Heading southeast of the J.I. Buoy, and passed the lobster pots at The Cholera Banks where small fishing boats work the bottom, and passed The Yankee, which is a little more than 20 miles out, and passed the H.A. Buoy, beyond The Bacardi, and south of the Texas Tower is a place called The Hudson Canyon.
I miss this place
On an early afternoon, we set out as a crew of five from the docks at Freeport. We fueled the tanks and stopped for bait and cans of chum. We picked up some squid, flats of butterfish and sardines for the overnight drift.
Once the rods were secured, the equipment was stored, and the cooler was stocked, we moved through the no wake zone, cruising along at 5 knots.
We radioed to the bridge keeper at The Loop Parkway Bridge to lift so our outriggers and antennas could pass below.
Once on the other side, small crafts drifted the inlet, hoping for a chance at keeper-sized fluke, or the occasional bluefish—or maybe a striper.
On the other side of the bridge, and out of the no wake zone, both throttles moved forward to open the diesel engines to a perfect hum. The radar advised us of ships in the distance and the GPS directed us to the fishing grounds.
The Canyon is not a close trip. The tip is 72 nautical miles south of the J.I. Buoy, and at 20knots, or 3500 rpm, the three hour cruise is mostly quiet, but widely beautiful.
I have seen pods of dolphin swim beside the boat. I have seen whales break the surface and spout their watery breath into the air. I have seen the sunset above the ocean, and in any direction was the perfection of nothingness.
On the way out, I assume most think about tuna fishing. I suppose some hope for the deep line to pull up a swordfish, or maybe some think of the possible marlin in the spread of trolling lures. There are the occasional reports of decent sized wahoo, and schools of mahi-mahi, which crowd around the floats for the lobster pots.
But me
I think about The Old Man. My proudest moment at sea was reaching The Hudson Canyon in my own boat. We dragged eight rods in the water with different color lures, hoping for the yellow fin, or albacores to sweep in and tear off.
On the way out, I think about the relation of size between myself and the ocean. I think of God the Father. I think of the sea as a spiritual being, and while mesmerized by the sound of rumbling engines, the wind, and the sound of the bow crashing through the rolling waves; I feel the connection between man and sea.
As we set out, we made the canyon before sunset and trolled up to the 100square. We trolled a spot called The Ledge. We trolled over the continental shelf and through a spot most accurately named; The Deep.
The troll is slow moving with all eyes on the rods. Everyone watches the lures dance as the boat moves and drags the hooks in the wake, hoping to see one take off, and hear the incredible scream from the reel as line peels outward.
Tuna are fast swimming. Their body is built for speed; their strength is incredible, and swimming in at 60mph, once they take the hook….the fight is on.
However, as exciting as this may be, the fish are also elusive and picky. We trolled through hungry schools, but only produced one yellow fin at approximately 65lbs
When night fell, we tied up and switched to bait.
And with six lines in the water, each with different flavors, we waited for the tuna to arrive. We waited, but most fell asleep.
Not me though. I stood in the cockpit, looking up at the star filled sky. I looked at the lights of other boats in the distance. I looked around and enjoyed the beauty.
The tuna never showed up that night. But with one on ice, we began to troll at first light and found a school of dolphin….and within two hours; we caught over 700lbs of yellow fin tuna.
I work a lot now. I have bills. I have a mortgage and an Uncle named Sam with his hands constantly in my pocket. But I also have dreams. One of them is to be back on the water someday, moving beneath the Loop Parkway Bridge, pushing the throttles, and heading out to the Hudson Canyon
Someday….
The Written Addiction 