Emerald Coast Billfish Classic

The Emerald Coast Billfish Classic, which is fished out of Baytown Marina in Sandestin and is one of the premier tournaments in the northern Gulf,, began today with a shotgun start at 4 PM Central in East Pass at Destin. Boats with fish to weigh have to be under the Mid-Bay Bridge no later than 9 PM Saturday night. Given the weather and the prevalence of green water in a hundred nautical mile arc from Destin, most of the boats - and they are big, fine boats - will be headed to the southwest, a loooong way to the southwest. Hammerhead is in the slip with her hanging in shame, as I plan to join the Girly Men Gang and go snapper fishing this weekend.

But East Pass Marina is well represented among the 71 entrants by Bella Maria with Wayne Lewis at the helm and Outta Here under the command of Pat Dineen. Below are photos of our intrepid warriors and the vessels that, hopefully, will bear them to glory and to the bank with their prize money.

Wayne Lewis (behind Maria Falduto) and his crew

Bella Maria moments before departure

Pat Dineen (on the bridge) and his crew

Outta Here under way

The start

Stay tuned.

It Could Be Worse

Hammerhead left Saturday night once again in pursuit of blue water and pelagic predators. On board were your correspondent, Eric Songer, and Ron King. Just as we were leaving the slip, Outta Here was pulling in from an overnight trip flying a blue marlin flag and a white marlin flag. I did not know where they had gone (south of the Ram Powell over in oil rig country) in relation to where we were going (south of the Squiggles in Nowheresville), but their success filled us with a lot of hope and not a little competitive spirit, differences in boat size and crew experience notwithstanding. You can almost see our Great Expectations in this photograph taken by Pete Mitchell from Wayne Lewis' balcony as Hammerhead headed into the Gulf through East Pass.




We wallowed out for ten hours in a nasty 2 to 4 foot beam sea (all the 2s apparently stayed home, leaving the field to the 3s and 4s) looking for the northern edge of a pocket of blue water Roffs showed 65 nm to the south. By the too long delayed dawn of Father's Day, Hammerhead's generator was on the fritz, so there would be no coffee, no AC in the salon and no fans on deck. And most of the hope and all of the competitive spirit had been beaten out of us during the night. But we pushed on to the south looking for the blue water. 75 nm. Nope. 80 nm. Nada. We turned to the north west, dragging our wares in blue-green water that quickly shed the blue and stayed green.


But we found grass. Acres and acres of scattered grass, so much and so scattered it could not be fished. And we found big grass mats that could be fished. And lines of grass, good lines with clean edges that should have held beaucoup mahi, if nothing else. But they didn't hold anything except a smattering of chicken dolphin, a school of hard tails now and again, and infrequent flying fish. We trolled lures. And ballyhoo. We pulled up and tossed jigs. And plugs.


Bupkis. Eight and a half hours of fishing and only one knock down. Not one fish. Skunked for the second time this season, a record of the most dismal sort. If you doubt me, below is a photo of the three of us taken by Mary back at the dock. I am on the right.


But things can always be worse. Seriously. Below are two photos taken from an oil rig crew boat Friday afternoon as it closed in on the source of suspicious smoke seen rising over the horizon 45 nm south of Venice, Louisiana. In the background of the first photo is a flybridge sport fisherman burning to the waterline. In the foreground are four men in life jackets clinging to an ice cooler. The second photo is a closer look at the last moments of the boat, which belonged to the father of one the men. (Nice Father's Day present his son gave him, although I guess his son returning alive and uninjured might have taken a bit of the edge off the pain of losing his boat. But probably not.)

To top things off, the fishermen reported in an email to friends announcing the loss of the boat and their rescue that they too had failed to find blue water or catch a single fish and were on their way home with a skunk in the boat when disaster struck. So I'm thinking we on Hammerhead didn't do too bad after all.

Uncharacteristic Brevity

I have fallen behind on my fishing reports. I am going to catch up with a new minimalist approach - less prose and more pictures. But I promise - or threaten, depending on your point of view - to return to my usual prolix propensities in the future.

A few weeks back, Hammerhead went out with Papa, Tenser Malette and Ron King aboard, and got skunked. Yes, skunked. That same day, the Bella Maria brought home 10 mahi and 4 wahoo and had three blue marlin bites, including a double, one of which they released. And Final Dose and Anonymous came in from bottom fishing loaded to the hatches with meat. Plus, the next day Outta Here returned from afar with three yellowfin tuna around 50 pounds each and an 87 pound wahoo. Did I mention that we were skunked? Needless to say, I was disappointed.


For the next couple of weeks the wind blew and I sulked, joining the ranks of bottom fishermen, which brought joy to my women folk, who seldom get to fish on Hammerhead
.
Miss Mary, aka Grandma, opening up a can of whup ass on a big snapper.

Heather, Freemanator and their haul.

Rested and undaunted, Hammerhead reentered the fray this past weekend, heading out Saturday night with Papa, Tenser Mallette, Nicholas Mallette, and Chris Coker aboard, looking for blue water and billfish. And we found them. During the day, we had four marlin - two blues and two whites - in the spread, and one of them, a 300 to 350 pound blue found a hook, making Tenser a Marlin Man for the first time.

Papa chirping in Tenser's ear, leaving no hortatory bromide unspoken.

Mano a mano with The Man.

Victory at sea.

Propitiating the Marlin Gods.

And we put three mahi in the box to complement the rum when we arrived home.