Our coming to Hatteras was originally spurred by good friends in Kentucky. Heath and Kristy, good friends of my fiancé and I, have been coming here for the better part of 10 years. First as a beach fisherman, now keeping a center console there full time; Heath grew deeper and deeper into the addiction of saltwater fishing, and now his affliction is even worse than my own.
Once he heard that I was moving through the area, it was game on. We talked and texted back and forth, usually photos of good days on the water, and settled that the first week of June would be a good time to come down and get offshore into some blue water. As with our usual pattern of traveling the boat up the coast so far, this was to be another family excursion, so my parents and brother would also come, bringing our party up to 8 people.
Arriving in Norfolk, we made the 3 hour drive down to Hatteras in our little roller skate of a Hyundai. The drive seems easy enough, but we all went a little stir crazy along the way. Selfies, that damn house in Rodanthe, and an all you can eat crab buffet (Jimmy's Seafood Buffet in Kitty Hawk, FYI) dotted our trip with a few highlights.
After arriving at Hatteras Landing, we were greeted with close to gale winds, and 5-8 ft seas. Not pretty, but it was nice to be on vacation again.
We took the day to relax, unpack, and meet up with our friends, who were already in town for a few days. Turns out Heath beat us to the punch, bagging over 20 mahi in the past couple of days before we arrived. He did have a surprise up his sleeve, in the form of a buddy named Billy, who was very familiar with the local waters and the techniques used here, and boy was I glad to hear that.
One of the toughest things about fishing a new area is understanding how and where to fish. Tuna, in particular, are a difficult species at best. Home, we use lots of spreader bars, plastic baits, and some ballyhoo as well. Down in Hatteras, its all about ballyhoo. Period. No ballyhoo, no fish. We topped them off with sea-witches, and some planers as well, but the key is good ballyhoo. Patterns are different, the distance behind the boat is different. All of these things add up to a successful day on the water, and with Heath and Billy, I was feeling cautiously optimistic. The morning came, the wind died down, and the waters cooperated for us. Thankfully.
Running the inlet was probably the largest point of stress for us. We don't know the water, and with the sand bars and shoaling, its a tough inlet on a good day, and impossible on many days. The plan was to follow out someone, and track our course right behind a charter boat. This wasn't foolproof, but it worked. So good news there. Once we got towards the inlet, we were greeted with some 6-8 ft. rollers, and a Coast Guard 47MLB keeping an eye on the exiting fleet. We rounded the point and made our way north, the 40 some odd miles to the offshore grounds east of Oregon Inlet.
Lines in the water around 7:30, we trolled 9 rods and dragged our baits around for the better part of 3 lazy, fishless hours.
People often ask me what offshore fishing is like, and the easiest way I can explain it is this:
You spend hours driving around monotonously, not talking much, and in a very tense but bored mood; only to get 30 minutes of complete chaos and excitement when you finally find a school of fish. Then you feel like a million bucks. Repeat throughout the day.
Our moment happened at 11:00 or so. We were trolling in a fleet of 20 boats, doing very little, when all of a sudden a rod went off, with the magic sound of the reel peeling line off frantically. Then another, and another, then we had 8 of 9 rods all bent over, screaming in chorus. All singing "Fish On!" Now what happens? Well, we had 5 guys fishing, so you grab a rod, fight a fish, then grab another when your fish hits the deck. There are tangles, there is swearing, but its fantastic. Guys ducking under and going over other lines, yelling for someone to gaff a fish; and everyone giving the captain a hard time about how to drive the boat. In the end, we got 5 of the 8 in the boat. Nice, good sized yellowfin tuna.
What a rush! First tuna in the boat! From then on it was game on. We had a few more sporadic hits and picked up another 3 or 4 tuna as the tide began to change, and then, around 2pm, something fantastic happened... The charter fleet up and left. Gone. Empty water. They left us, and maybe two other boats, to keep the fish all for ourselves!
