I began working with The Fisherman Magazine back in 1973 when my late brother-in-law Paul Coffin went looking for the Angler Magazine and wound up finding Pete Barrett and the New Jersey Fisherman instead. I had told Paul I wanted to speak with the editor of the Angler because I thought I could do a better job of reporting the Delaware Coast than their current reporter. Paul, who was never much for details, saw The Fisherman booth at a show, talked to Pete, and the next thing I knew I was doing the Delaware report The Fisherman.
Pete also asked if I had written any articles. I said I sent one to Salt Water Sportsman, but they returned it because it was too short and didn’t have enough photos. It was on drifting sand fleas at Indian River Inlet for striped bass. I sent it to Pete, he bought it and so began my career as an outdoor writer. It also began my long association with The Fisherman.
As part of that association I did on occasion, get to fish with other members of the staff. One of those trips was with Pete, and Ken Moran who was then the outdoor writer for the New York Post. We planned to fish out towards the Hudson Canyon and depart while it was still dark. I stayed with Pete the night before and I think Ken drove down from Brooklyn and met us at the dock. Pete would have had his latest Mako and it would have been equipped with the finest tackle available.
The run out began slow because of the low visibility, but as the sun came up so did our speed and we soon were traveling at a good clip. We saw some good signs about the 30 Fathom line and put out some lures. Soon we were covered up with true albacore and all hands were busy fighting fish. These were not big fish, but they got us warmed up and excited for what we hoped would come.
We trolled on out towards the 1000 Fathom line and at this time I was running the boat while Pete took a break. That’s when the first yellowfin hit. He slammed the flatline that happened to be the rod that Pete was sitting next to. Pete picked it up and the fight was on. This was not Pete’s first rodeo, and soon he had the fish close to the boat. I gave up the helm to Ken, picked up the gaff and stood next to Pete. Just as I got into position, Pete began to utter a string of cuss words. I looked down into the water and saw the reason for his distress. The tuna was wrapped up in the leader and line and the slack had allowed the hook to come out of the fish’s mouth. Every time Pete raised the rod, another wrap came outdone, as the fish spun around. It was too deep to gaff and all we could do was watch as the fish spun around and finally swam away.
After we recovered from that disaster and finally got to laughing about it, we reset the lines and got back to fishing. Working along the 1000 Fathom Line produced a few more yellowfin that Ken and I were able to put in the box. Then the bigeyes hit. Ken had the first and he was working it right along while Pete ran the boat and I got the gaff ready. Ken called me over and said I had to take the fish or else he was going to throw up on Pete’s nice reel. I did so and finally put the bigeye in the boat.
When the second bigeye hit guess who got the call? Yours truly. Fighting one 150-pound bigeye is enough, but two will wear you plum out. If memory serves, I think we put a few more yellowfin in the boat before heading for the barn. When we got to the dock and unloaded the fish, I realized I was the one who was going to have to clean them. Ken said he would take a couple of tuna steaks, but he was anxious to get back home. Pete would be busy cleaning the boat, or so he claimed.
So, I set to work cleaning a pile of tuna the likes of which I had never seen before. Fortunately, I could cut them into slabs and remove the skin then put the meat into coolers. Every once in a while, Pete would ask how I was getting along. I would tell him how many fish I had left and ask if he was done with the boat. “Oh no,” would be his reply. That had to be the cleanest Mako in New Jersey.
I was not surprised when my fish cleaning and his boat cleaning ended at the same time.
