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 AS SEEN IN THE SPRING 2004 ISSUE
Fish the Out Islands for a truly unique tournament experience.
Worldwide, big game tournament anglers agree the epitome
of excitement is watching a lit up blue marlin magically appear in your
trolling spread. The experience is nothing short of heart
stopping!
Marlin fishing surely has to be the purist form of big game angling.
Waiting hours for a single fish to strike is definitely not for
everyone but an increasing number of dedicated billfish anglers spend
countless hours and countless dollars preparing for even one
opportunity at a trophy blue, and for good reason. These fish are
fierce competitors. They’re brutally strong and are recognized across
the globe as the ultimate achievement in offshore game fishing. Throw
competition into the mix and look out!
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 AS SEEN IN THE NOV/DEC 2005 ISSUE
Statewide, anglers are returning to port beaten & bruised.
Imagine. It was a picture perfect morning with little breeze and
less than a half knot of current to the north. Fishing was excellent,
but catching left an awful lot to be desired. Considering the lack of
surface activity it didn’t take much to convince my crew it was time to
switch to Plan B, heading out to a few deep water wrecks in the hopes
of finding a few grouper or mutton willing to be more cooperative.
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 AS SEEN IN THE NOV/DEC 2005 ISSUE
A sketchy look at pulling inshore gamefish from the shadows.
“Holy cow, you’ve got to be kidding me!” I could barely believe my
own eyes. She was huge and she was a lying right there where I though
she would be.
I giggled a bit, reflecting how many times I’ve said those same
words to myself. It was typical talk during a late season evening,
especially when fishing an incoming tide when the water is at its
clearest. I knew this was one of the most productive dock lights in the
area.
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 AS SEEN IN THE NOV/DEC 2005 ISSUE
Offshore enthusiast departing West Coast ports in the pre-dawn hours
are maximizing on distant pelagic encounters…find out how and decide
for yourself if the reward is worth the effort.
The inviting weed patch that silently hovered over a thousand feet of
calm, cobalt blue water appeared to be more than an acre wide. Flying
fish showered off our port bow as three anglers’ sets of eyes were
intently glued to a scattering of frigate birds circling at eleven
o’clock.
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