OTW’s Anthony DeiCicchi penned this blog post about a September trip to Maine for giant bluefin tuna.
Giant Tuna Fishing and the Curse of the Banana
Anthony DeiCicchi
Friday, September 16 was one of the longest workdays of the year for me. Though I still worked the standard 9 to 5 shift, each minute seemed like an hour. I was destined to go giant fishing in Maine that night, but time was crawling slower than an underpowered downeast. I have not been able to do any significant fishing since July. Instead of putting a few backing plates and some screws under the gunwales of a new-to-me boat to reinforce swivel rod holders, this hardware was put into my wrist to surgically repair three fractures. I was immediately placed on the 90-day fishing DL, and being surrounded by fish stories and fisherman at the OTW office for the entire workweek doesn’t help.
After a quick stop to grab some stuff to rig up a new GoPro Hero HD video camera that my wife surprised me with for my return to fishing, I was finally headed in the right direction. I was headed to the Kennebunk River with a lifelong friend, to hop aboard the Miss Cruella, a 45-foot Hatteras, for a weekend-long giant tuna excursion. Texts in all caps asking “WHERE ARE YOU?”, were piling into my buddies phone from his Uncle, Captain Paul Hood, who owns Nantasket Roads Charters. He had been on a hot streak that started on September 1, that involved him sending five giant tuna to the auction in Japan. I couldn’t wait to get on board. At 9:30 p.m., the diesel engines were already purring and the ball was waiting for us only 7 miles from the slip! In minutes we were on our way out of the river, Bob Marley’s “Is this Love” was fittingly bumping throughout the boat, and we were finally en route to a weekend on the hook!
As we circled in the moonlit ocean around a mark on the GPS, we finally spotted the white polyball bobbing in the glistening waves which was connected to the anchor, quickly tied up to it and we were officially on the hook! Better yet, we were in a location that had been putting refrigerator-sized bluefin in the cockpit of the Miss Cruella for the entire month of September. Finally situated, we grabbed some bait rods and went to work trying to fill the livewell with some of the local baitfish. We were fishing the edge of a slope of a hump off of the Wood Island area, which is home to halfbeaks, whiting, cod, mackerel, herring, bluefish, squid and more, all of which make fine live baits for tuna. Once the livewell was full, we discussed our approach to the morning, swapped a few tuna stories and turned in for the night.
I woke up to the familiar sound of a clicker on a Penn 130. Capt. Paul was paying out line off the reel, carefully measuring out three and a half fathoms above a Spro wind-on 240-pound-test swivel, where he would secure a 10-ounce weight with an elastic band. He paid off another 11 or so fathoms, attached a balloon and sent a live bait slowly down about 16 fathoms. This was roughly the middle of the water column since we were fishing in about 33 fathoms. We gave the 170-pound-test Seaguar fluorocarbon hanging off the next rod a good stretch, wiped it down with alcohol, and hooked up a live bait to a razor sharp, 10/0 Super Mutu Ringed Owner hook. We sent this bait to the same depth and put it on a down line, which was held out from the boat by an elastic band attached to the outrigger base, then swung the rod tip out from the boat a bit. We deployed a third bait on a balloon at the same depth.
Once the spread was out, I went to pour a bowl of Lucky Charms and I spotted a bunch of banana’s in a basket on top of the microwave in the galley. I just stared at them and I swear I could hear that cliché screeching they use in old horror movies, I tried to look away and the next thing my eyes settled on was a bag of banana bread! I was surrounded! I slowly backed out of the galley, eyes fixed on the cursed fruit, and turned and ran. I ran to Capt. Paul and told him somebody not only brought bananas on board, but that the banana’s brought backup – banana bread! He didn’t seem to care much because they were his.
I have been on two offshore trips in the company of a banana. A buddy brought one on my boat for a tuna trip in his packed lunch a few years back. That trip on a 23-foot SeaCraft, ended with no bites, a 26-mile, white-knuckle ride through a storm with lightning, driving rain and 50 mile-per-hour gusts! The second, was a British angler who brought one on a shared charter in St. Lucia. We were on a boat that had been averaging 2 to 3 blue marlin bites per half day but we got skunked and I ended up with an angry fiancé who had just suffered through watching people get sick and 5-foot swells for five hours. My conclusion? The curse of the banana is real, and I had low expectations for the trip.
In doing all I could to stay positive, I asked when the tide was, then made the call that we would get bit around 9:15a.m. I was surveying the spread at 9:12, line started peeling off one of the reels! I ran to the nearest rod and started cranking, pulled the weight off, took the balloon off and put the live bait back in the livewell.
With money on the line, it’s important to make sure everything is in order. I began running through a checklist in my head. Engines started, rods was out of the way? Yes. Harpoon ready? Check. Tailrope? There it is. Gaffs? Yup. I was making sure we had all we needed at arm’s length, but out of the way. Okay. Breathe. The adrenaline rush is like nothing else, and boy did I miss it.
