A huge Westport tuna tale
Published on Thu, Mar 18, 2010 by John KullerRead More John Kuller
We had been looking forward to this tuna trip for a long time, but when we arrived in Westport, the boat we had chartered had blown an engine and was hors de combat. So we decided to do some research and review our options
We started our intelligence effort in the Westport bars. Someone suggested a substitute skipper, who was said to be a good guy, and had some clue what he was doing.
We had some doubts, but after a couple of beers he sounded better and better, and besides, Steve had come clear from Texas. So we decided to go for it, and poured ourselves onto the substitute boat.
But after finally getting to the fishing grounds we motored around for about three hours with no bites at all. At this point, we explained to the skipper that we were on a fishing trip, not a cruise, and would he please get with the program.
Anyway, something musta happened because we started catching fish, about half of them tuna and half of them sharks. But then I managed to get my line in a half hitch around the tail of an eight-foot shark, and before we could cut it, he had destroyed my gear, as well as my finger, which had somehow got caught in the reel.
We had just about got this sorted out when the squall hit. The wind was blowing forty knots, the seas got to twenty feet, and the boat really started rocking and rolling.
When the rolls reached 45 degrees, the gear started breaking loose, and pandemonium ensued. One guy got chased around the boat by an errant cooler, and Steve got nailed by another.
I was trying to keep fishing, hanging on for dear life, while dodging a charging bait bucket. During a short break in the action, Steve allowed that this was more fun than riding Brahmas in the rodeo.
A funny thing happened to the bait at about this time. They all just kind of turned up their tails and died. One of us thought that they might have died from fright after one of our ugliest guys peered into the bait tank, but regardless, there they were, all floating belly up.
So here we were, getting dark, no bait, and the boat pitching and rolling enough to make sleep impossible. On the plus side, the fish hold was almost full, so we decided to call it a day, and return to port.
Anyway it turned out to be an OK trip. We got enough fish, and some good male bonding. And we almost forgave my buddy Sam for forgetting the cigars.
We started our intelligence effort in the Westport bars. Someone suggested a substitute skipper, who was said to be a good guy, and had some clue what he was doing.
We had some doubts, but after a couple of beers he sounded better and better, and besides, Steve had come clear from Texas. So we decided to go for it, and poured ourselves onto the substitute boat.
But after finally getting to the fishing grounds we motored around for about three hours with no bites at all. At this point, we explained to the skipper that we were on a fishing trip, not a cruise, and would he please get with the program.
Anyway, something musta happened because we started catching fish, about half of them tuna and half of them sharks. But then I managed to get my line in a half hitch around the tail of an eight-foot shark, and before we could cut it, he had destroyed my gear, as well as my finger, which had somehow got caught in the reel.
We had just about got this sorted out when the squall hit. The wind was blowing forty knots, the seas got to twenty feet, and the boat really started rocking and rolling.
When the rolls reached 45 degrees, the gear started breaking loose, and pandemonium ensued. One guy got chased around the boat by an errant cooler, and Steve got nailed by another.
I was trying to keep fishing, hanging on for dear life, while dodging a charging bait bucket. During a short break in the action, Steve allowed that this was more fun than riding Brahmas in the rodeo.
A funny thing happened to the bait at about this time. They all just kind of turned up their tails and died. One of us thought that they might have died from fright after one of our ugliest guys peered into the bait tank, but regardless, there they were, all floating belly up.
So here we were, getting dark, no bait, and the boat pitching and rolling enough to make sleep impossible. On the plus side, the fish hold was almost full, so we decided to call it a day, and return to port.
Anyway it turned out to be an OK trip. We got enough fish, and some good male bonding. And we almost forgave my buddy Sam for forgetting the cigars.