that resulted from the pushing of the accelerator quickly overcame that noise of something rattling underneath us that could only mean that there was something significantly wrong with the Muffler, if it was there at all.
So what do we do about it?  Nothing.  Drive on, go diving and we’ll worry about it some other time.

That some other time turned out to be the very next day as we attempted to climb the hill to Simon’s house back in Crescent Head.  As she sputtered 50 meters short of our destination I spun her around to face down hill in hopes of keeping the gas flow going to the engine and possibly saving her from passing out on us again.  No luck. I glided to a stop in the shade of a big Gum Tree and let her sleep it off while Brad and I both tinkered with whatever we could think of underneath the hood to get her going again.  As before it didn’t seem to matter what we did and she just decided after 45 minutes or so that she was ready to go again and fired right back up.  Whatever.  The next couple days proved that she didn’t like hills so we avoided them at all costs.  Since we were now staying at Simons, we would navigate our way up the hill at short increments like stairs one block at a time until we were on the same level as his house.  It was a longer route but it seemed to prolong her daily run and prevented her from passing out before we did, a role reversal that neither Brad and I were comfortable or had experience with.

A week later and she was still dying on us every so often and we were convinced that it was a fuel problem.   We decided we could live with it.   By now it was nearing a month since I had bought the car though and in order to keep the Transportation Authority off my back I had to reregister the car before the 30 days was up or I would have to go through a big to-do in order to get the title switched over.   So we headed north again to Coffs Harbor and Civilization.

Once there we checked in to the Hoey Moey, our little Hotel on the beach and then headed off to the RTA to do the paperwork.  After getting there we waited in line for a half hour before being told we needed our passports to register it.  Back out to the car we go again and head back to the hotel only to have her sputter and die again only a K down the road.  We tinkered around under the hood unsuccessfully as usual, until a feral Aussie Bum came over and offered to help. Not wanting to risk saying something to my girl that I would regret later, I told Brad I was going for a walk and took off before I lost it completely.  So now we were so helpless that a Bum was going to work on our car!?

Returning I found the engine purring and the bearded vagabond elbow deep in grease and oil telling Brad how to keep her running smooth.  Amazing!  I offered the drinks in my hands to him and he said, “No Worries Mate, you don’t owe me nuthin.”   Typical Aussie hospitality, even if you live on the streets.  I dropped Brad off at the Hotel and headed back to the RTA and she died again on the way.  Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!  With the temp near 100 degrees now I walked down the road and bought a $2 six-in one screwdriver that we would from henceforth refer to as “the tool kit”.  I called Bazza and within 30 minutes I had taken everything apart that I could think of with no success. He hitched a ride and true to form she cranked up as soon as he was in sight.  By now though the RTA was closed and the only thing I wanted to do was get the hell away from this damn car.

Happy that she was running but a bit wary as to her life expectancy we decided finally to give in and take her to the mechanic to see if he could figure out what was wrong with her.  They looked her over and an hour later told us that they couldn’t find anything wrong but cleaned the fuel pump and said try it as is. And she was, in a sense.  $150 and a new fuel pump and a little cleaning of the fuel lines and they said she should be good to go.   Excellent.   We hopped back in and a few blocks later were parked in front of the RTA again. 30 minutes later the paperwork was done and the Corona was officially in my name.

And then the obvious happened.  We turn the key and nothing.  C’mon.  Again. Nothing.  Ahhhhhhhh!!!  Damn this car!  To make matters worse, every single person that walked into the building had to walk right past us and every comment just added to our embarrassment.

I called the garage and told them to come get the car but they wouldn’t do it because they said their truck was away and we’d have to get another company to do it.  8 blocks away.  We would have pushed it but there was no way I was going to embarrass myself more in this small town by doing that.   A redneck tow was offered by some teenage White trash wanna-b hip-hop gangsta kids but then we found out that they in fact, didn’t even know anyone that had a car to do it, so that was out as well.  An hour later I was so frustrated I called a tow truck and forked of the most painful and pointless $100 of the trip so far to have him pick it up and take it not even 5 minutes away. Even now it makes me so angry to have had to do that.

‘Whatever you did didn’t work.’  I say to the mechanics.  “Ok leave it with us and you can pick it up in the morning.” After plying them with a few more beers they said they’d do what they could to make her road worthy and told us to sell it as soon as we got a chance.   We left it over night and slept well knowing she would be all better in the morning.

