Every Friday, fishermen feel an unmistakeable itch. You know the feeling. The urge sets in on Monday and intensifies with each passing day until the weekend. Last Friday I was dying to scratch that itch, and come Sunday, that’s exactly what I did. My boat is typically docked in Long Island Sound, but I couldn’t resist moving it to New Jersey for what I hope will be an epic fall run. Although this fall has been a windy one, the forecast for November 2 was perfect. When NOAA shows an ocean swell of 2-feet or less, it’s time to top off the gas tank of my 19-foot Boston Whaler and explore.
With smooth seas ahead, I had tuna and bass on the mind. My good buddies, Andrew Bernat and Alex Peru, pulled up to our meeting spot in Keyport Harbor at 6 a.m. We stuffed our bass gear and single tuna rod into the boat and, after a quick fuel up, began our journey through Raritan Bay and into the slick-calm ocean. As soon as we made it out front, birds, sand eels and stripers collided in spectacular fashion. The bite was technical, but we landed a few fish to 25 pounds on topwater. As I peered into the vast blue distance, searching for more action, my gaze landed on a pack of bluefin tuna rocketing through the air no more than 300 yards off the bow. In mere moments, we were packed up and running toward the school at 40 miles per hour. Initially, we didn’t hook up, but we stayed on the fish and placed multiple casts in their vicinity. Their sporadic splashes allowed us to keep up with them until finally, we stumbled upon a sustained feed consisting of 5 fish in the 100- to 200-pound range.
We made a few casts with a Shimano Stella 30K but received no love—that is, until I pitched a monster topwater walking bait into the froth on my Shimano Tranx 500, paired with a G. Loomis Bucara. Within 3 twitches of the plug, which was armed with assist hooks, a 60-inch-class tuna inhaled my offering and we were off to the races. “I’m tight! Start the f****** boat!” I yelled as line disappeared from my reel. With the boat now in gear, we chased it down to regain some line and then sat vertical on the fish.
After 20 minutes of grueling work, Andrew stepped up to take over while I ran the boat. Thinking on his feet, Alex moved our large Yeti cooler to the bow for fighting support. With Andrew now seated up front, we placed a small boat fender beneath the rod to cushion it from the gunnel. Every time the fish made a run, we matched it to stay vertical. We knew an up and down battle was the key to victory.
Once the fish slowed, Andrew locked down the drag to maximum capacity and started pumping it up from the depths. As it rose through the column, the tuna’s metallic sheen illuminated the dark blue ocean water. When it came close enough, Alex and Andrew grabbed the leader and slid a hand under the gill plate. We were attempting to muscle our assist hooks from its maw when the tether tore from the split ring. The fish shot off sideways back to the deep blue as we sat there in shock. We had done it—a tuna on my 19-foot Whaler.
Needless to say, tuna remained on our minds, so we gathered ourselves and raced toward the next blowup. This time, the tuna seemed larger. Unfortunately, as we pulled up to the blitz, the fish went under, but we knew they were still around. Following a well-placed cast, Alex started nonchalantly working the plug and when it reached the boat, a roughly 300-pound tuna turned broadside at the last second, leaving a massive boil. I was stunned.
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I had never seen a tuna this tight to shore. Before we could even react, another tuna started feeding 100 yards away. Once again, we pulled up on it but couldn’t get a bite. For the next 30 minutes, we chased fish after fish.
Finally, Andrew tied on a 4-ounce extra heavy NLBN jighead paired with an 8-inch straight tail and managed to put it smack dab in front of a tuna. He worked the bait slowly and methodically near the surface when it was absolutely mauled by a bluefin the size of a Smart Car. It had to be over 95 inches. “Hit him, hit him again, again!” I yelled. The fish must have felt the retaliating force of the 30K Stella and Centaur popping rod, because it turned broadside and screamed toward the open Atlantic. Ten seconds later, Andrew’s 30K was spinning faster than any reel I had ever seen.
“I just passed the 400-yard mark in my line,” Andrew said. “We need to chase it.” Without hesitation, I got on the sticks and blasted toward the fish as Andrew gained back line. Eventually, we got it vertical and cranked up the drag to roughly 55 pounds of force. Andrew proceeded to wrench the fish up the column when suddenly, it spit the hook and disappeared.
I looked up to get my bearings and realized we were 7 miles offshore in my little boat. With that in mind, we began our long journey back to the slip—a hero’s journey, having caught and released a tuna on this sub-20-foot vessel.
November 2, 2025, is a day I’ll never forget. As I was once told, “you never know when you’re gonna hook that one big fish that will take you for the ride of your life.” It’s days like last Sunday that keep me itching to get back out there.
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