If you keep abreast of the fly-fishing literature, you know that comparatively little is ever written on the subject of fish-fighting techniques. Articles on casting, tackle selection, flies, knots, leaders, and presentation strategies are legion. However, when the moment of truth arrives and the fish takes our offering, we’re sort of left in the dark as far as what needs to be done to land our prize. Somewhat along the same lines, another dimension of our sport that is seldom mentioned involves the physical demands that certain facets of fly fishing make on an angler. Fishing the surf is one example. The mere fact that you may have to traverse hundreds of yards of soft sand in a pair of waders can make you feel like you’re competing in a marathon. But of more interest to those who venture offshore is the exhaustion and strain involved when you seek to do battle with some of nature’s most powerful predators using a fly rod.
In my 50-plus years of bluewater fishing with all kinds of gear (commercial, conventional, spinning, and fly-fishing tackle), I’ve been fortunate to wet a line in places with abundant big-fish populations that afforded plenty of opportunity to hone one’s craft. My primary learning experience in this respect was on the long-range trips out of San Diego. At the risk one runs of claiming pioneer status in just about any endeavor, I think I can safely say that I was the first to use fly gear on these trips. Years later, this started to gain in popularity, and long-range trips tailored exclusively for fly fishing were being offered. I was on the second such trip back in 1990, where I had the pleasure of partnering with one of the all-time greats in this sport, Stu Apte. When it comes to effectively subduing big, powerful fish on fly gear, Stu and the late Harry Kime are two of the best.
What makes the long-range experience such a demanding test is the fact that you have to fight the fish standing up from a boat that is dead in the water. And in the early days, there were no chase boats available that you could jump in and go follow the fish. That’s where the smallboat angler has a significant advantage. But following a hooked fish is not always a simple matter of merely chasing after it. Boat handling is such an important part of bluewater fishing that in many encounters, it is the captain manning the helm who deserves as least as much credit as the angler if the fish is successfully landed.
One tactic I learned from experienced small-boat skippers on Costa Rica’s Pacific coast is the practice of moving the boat away from a fish that has sounded in the depths. Of course, moving away from the fish means that even more line is going to be peeled off the reel, but the increased distance and resulting line angle will help coax the fish back toward the surface. Ideally, the skipper should try to maintain approximately a 30-degree angle to the fish. By doing so, if the fish starts running toward the boat, the captain can quickly maneuver away from it. This will also help prevent the leader from falling back over the fish’s dorsal area, where it can become frayed or fouled.
In my second book on long-range fishing (Doing It Stand-Up Style), I described the typical offshore fish-fighting struggle as basically consisting of three phases. Phase 1 is where the fish (typically a tuna or billfish) makes a long, determined run toward the horizon. This is the most exhilarating stage. Line is being ripped from the reel at an alarming rate, and there is little you can do except savor the sensation, hang on, and hope you don’t get spooled before the fish eventually stops. (Most oblige in this respect.) The reel’s drag is critical during this period. The setting should be no more than two to three pounds. Regardless of how smooth and efficient the drag is, on my fly reels, I apply most of the additional resistance with my hands (fingers and palm). Your hands are far better suited for this than any mechanical drag system, because you can instantly apply or release resistance as needed. Relying primarily on my hands, I actually have the drag set very light — slightly beyond a point necessary to prevent backlash because the spool was turning too rapidly. Also bear in mind that resistance increases as greater lengths of line are being dragged through the water. When a fish is making a long run away from you, the resistance that you and/or the drag supply should be decreased, not increased.
My fly line of choice for the brutes that roam offshore are lines with a very high breaking strength in excess of 70 pounds. The last thing you want to worry about while fighting a big fish is your flyline breaking.
Phase 2 begins when the fish dives into the depths. At times with tuna, it’s difficult to distinguish between these two phases, because the fish often runs both out and down. This is particularly the case with albacore. Bluefin tuna, on the other hand, typically run a considerable distance out before they sound.
However, it’s Phase 3 that’s the real backbreaker. This is where the fish dogs you in the depths, and it’s where the fly fisher suffers a disadvantage due to the length of most fly rods. Basic physics tells us that the rod is a lever whose function is to help lift the fish from the depths. It’s sort of like a seesaw effect, in that the fish pulls from the tip of the rod, so the longer the rod, the greater the mechanical advantage for the fish. Conventional rods for this type of fishing are generally 5 to 5-1/2 feet in length. By comparison, the majority of fly rods are traditionally 9 feet long. But in the last few years, fly rods intended for bluewater fishing are being manufactured in 8-1/2-foot and 8-foot lengths to help give big-game fly fishers more lifting power.
Even with a rod of the proper length, you still have to know how and when to pull. West Coast long-range anglers pioneered the technique known as “short stroking” or “short pumping.” This is a series of short, fairly rapid pumps during which only a few inches of line are reeled in during the down stroke. The object is to avoid lifting the rod too high above the horizontal plane. If you make a long pull upward, you’ll have to drop the rod downward a considerable distance. Doing so gives the fish a chance to get its head down, and where the head goes, the tail is sure to follow. When that happens, the fish is going where it wants to, and you are losing the battle. What you want to do is try to prevent the fish from gaining any momentum, keeping its head up with short, rapid strokes.
This can be physically taxing, but when the fish stops taking line, you have to go to work on it. When you rest, it rests. That prolongs the struggle, and especially on the offshore grounds, the longer the struggle continues, the greater the odds against a successful outcome. Too many bad things can happen, from incidents such as sharks or seals taking your catch to a leader becoming frayed and finally giving way.
If you’re fortunate enough to get the fish out of the depths to a point where you can see color, start pulling on it low and sideways. You need to try to put pressure on the fish from its underside, where it cannot use its pectoral fins to resist you.
Tuna characteristically circle at this stage, and knowing when to pull is critical. This may seem obvious, but it is surprising how many anglers fail to realize that they should pull when the fish is making a turn toward the boat, not when it’s turning away from it. I can’t count the number of quality fish I’ve seen lost at this point because of this mistake.
One last point I want to make is on the angler side of the equation. As I have said so many times in the past when addressing this subject, there is no such thing as an out-of-shape tuna. Anglers, however. . .