What was wrong with it?  A lot, apparently.  “How much do you want to spend?”  The mechanic asked me over the phone.  “The carburetor is screwed, as is the fuel pump, fuel filter, and most of your electrical lines and connections.  The Muffler has been abused something fierce and needs some repairs, that loud noise is because of a hole it has in it.  Mate, that wiggle when you use the accelerator is not from the alignment being off, she’s real f-ed up.  That’s the universal axle or the bearings deteriorated so much that she’s losing it. She ain’t  Road Worthy.”  Just make it so she’ll run and keep it as cheap as possible.

There was a little drinking involved that night.  OK, a lot.  This damn car was driving me insane and I just wanted it to run.   We decided the next morning to push up to Byron Bay to chase this girl that Bazza had met after we picked the car up and planned on selling the car once there.   We picked the POS up and packed all of our stuff in for the trip North feeling confident that the $150 we’d just invested in it would be sufficient to get us the 3 hours North to Byron and Freedom from this machine. Home free….

Or so we thought. Once back on the open road, my foot found the gas pedal and we were passing cars and cruising at 130kph in no time.   And then we got pulled over.  Dammit!  The policeman was driving in the opposite direction and flashed his lights at us before spinning around and pulling in behind us.  Bazza and I just started laughing.  What luck we have.

He took my information and when he came back I asked him what seemed to be the problem.

“Please step out of the vehicle.”

“Besides the fact that it looks like you’ve been using it as a 4WD in the bush and is dirty and dented.  Your taillights are out, as are your blinkers and left headlight.  You’re going 20 k’s over the limit, you have no rear view because of all the stuff in your car and it sounds like your muffler is damaged.”

“This car is a POS.” Yes sir I know.

I gave him the spiel about us making a movie and how we had hit a kanga the night before and it must of done the electrical in.  Him, I, and Bazza laughed our asses off at how bad of shape the car was in and we talked about diving and surfing.  He said he’d write us a ticket for just the Blinker being out but we had to promise to stop and fix everything at the next Petrol station.  All the while Bazza is filming and taking pictures as I stand beside our battered car and have this cop telling me that I don’t have to pay the ticket if I don’t want to.  “If you are thinking about coming back to Oz to live I’d pay it but if not I’d just throw it in your photo album for a good laugh later.”  Priceless.  That is the first and last time I ever expect to hear that from a policeman anywhere in the world.

(As luck would have it that is the only ticket I didn’t pay of the 8 or so I received from speed cameras and will no doubt be the one that screws me when I try and come back. Handcuffs at the airport anyone?)

WE kept our word and Bazza fixed the lights at the next gas station and we were back on the road again, recharged knowing that lightning rarely strikes in the same place twice so we figured we had paid our dues for the car that day already.

“You hear that?” Bazza asks me.

Hear what?

“That clicking noise.  That’s a new sound.”

Where’s it coming from?

“Sounds like from the engine.  See! It gets louder every time you step on the gas.”

What do you think it is?

“I don’t know but I can tell you its not good and it sounds like its getting worse.”

At this point we were about 20 K’s short of the turnoff for Yamba and in the middle of nowhere.  (Not that Yamba is really anywhere either.  It’s a town of about 6000 if that.)  There are no Servo’s (Service Stations) until then so we have no choice but to keep going.

With the temperature gauge rising Bazza leans out the window filming and wetting himself he is laughing so hard because the “tink, tink, tink, tink” sound has grown steadily louder and is now “clank, clank, clank.”

Moving over to the slow lane the noise increases to the point where we are both laughing so hard I can barely steer.  Really now what the hell could this be!  We reach the Exit and have to make a decision whether or not to gamble and go the 18 k’s to Yamba(which actually has surf and things to do) or take the safe route and go left to Maclean (town of 1200) which is only 4 K’s distant.   The choice is easy.  We go left.

There was no reason to call ahead, the entire town knew we were coming and why we were here.

200 meters ahead of us people were whipping their heads around at the god awful sound of our approach.  There was no hiding our shame so we embraced it.  Brad waved to the towns people like I was escorting him to Homecoming but the shouts of encouragement (or so we’d like to think) could not be heard over the now deafening sound emitting from underneath our hood.  Little kids were covering their ears and pointing as it now sounded like someone was hitting the engine block with a sledgehammer every half a second.

So it was with great surprise that before we even came around the corner to the service station the three mechanics started walking outside and laughing at us.