Over the next two hours we boated 5 or 6 fish, and lost about as many due to a few dropped hits, and one crimp that slipped ( I have to take the hit on that one myself. Grrr... ) The fight ended on a low note though, as the last flurry of hits we had gave us a lasting wound.
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| Be on the lookout for Heath's GoPro vid in an upcoming post! |
We were trolling along, enjoying the sun, when 3 rods went off. One tuna came fully out of the water and crashed down on a bait so hard he left a hole in the ocean. It was incredible to see. Immediately, we grabbed the remaining rods and began to reel in to avoid tangles. Then the guys started in on the fish. We dropped one, and the other two came to the side of the boat after a decent fight. After a few quick high fives, a line starts to come tight on our long rigger.
But there is a problem... It's just pulling the rigger...
In the heat of fighting the other fish, the line must have looped on the rigger clip ( a Rupp Knock-Out that I have always disliked... ) and now its not letting the line move freely. I see it, Rich sees it. I run for the halyard, Rich runs for the reel. Too late. In a matter of 10 seconds, maybe less, I have a battle wound for all to see. Dammit.
So what, pray tell, was the cause of this catastrophe?? Well, it was a first for me... Feast your eyes on this one.
Who knew Hammerheads liked rigged ballyhoo?? Oh well, it makes for a story, right?
After that shot, we all took stock of what we had. 12 tuna in the boat, a bent rigger, and some weary arms. Shaking off the bruised ego, we got back up on the troll, but it became slow with the new tide, and we spent our time bobbing around, looking for some life in the now empty water. Slow time trolling can be maddening. You are always second guessing everything. Especially when a bite just shuts off. Are my baits running well, should I move them; is there another spot we should try, what depth are we in; is there a banana on the boat that I didn't know about??
Then you try to do things that seem to get hits. You vary your speed, change directions, open up a new beer or soda (fish always hit just when you do this; or make a sandwich... Its a scientific fact.) Nothing. We trolled along, and I resigned myself to waiting for dusk. The dusk bite, last of the day, can trigger some fantastic action.
And indeed it did. We hit, and hit hard. 5 fish in the 30 minute span just as the sun dipped down. It was a fantastic end to the day, and left us one fish shy of our 3 tuna/person limit at 17 fish.
Once it got dark, it was time to take stock of what had gone down, as we broke down our trolling spread, and got ready for dinner.
Ahh, the carnage! What a great feeling. Once we cleaned up a bit and ate dinner (Some veal and peppers from Angelo's on Federal Hill in Providence as well as some fresh fish Heath brought along. No PB&J sandwiches here folks. We eat.) everyone began to feel the toll the past 17 hours on the water had taken. Naps were in order, and we sat comfortably, drifting for the next few hours while everyone relaxed and got some much needed rest.
Nights offshore are special for me. Some people get scared or nervous at the darkness, but I have gotten comfortable with it. The sky is amazing, and you will rarely see more stars in the sky than you will offshore. It's beautiful.
In the early morning, we began a slow cruise south, heading for the mahi grounds off Hatteras for a first light bite. Exhausted but undeterred, we got to a spot Heath knew, and right at the crack of dawn, we hit the mahi and had 6 fish in the boat in short time.
However willing the spirit was, the flesh said "the hell with it". We had our lines in, and were motoring back home and to the dock for noon. 30 hours on the water was enough for us. Well, maybe not Billy and Heath, but the rest of us were certainly feeling it. Back at the Landing, we all basked in the glow of success, and got to our respective jobs of picking up, scrubbing, and cleaning the mountain of fish we amassed.
What a great trip. Thats all I can say, over and over again. Fish, laughs, disappointment, victory, all rolled into one package. That evening, we all had dinner at the Inn on Pamlico, to relax, retell stories, and be together, family and friends.
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| My Beautiful Fiance enjoying some champagne at Cafe Pamlico |
ps. This is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R didn't exist.
pps. Leave a comment, let me know what you think of the blog to date!
