As I fought the fish, water started spilling over the transom. It was then I noticed the boat was in reverse, backing down toward what seemed like a creature straight out of Jaws. But it wasn’t a shark—it was a massive Bluefin, thrashing against the line in a furious battle. The crew’s shouts intensified as the fish put up a fight that felt like it lasted a week, though it was only about twenty minutes. At this point, I should mention that I’m from the foothills of North Carolina. The only tuna I’d ever seen came in a can with a cartoon fish named Charlie on the label. This was a whole new world. Eventually, the boat eased up beside the Bluefin, and the crew tagged and released it. We caught three more that day, each as impressive as the first, and all were tagged and released. Later, a plane flew overhead, and one of my fellow anglers remarked that our fishing was about to end. Sure enough, the spotting plane belonged to a commercial fishing company scouting for menhaden. Soon, a large boat appeared half a mile away, hauling massive nets to scoop up the Bluefin’s buffet. With their food source gone, so were the fish. It was time to head home.
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