“She’s fucked Mate!”

Tell us something we don’t know.

“No Mate. She’s really fucked.  Go ahead and get your gear out she needs a new engine before she’ll run again.  That sound you hear, that is the bearing at the bottom of the engine that has dropped out and it’s banging around inside the block.  There is no fixing this one. “

OK. It’s beer o’clock.  Thank goodness for the eskie.  We cracked a few beers and tried to get as much info out of the mechanics as possible about the chances of getting on our way again.   They freely accepted the beers but there was no getting around the fact that it was time for me to part ways with the Corona and we set forth to find a new chariot to take us on more adventures through the country. As luck would have it, our new chariot was closer than we thought and the sight of the purple curtains and the column stick shift did little to deter us from claiming our prize and heading off into the sunset in record time.  The Toyota Lite Ace (a mini van of microscopic proportions) was to be our new home and with no time to lose we put her back on the open road barely hearing the mechanic say to keep her under 90 kph. Or did he say it at all?  Anyway we were back on the road and out of Maclean and… overheating and broken down on the side of the road 10 minutes later.

Stripped of our new car we were forced to wait out  repairs before we could get on the road again.  That night we slept in a room above the most raucous, and possibly only, bar in the town of Maclean and being the only Americans trapped there in the history of this Scottish Australian  town, you can only imagine how well we fit in… but that’s another story.

Video:

Why you need an Official Scale. World Record Dogtooth Tuna

Yesterday I was moved to tears by the most incredible fish i have ever seen in my life. 
Diving in Indonesia is one of the most frustrating and difficult projects I have ever embarked on and without an amazing amount of patience, stamina and skill there is no way that you can be successful in a diving environment such as this.
Starting the day we jumped in to a mere 4 knots of current and drifted for 4 hours landed two Dogtooth tuna 40 and 100 lbs which are both excellent fish in any locale. 
Taking a break during the day we went and visited a deserted beach on a faraway shore and as we explored teh little spit of sand and the surrounding countryside Craig and I gave thanks for such a beautiful and unspoiled place on earth that we were able to enjoy.
With the two fish in the boat and our time expired we decided to head back to the mainland 2 hours away. Something in me felt wrong though and I persuaded the boat driver to stay another hour ($15 more) so that we could dive in the ever increasing current for one last shot. 
With a rain squall coming hard on us and the visibility darkening we decided on one last drift. Craig had just broken one blade on his fin and told me, “This is the last drift, make it count, I’ll ride shotgun and bring the second gun so you can shoot your fish twice…”
5 minutes later i was relaxed and diving down through the warm surface layer to the cooler water below relishing the change in temperature that these type of Tuna love so much. At 50 feet i stopped kicking and glided down to find a school of dogtooth tuna surrounding me from 15 to 120 lbs. Patiently i glided deeper and caught sight of the black back of a slightly bigger one on the bottom at 90 feet. Passing the other smaller tuna the big fish turned slightly just as i reached the end of my float line and i squeezed the trigger.
Thunk!
The fish immediately shook his gills and then made two circles on the bottom banging the shaft against the coral in an attempt to break free of the object now lodged in his after half. 
As the great fish strained for deep water i pushed hard for sunlight and grabbed my passing floats on the surface just in time to tell Craig, ” I shot a TOAD!!!!”
Nervous the the fish would pull out i fought him as gingerly as possible and within a few minutes we had him in sight. As he neared the surface I could see he was hurt bad but there was no way i was going to lose this fish and I grabbed my 115 Omer America with a reel from Craig, cocked it, dove and approached him. At 12 feet my lungs were screaming for air at the exertion of the last few minutes and I prayed that my shaking hands would aim true.. whoosh! The fish went stiff and i surfaced pulling the ever growing fish to me.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
I can’t wrap my arms around him! I have never screamed so loud in my life. The rocky cliffs a mile distant reverberated with the sound of my voice and then mingled with that of Craigs and the boat driver. 
With a raging 10 kt current approaching I handed the tail of the fish to the boat driver and jumped in the boat to relieve him but even with Craig and I pulling we could not budge the fish from the water. Trailing the fish to calm waters the three of us pulled the beast into the boat and then there was complete silence.
Looking at the 6 ft long fish at my feet my mind shut down and I was flooded with emotion at what I had before me. Never in my life could i have imagined this possible. Craig and I stared in utter silent disbelief. 
Dogtooth Tuna. What I have always preached as the most challenging and difficult fish in the world to land. Diving 30 miles from civilization in 6-10 kts of current. The whitewater rafting we had done the week before doesn’t even compare to the whirlpools and down currents and 5 ft standing waves we encounter every drift here. 
I can’t describe to you how incredible this day is and how meaningful it is to me. Of all the fish in the world this is the one record i have coveted the most. 
200.6 lbs. 6 feet long and 4.5 feet in girth.
I am the luckiest man alive. 
Cameron

VIDEO:

World Record Dogtooth Tuna on boat

 

When I was a kid I heard about people shooting Wahoo and Tuna and I could never fathom how it could even be possible.

