4/25/13

Another successful night on the bigger yellowfin that segued into a final morning for a handful more. Primo weather
and conditions continued and enthusiasm was high. In the final act, as the final act, the whole boat was treated to
a giant yellowfin tuna fishing clinic by long time Royal Star veteran Dr. Stuart Exall. The classic battle with an
absolute demon - a tuna devil incarnate - was the focal point of the entire vessel in the grueling last round at
color that endured at least twenty minutes.

So close, twenty five to forty feet away, the battle raged. The give and take pattern across the same ten foot
section of perfect rigging, 130 Blackwater fluorocarbon and Power Pro 130 spectra, was intense and exhausting for
Stuart who has subdued many a trophy yellowfin over his illustrious history in long range fishing. He is no
stranger to this scenario; but none of that mattered in this moment.

As the clock ticked away the law of inevitability was close at Stuart's heels. One cannot apply that kind of
pressure forever without something giving way; the fish was going to come in, or some form of disaster was going to
decide the contest. The point of no return had been reached - the time to lift the rod off the rail and actually
pull on the beast rather that hang on and try to gain ground by utilizing drag pressure and only turning the reel
handle. It is a critical juncture reached during many battles with trophy yellowfin. The really mean ones do not
give it up - they need a little muscle, and a lot of convincing.

The time had come and poor Stuart didn't have it. All the experience, all the years added up to nothing more than
the knowledge that he was whooped hard. He wasn't willing to give up, and I wasn't willing to let him, but that law
of inevitability was fast approaching as the possessed beast continued to circle to the outside and regain every
inch of line earned on the front side.

In Stuart's defense I have to say that trophy yellowfin simply do not, can not, pull harder than the warrior he was
contending with. That fish was a champion gladiator in peak form. There was zero shame in Stuart's condition; he
was in the fifteenth round with a heavyweight champion, punch drunk, and still standing.

Recognizing that the time had come for a significant shift in strategy we took a step back, harnessed Stuart up,
and resumed the battle with him and his aching groin and back hugely relieved. Now he was applying hard, much
harder, steady pressure and the fish was obviously not liking the change. But rather than succumb to the new, far
more effective approach it only made the beast madder. It seemed to steel it's resolve, to motivate it's drive to
punish the source of it's distress that much more.

Against that kind of pressure the beast began violently switch backing and shaking it's head, rising to the
surface, rolling over, and constantly grating the 130 Blackwater back and forth across it's teeth. It is almost
unbelievable the leader withstood the abrasion alone. Three times the unrelenting bastard doubled back, charged
under the boat, and in the process just about jerked poor Stuart out of his boot's. If the entire crew hadn't been
at his side I fear he may just have gone over. This was long range drama at it's finest - and the whole boat was
audience to the white knuckle, intensely gripping show.

Gaff's at the ready, on the final circle, with a crewman utilizing the "fork" or push pull to keep the line clear
of the rudder and wheels, the demon made a last heroic charge. Five feet from gaff, after a half hour of grueling
battle at color alone, the beast won it's freedom. In the blink of an eye it was over. Gasps of horror and
disbelief accompanied an acute sense of injustice felt by everyone involved. But the reality was this: the fish
absolutely, positively won.

We could have harpooned him, we could have commandeered the rod, we could have made it happen, but it was Stuart's
fish to land; it was his battle to win or lose. Though heart wrenching it was incredibly satisfying to witness; man
against beast in pure form; victor and the vanquished; material of romantic exploits novelized for millenniums. And
while a painful conclusion for Stuart one could not help but admire both opponents tenacity. What a battle, and
what lessons for all who observed.

Not in the immediate, but shortly after the disappointing outcome Stuart was all laughs as he is no pilgrim to the
thrill of victory and agony of defeat when it comes to the pursuit of giant yellowfin. This wasn't the first chance
he has missed on, and won't be the last. Not to say that there wasn't an ample amount of reflection on what could,
what may have been done; there was plenty, and rightly so. But none of it took from the experience. One comment he
made about such a battle being exactly what he came for really stood out. He comes on these voyages in pursuit of
the real deal, in pursuit of a fishing experience he can't, he does not, find anywhere else. Case in point this
morning; what a fish.

After such an epic battle it is only right that Stuart receives top billing in the form of this photo I snapped
right after he hooked into his nemesis. Such a peaceful image; oh how it changed.

Tim Ekstrom

Photo Here...