Why We Do It

by Karen Wall

(This article was first published in the March/April 2014 issue of The Journal)

Fifteen summers ago, I made my first trip to the canyons.

I was riding along on the Canyon Runner, a guest of Adam LaRosa and Capt. Phil Dulanie, going along as an observer on a charter for tuna to write about the experience. I remember the instructions I was given leading up to the trip: bring sunscreen, plan to sleep on the ride out, don’t sit in the salon if you feel sick, as well as the safety briefing before we left port. I was thinking about how it would be to see these incredibly powerful fish up close.

But I wasn’t prepared for what I really saw on the trip. I wasn’t prepared for the deep sapphire blue of the water. I wasn’t prepared to see schools of squid in the lights underwater. I wasn’t prepared for peaceful lull of the ocean swells rocking me to sleep, the absolute chaos that ensued when the clickers went off and the reels began to sing the song of a hooked tuna, causing everyone to scramble into the cockpit in various states of sleepiness as the mate hollered “FISH ON!” And I wasn’t prepared for the beauty of the sun rising as the overnight bite was winding down, or the sheer exhaustion caused by the exhilaration that resulted in a four-hour nap when we returned to the dock after that 24-hour trip.

Most of the time when we talk about fishing offshore, we talk about the fish — chasing them, teasing them, praying they’ll bite and sometimes catching them.

We prepare, we monitor conditions and, especially in this era of high fuel prices, we try to maximize our chances