When fishing, I can only remember hooking them and the line peeling off the reel faster than anything we ever hooked. In every magazine all you hear is how fast they are and these blistering runs so how could it be possible to ever chase one down and put a spear into it!?!?

 

I think I shot my first one when I was about 17 yrs old or so and I was super stoked.   We were in the Florida Keys in the summer for lobster season fishing for dolphin and I jumped in on a weedline.  A school of Hoo’s came by and I was so excited I could barely contain myself and steadied for a shot on the closest one.  

As the spear hit him and he took line on the reel faster than I could believe!

I was so pumped when I got him in my hands I knew that I was hooked on hunting these for the rest of my life and shooting grouper would never be the same again.

That first “WAHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” scream when I hit the surface is still one of the most rewarding sounds in our sport and it never gets old.  

My first wahoo weighed  4 lbs and had I not been so excited I’m sure that my family would have used it to troll for dolphin seeing as it was just a shade bigger than the ballyhoo and mullet we were using anyways.

 

Cut to a dozen years later.

GR Tarr and I have been on the hunt for a 100lb Wahoo for a number of years and have been carefully studying where, when, and how of Monster Wahoo.

One of my goals for last year was to shoot a 100lb Hoo and I concentrated my efforts on being in  the right place at the right time and waiting for the right fish.

Every time I’ve seen a fish that was even close to 100 lbs I’ve had my hands full with another fish, sharks eating another fish, or its been laying on the dock and someone else has killed it.

We landed 80 lbers and 90 lbers and dozens in the 50-60 lb class but couldn’t break that fabled 100 lb barrier.  Craig Clasen, Brandon Wahlers, Bill Delabar, and our other buddies all smashed good ones but the right one wasn’t there yet.

When it finally came together was one of those days that should never have happened. 

The electronics on the boat were screwed up. The fog was so thick we almost ran aground multiple times. The water was dirty and nasty and there weren’t that many fish around.  

When we finally found the school of fish, the boat fishing near us hooked up a 500 lb Mako Shark and broke it off so we knew that somewhere in that murky water was something hungry for anything unsuspecting swimming in that murky water…. Not cool. Not comforting but the sight of 60-80 lb fish swimming all over was better than any liquid courage I’ve ever had and both Bill and Chad had secured 65 and 75 lb fish within the first half hour.

Breaking through the murky layer at 30 feet it takes you a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the clear dark water below.  When they do the sight of two, five or fifty wahoo is insane and I don’t have to tell you the strength it takes to be patient enough to wait for that one big fish to start teasing them in from the back of the school.  

After 5 dives and no big fish I dropped into the murk to find a group of 60-70 lbers directly below.  Dropping right at their backs to 50 feet they were past the chance for a good shot.  Angling towards them the lead fish turned stiffly and the rest followed presenting a shot with my custom Riffe (Wahoo Whacker) 150 cm Eurogun.

The fish sped off with the ice pick tip clearly visible in the dark water as he flashed into the depths.  

A few nervous minutes later I worked him up not being able to see 4 inches in the dirty surface water and lifted him into the boat to join another pair of Chad and Bill’s in the 60-80lb class!!!  What a day!

Trying to relax on the surface, I found that closing my eyes gave me a few extra seconds of clarity when I broke through the murk. My eyes were relaxed but getting your heart rate down with no reference point, no visibility, not able to see any fish from the surface, and knowing there were toothy critters about was unnerving to say the least.

Leave the surface,

Five long hard kicks

Open my eyes

Murk Murk Murk

Clear Water and there are 50 Wahoo from 50-100 lbs all around me. 