With a maze of lobster gear, fighting a tuna in Maine is like trying to tip toe blindfolded through a North End alley full of land mines! Capt. Paul was on the rod and his mate, Woggie, was on the controls. I was making sure the cockpit was ready for battle. I ran and got the camera, and quickly got back to the pit to help in any way I could. After about 45 minutes we had color, I readied the dart, resting the back of it over my right shoulder with it clenched mid shaft in my right hand and waited to get a good look at the fish. The transom of the boat is marked to give us a frame of reference on whether or not the fish is 73 inches. As the fish started circling, it quickly became obvious it was a legal fish. I exclaimed, “That’s all of seventy-six, I’m taking it as soon as I have the shot!” Soon enough, my eyes met my mark and I drove the dart, gimpy wrist and all, right through the gill plate, the best I could. No wasted meat. After a small issue from the pike on the harpoon snapping, I grabbed the tailrope, looped it around the tuna’s tail, and Capt. Paul reached over, knife in hand, and made the cut to bleed the fish and drag it.
Once it was ready, we rigged up the block and tackle, and hauled the fish into the boat. It was a very, very, fat 77-inch beauty! We took some photos and that’s when I remembered what was in the galley! I walked over to the defeated-looking bananas, tore one from the bunch, buried a hook in it and put it in the tuna’s mouth to officially end the curse! We had a laugh and got down to business, carved out the gill plate, cut around the anus, and started prepping the fish for its icy cocoon. Out came horse blankets, insulated bubble material, frozen bottles of water, and plenty of ice. Once the fish was packed until ice spilled out of its carved out gills, we slid the insulation under the fish and tied it tightly around it. The horse blankets, which were soaked and kept wet the rest of the trip, were the final layer of protection for the beautiful sushi grade meat that laid across the cockpit.
We stayed away from the ball to avoid bringing sharks to our honey hole and when all the prep work was done, we took part in a brief traditional celebration, and we were back on the hook at about 11:00 a.m. I made the call that we’d get bit again at 12:30. I was on a roll, so what the heck?
When we re-rigged we decided to deploy “tuna bombs” for all of our weights since Captain Paul had parted a few fish off recently. Tuna bombs are basically a type of chafing gear, and consist of a 15- to 20-ounce lead weight that is formed around a piece of plastic tubing. You run the main line through the tubing, and take a loop of line in your hand from the line coming out of the bottom of the tube (the weight side is the top). By doubling the line to just above the top of the tuna bomb and synching it with elastics on the top and bottom of the plastic tubing, you now have protection for the necessary lighter leaders required for getting bites from these leader-shy behemoths. When a tuna takes the bait, the line pulls tight, and breaks the elastics when the loop is pulled straight, sending the weighted tube down the line, over the wind-on swivel, right to where the hook is imbedded in the fish’s mouth. Once all the baits were out, we started marking a boomerang on the sounder at the depth of the down line. I grabbed the down line and gave it a little jig. I let the line go and Paul said “Sometimes right after you touch it, it goes off”, before I could reply with “I know” there it went, hooked up again! At 12:15! Same crazy fire drill as every bite you get tuna fishing, and once we got squared away we settled into the fight. We beat this fish in about 30 minutes, and this time, I saw that the fish was a much smaller fish. We had the GoPro Hero on a 20-foot painters pole and my buddy Ed filmed it as it came to the boat, I grabbed it’s gill plate, got some help to lift it in the boat, put a towel over its face, unhooked it, took a quick photo and released. The tuna measured out to 57 inches and was as beautiful as every other bluefin tuna I have been fortunate enough to see.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1TRh_SJKHE
Pretty much everything I learned tuna fishing, I learned from my father, who passed away just before Memorial Day from a long battle with cancer. I still invite him on every trip I go on, and this one was no different. It was a surreal trip to start and making two predictions that coincidentally came true was weird since they rarely come true. I think I had a little help, but the bottom line is that it was a lot of fun to be back in the tuna game! We decided to head in, sell the fish we had, and do it all again that night and the following morning.
As soon as we returned to the ball and started prepping the leaders and rods, we saw fish crashing and splashing 75 yards from the boat, things were looking like it was going to be easy! We quickly got some baits in the water and I took a stab at the trifecta, proclaiming we’d get bit before sunset. No dice. We repeated the same chain of events that night, jigged bait, filled the well, cooked dinner, had a lot of laughs and turned in for night to do it again at first light. My buddy succumbed to an offer to go to the Pats/Chargers game in a luxury box and just like that our trip was cut a little short. He was driving so I had no choice and we headed in. Capt. Paul dropped his son off who had school Monday, grabbed another angler, and headed back out. After the Pat’s handled business and beat the Chargers, I got a text from Capt. Paul at about 8:30. It was a picture of what looked like a real nice fish being dragged behind the “Miss Cruella”. A half hour later confirmation came in that it was an 81-inch fatty that they hooked just after dusk. Lucky number 7 for Capt. Paul in September, and the end of the curse of the banana for me!
