I moved out west shortly after graduating from college back in New Jersey. The year was 1976. San Diego was my new home and I went into the auto dealer car stereo and alarm business when it was in its infancy for trades. There were many opportunities open to me with new friendships found daily.
One of my new friends was a college student at San Diego State University to whom had a devotion to sailing boats. In fact, he and his brother were crew members on “Connors” America Cup team which is quite a resume’ amongst the sail boating community. For the sake of being anonymous his name was Matt. We quickly became friends and I would regale fishing stories to him and he would tell me about the places he had sailed while competing in sailing races. One of the side jobs Matt had was working part time for a sailing boat company located in San Diego. It was a job that dealt with the sales of large sailing boats both new and used. They were expensive and many, capable of sailing probably around the world if you had guts to attempt doing so.
I just had gotten home from work on a Friday afternoon when the phone rang at my house. Matt was on the line and was very excited by the sound of his voice. “Their catching tuna at the 302 bank!” he said. “ If I could get a boat do you want to try fishing for them? I have some buddies that I think would want to come along too” he added.
I immediately responded back “YES, when do we leave?” “Tonight, get your fishing gear ready”. We would meet down at his employer in San Diego harbor. I hung up the phone just as excited as I could be and got my fishing gear, some snacks and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was sharing a four bedroom house in Pacific Beach with three SDSU students all of whom were in a fraternity. Matt was also in this fraternity so I was pretty sure the guys he invited were frat brothers to whom I knew many of, from the weekend parties at my house.
I arrived at the address given by Matt. The first thing I noticed when I had gotten out of my vehicle was the absence of motor boats. There were only sail boats in view. Matt came out of the office to greet me and he grabbed my duffle bag leaving me to handle two heavy duty tuna sticks and tackle box. I followed him around the office building out to the docks, that moored some rather large sailing boats. He then stopped at a sailing boat, turned towards me and said “ Is it big enough?” The boat was a 48’ foot sloop. It was plenty big.
My jaw dropped when I looked at his choice of fishing boat. There was literally no deck space on board other than a narrow ledge to get to the sails. It was a serious sailing boat never intended for fishing. The steering wheel in the rear of the boat was the size of a wagon wheel from the old western movies. I wasn’t even sure there was a motor on the vessel and I sure as hell didn’t know how to sail this boat especially one of these proportions.
I boarded the boat and went down below. It was a very nice boat with a lot of luxurious features such as the six foot freezer, refrigerator, four range stove, multiple bunk beds, booth table, and bathroom complete with shower. The vessel even had a radar unit installed atop of the main mast. This sailboat must have been worth a lot of money I thought to myself. I questioned Matt as to the legality of using this boat since he wasn’t the owner? He stated that the boat was under his commission for sale. The owner was the president of a company that shall not be mentioned for obvious reasons......enough said.
A few minutes later his frat buddies showed up, loaded their gear on board and off we went. And yes, there was a motor of sorts on this vessel. It was a 50 horse power inboard motor capable of pushing the vessel to a blazing speed of six (6) knots.
One of the other oddities I noticed was the absence of fishing gear his frat buddies failed to bring on this trip. I did notice three cases of Budweiser beer, several bottles of tequila, vodka and as course my personal favorite Jack Daniels loaded on board. Matt motored the vessel out of San Diego Harbor into the sinking sun on the horizon. With a beer in one hand and the other on the wagon wheel we motored south towards Mexico at a blistering six knots speed.
As the sun exited the westward skies and darkness surrounded us, I stayed at Matt’s side. I was compelled to ask him several questions as to whether he had plans to motor all the way to the 302 bank off the Mexican coast and if he knew the heading on the compass? I was greatly concerned for this was looking like a drink fest for his buddies who were down below having a heck of a good time with complete confidence in Matt’s sailing abilities. Me..... not so much.
I was fairly sure my own abilities in operating a motor boat were good enough for most lakes but a 48’ sloop is another story completely. Then, Matt asked me to take the wheel while he went below to the bathroom and to grab another couple of beers for us. He told me what the compass heading was and left the wheelhouse to go below.