The only way to describe it is to picture one of the old World War two movies with the dog fights and the planes flying all over coming from every angle, above, below, and at different speeds.  Pure overload of the senses and a Spearfishermans dream.  Nearly within arms reach is a quad of 70 lb fish. To my right and 20 feet out is a stud that must be 90+, Coming down out of the murk is 10 fish that look like torpedos dropped from planes falling from the clouds above.  Everywhere I turned were fish and I knew that this was the dive where I was going to have the one chance to land that one fish that we had all been searching for.

And there he was. 

At the edge of visibility, huge shoulders, mouth slightly agape, staying way out.  Between us were more than half a dozen fish that any other day would be the fish of the year and were much easier to take.  He was at the back of the school, not interested…..

Turning, eyes locked on him, I changed my posture and the reaction of the fish around was instantaneous.  Half of the school seemed magnetized and started zipping in and out around me doing their best to be as close as possible without actually being on top of me. The Big fish came in steadily and at the magic moment a 90+lb fish came to his side and paralleled him effectively blocking my shot!   Milliseconds felt like minutes and at the last possible moment I pulled the trigger at 18 feet shooting over the top of the 90 lb one hitting the monster just behind the pectoral fin.

 

Hitting the surface I yelled to Chad that I had just shot “the ONE!!!!”

With a 100 ft bungey and Riffe 2 Atmosphere float he ran hard but never took the buoy below the surface we gave chase and loaded a backup gun and feared for both the fish and our own legs while I worked him up from the depths. When he was 50 feet down I made a dive to check him out and found the shot secure.

Working the shooting line closer I had my hands on the shaft and still couldn’t see the fish the water was so dirty.  Seeing the massive shape appear I pounced on him and wrapped my arms and legs around him screaming with excitement at the monstrosity now in front of me. 

In the boat the fish on the deck was literally twice the size of the 65lb one we had just landed so we knew that it was a potential world record and by far the biggest any of us had ever seen.  

A half hour later the remaining buoys in the water take off and disappear below the surface and its a full 3 minutes before they surface 300 yards away and Bill works a 95 lb fish to complete our cooler(s) for our 9th Wahoo of the day over 60 lbs.  

 Back at the dock we are bouncing around ideas on the size and are blown away when the official scale reads 118.4-119 lbs.  

Just a few lbs shy of the world Record but by far the biggest Wahoo I’ve ever landed.  After a little research, there have only been about 12 fish landed over 100 lbs that anyone has bothered to talk about. The “ONE” is still out there. We are going to find him. It is only a matter of time. There is more than one place in the world so expect some hard core trips in the coming years and some serious striped speedsters being landed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back to La Florida we have been waiting for a good weather window to make the long run offshore to hunt Yellowfin Tunas.   Brandon Langel from Fort Pierce has the fishing for them down pat and when the seas lay down we were poised to go long.

Weather the night before was less than appealing with solid 15-20 knot winds while we were catching bait and it kind of set the standard for the next day. ie. If it could go wrong it would….

First things first, we had planned to catch a bunch of bait so we had chum but of course it was blowing a gale and the bait was running scared as hell and we only got about 150 or so.  

 Next morning we wake up to find calm winds and plenty of left over swell and only three of the original 6 man crew showing up therefor assuring us of a hefty gas bill. Bastards.

We slammed our way out and hoped that when we hit the gulfstream it would calm down but I think it was more mental than anything else and we got punished for 3 straight hours.

Once on the tuna grounds it was so rough that we had trouble hitting the pods of birds with the radar and ended up finding only some small schools of tiny yellowfins and lots of skipjacks.  

Excitement spiked when we were putting out the baits enroute to one of the schools and I caught a movement in the wake out of the corner of my eye and immediately identified it as a big blue marlin!

I freespooled the bait he was looking at and after seeing him turn pushed it up slightly and he immediately took to the air as Josh  set the hook when I handed it to him.  The sight of a solid 250 lb Blue Marlin clearing the water and tailwalking for 100 yards had us all hooting and enjoying the lack of Tuna for a few minutes.  As soon as it began it was over with only 60 lb Fluorocarbon leader the big fish and rough bill wore through and left us laughing at the spectacle. 

 

 

 

Giving up on the tunas in the building seas we headed in and crossed an excellent weedline and before long came upon a good looking spot.   

ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!

That wonderful sound of a screaming reel and a nice bull dolphin dancing at the other end and we were back in the game.  Gaffing it and bringing it into the boat thinking our luck had changed I held the gaff while Brandon removed the hook and four foot of golden fish came alive and smacked me in the face sending my Costa Del Mar sunglasses sailing into the purple blue.

