It is always interesting to pay attention to the stories told by fishermen. Seeing their eyes light up, watching how wide they spread their arms to replicate a fish’s size, and hearing the inflections in their voices as they relive the excitement of the day is almost as good as getting out there myself with a rod in hand. In a sense, it is through the tall tale that revisiting a memory can bring it back to life.
I received a text from an angler about a trophy-sized blackfish, asking if I could make a fish print for a friend. Anthony Bjelke, Stefanos Makris, and friends had taken a trip on Anthony’s boat to target jumbo tautog on the South Shore of Long Island in mid- to late April 2025. For anyone unfamiliar with these individuals, I will say they are incredibly talented anglers and heavy hitters on our local fishing scene, regardless of the setting. Whether they fish from the solitude of the surf or from the clamorous rails of a party boat, they can catch. The fish was, in my eyes, the largest blackfish I had ever seen in person, weighing in at about 15 pounds.
Stefanos caught me up on the details. He had prepared the night before by tying rigs, snelling hooks, and adding meticulously long topshots of 50-pound mono to his outfits. The day came, and so did the bites. As expected for a tog trip that time of the season, the fishing was slow and scratchy, but there was life on every drop. They had caught fish throughout the morning, and Stefanos had even broken one off. In the interest of time, Anthony let Stefanos use his Lamiglas BT96 3M paired with a Newell 220. For this particular drop, it was around noon and slack tide. Stefanos dropped a whole white crab, letting it settle into whatever crevices lay below.
He felt the line through his fingers. Three thumps, like a knock on the door, were enough to keep him at the ready. Then the line went down, and the rod tip followed like a dog pulling on a leash. Stefanos set the hook.
“At first, it felt like a dogfish,” he described. “It just started, well, doggin’ me. But I got it off the bottom. It peeled line off the reel, and I had a locked drag. I reeled it in steady.”
There was a pause.
He explained with reverence, “We tried to release it, but it wouldn’t go. We wanted to see it swim. It is what it is. That’s how the cards were dealt.”
He finished that sentence with a wince and a grimace.
I could sympathize. Seeing a big blackfish swim away strong is a wondrous thing to behold. Catching one is thrilling, but knowing that it could swim away and kick-start a whole new generation—or perhaps provide another angler with the same joy of catching a double-digit fish in one’s own backyard—is another type of joy altogether.
The next best thing was to print it. Anthony had dropped it off on ice as a gift for Stefanos, and I began my printing process. I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank them for their patience.
I asked Stefanos if he had any other thoughts, and he left me with three points. The first? He’d like to thank Anthony for having him aboard and for netting the fish. The second? Quality is timeless. The third? Don’t ever underestimate a fishing trip—anything can happen.
A part of me wants to think each point was representative of each thump from that fish, but I know better. I am all too guilty of looking into things too much.
That would be a tall tale.
