feet. We rigged up and started chucking and
then … bam! Fish on, times three! A triple
header! All you could hear were Penn reel
drags screaming, and a lot of hootin’ and
hollerin’ from these elated cowboys, riding
45- to 75-pound yellowfin tuna.
These tuna were so aggressive that when
we’d throw a handful of chunks in the water,
they’d swim by so fast it looked like lightning
around the boat. The intensity didn’t waver
all day, despite a decent-sized shark fin in the
distance. The bilge pumps were spewing out
red tuna blood. “Good for the slick!” I said.
By four in the afternoon we were burnt out.
I filmed a few final video moments of what
felt like our most glorious day ever. Then it
happened, a surreal moment of disbelief.
I stepped down into the cuddy cabin into
My first reaction was to get the motors
running. One motor started, the other was
dead. I checked the battery compartment.
Water was three inches from the top of
the batteries, so we immediately radioed a
mayday, hoping to raise the only other boat
fishing near us all day. Having no luck on
the radio, I tried switching the good battery