Son of a !!!!

 

“Go Go GO! Dive in there!!!”  As Brandon is screaming at me to go I’m trying to figure out what I need to take off before I dive in. Fumbling around for a quick few seconds I realize that the only thing I need to take off  IS MY SUNGLASSES and they are already gone so I dive in fully clothed and with my shoes on and start stroking down and catch them at about ten feet which luckily is only a fraction of the 2500 ft of water that we are in.

Good guys that they are they stopped the boat and I jumped in water logged but determined to get in as soon as possible with the proper gear and actually enjoy the good vis.

Working the weedline with the baits we caught sight of a huge shape below the surface and as I went in to turbo mode and started putting on my gear a 12 ft Tiger shark coasted under the boat and wouldn’t stick around for me to film despite copious amounts of chum being thrown in the water.

Back trolling another 200 yards down the weedline we come across a good school of Dolphin and within seconds of the first strike, the boat is in neutral and I’m in the drink avoiding a trio of hooked fish looking for the big bull which I know to be amongst the 20 or so fish 15 lbs and greater surrounding me. 

Brandon and Josh are yelling at me to shoot and I’m doing my best to hold off as 20 and thirty lb Dolphin surround me and the other hooked fish.     Just as I’m about to cave in and shoot a great fish on the outskirts I see the one I’m looking for and he makes a Bee line straight for one of the hooked fish just meters away from the boat.  INtercepting him to the guys on the boat are cheering as I pull the trigger in full view of them both and the big Bull is in my hands in seconds and raising hell on the surface!

Trophy in the boat and some quick pics and I’ve got Brandon in the water with the 120 EuroX and a float line and he is swirled by the school and selects the best one taking a practiced shot in the head and securing a solid 30 lb bull!

Over the next hour we landed 10 fish from 12-40 lbs and enjoyed some crystal blue waters below the giant weed patches. The bait wasn’t nearly as thick as I would have like to have seen but the fish were there and the day was definitely worth the run across.

here is the video from the trip 

 

 

Gear:

Riffe Euro 130 with new Horizontal Reel and Riffe Green Cryptic Rash Guard for Cameron

Riffe Euro X 120 for Brandon with a 100 ft bungey and single 2 ATM float. ( this is the rig that I had brought  to use on the Yellowfins which we had guessed would  be in the 40-110 lb range)

Took the long ride again with flat seas finally (less than 4 ft that is) and went back to where we had seen the doggies the day before.

This is one of the spots we know we aren’t going to get very many fish but if and when we do they’ll be good ones.

We did two groups of three and drifted the edge of the drop in 40-150 ft of water and I stayed in the shallows to check on all the ulua holes.  DJ and I found some really incredible ones with no one home but with no lights I can only imagine deep in the back of some of the caves there had to be some lobsters or something. Really incredible holes I can’t wait to go back and check them again.

First drift up in only 30 feet of water right on the drop DJ and I were taking pics and up swims a Reef Shark and a medium size ulua.  As soon as he saw us he turned to bail down the reef and out of sight but luckily he turned when I made some noise and came right back in for an easy 6 ft shot.  Battle royale ensued and I muscled him out of the reef not giving him and inch of reel line and DJ got some incredible pics of the whole thing.

While we were messing around with him we also caught a good tako (octopus) and with the ulua and him together it looked insane. So cool.

Back in hunt mode and over “posing”, DJ spots a nice Dogtooth tuna up on the high part of the reef only 20 ft from the surface and Mark snakes it from me and blasts it right in front of the two of us.

So far one of the best fish of the trip. Pics to come.

Lots of cheeky little reef sharks today but the tiger left us alone and we saw a bunch of turtles and dolphins so lots of life on the reef which is always good to see.

End of the day we had three fish: Dogtooth Tuna, Jobfish and the ulua.  For 9 hours in the water it doesn’t seem like much but thats hunting for doggies. You have to put in the hard hours if you want to land the good ones no matter how frustrating it is.

Day 10:

Dove some WWII wreckage and played with some giant schools of Mu that were lucky we weren’t in hunting mode. They were the biggest ones we’ve seen with some in the 7 lb range.   Big night on the town had us out til 10 o’clock.  We’re getting soft having dove all day every day.  Up early in the morning tomorrow heading for the deep reef and checking the FAD’s we put out. Troy’s last day so hopefully we can score him some good fish.

CK