The second my hands touched the steering wheel I had a sense of size of the vessel. It felt big. It’s like nothing I’ve ever driven before. The boat glided effortlessly through the ocean’s gentle swells. I could only compare driving the boat to that of a large bus or semi truck. I quickly felt at ease steering the vessel in the darkness of night under the glow of the dash instrumentation. It was a strange but really satisfying feeling behind the steering wheel of this vessel. One that I didn’t want to give up when Matt returned with a cold wet beer that he handed to me. “ Do you want the wheel back” I questioned to him. “ Looks like you have everything under control so no. If you want to steer for a while then go for it”. He said.
With his vote of approval, I continued as the captain of the forty eight foot sloop into the darkness of night. We talked about our plans for the next day and how were we going to find tuna in a sailing boat. There was no fish finder on board. I wasn’t sure this would constitute as a fishing trip judging from the amount of drinking going on below deck either. Matt laughed at my comment and said that I was probably right as to what this trip was turning into. He showed me how the radar unit worked and that he plotted the trip on the Loran. He also calculated just how long it was going to take to get to the 302 bank at our blazing six knots of speed. He calculated that we would be in the target area around 2-3 AM. We took turns at the wheel and when we thought we were close to the area we shut off the motor. We both went down below and found an empty bunk. Our crew were passed out sitting around the galley table. Tequila bottles were emptied with multiple beer cans everywhere on the floor. It looked like our frat boy crew had a great time below decks.
I woke up to the yelling of a foreign language from outside our boat. Matt and I could barely function but we went out on deck. To our starboard side was a Mexican fishing boat with a deck full of very angry Mexicans. Seems we drifted overnight into their fishing net and they could not bring in their nets. Matt started the engine and backed up the boat clear of their net. Once clear he steered our vessel around the Mexican fishing boat and continued on a southward heading.
Once we were underway, I went down below deck and retrieved my fishing gear. I found some deck rope and secured my two rods up against the back railings. I had brought with me several tuna trolling feathers and tied them on. Letting out about 40 yards or so I positioned the lures to ride high in the small swell created by the sail boat. Matt had the engine at full throttle and the feathers could barely be seen in the wake. About 15 minutes went by and our crew started meandering up on deck very hungover. They laid out on the top of the sloop cabin as if they were getting a suntan but honestly it looked like some of them needed the fresh air because they were seasick and going to throw up.
“ Hey dude ! There is something chasing your fishing line”, one of the frat boys hollered out. I turned to look backwards and to my utter unexpected surprise there were two marlin swimming behind the lures but neither one was biting my lures. Quickly, I grabbed one of the rods and started to yank the fishing pole swinging it back and forth in an effort to make the lure look like a frightened escaping fish to entice the marlin to bite my lure. Then, both fish disappeared under the swell. We trolled for several hours without sighting another fish. Boredom followed the crew and more drinking was in order.
Matt decided that we weren’t going to have any luck finding tuna. He asked everyone if they wanted to go back home since it was going to take most of the day to cruise home. Everyone agreed to return home and off we headed back to San Diego. We arrived at Point Loma nearing dusk. I said to Matt that maybe we should try trolling some big Crocodile Chrome spoons off the point to see if we can get some yellowtail to which he agreed and so we tried one last attempt to call this a fishing trip. As we steered the boat off the Point Loma Cliffs one of the fishing rod clickers screamed followed by the second rod. I picked up one rod and started fighting what seemed to be a respectable fish on the other side of my line. Matt’s buddy was pulling on the other rod and it too had a major bend in the rod. Several minutes later I jack poled over the side a ten pound sized Bonita. A few minutes later his buddy pulls in another Bonita. Everyone is giving me and his pal a high five. I turn to Matt and say “Well, you said we were going on a tuna trip. Mission a success.” Matt turns to me and says “ Are Bonita tuna?” “Matt, Bonita are considered the poor man’s tuna but still a tuna”. With that, I high fived him and thanked him for a very strange but fun fishing trip.
