As I rubbed the zinc oxide sunscreen into my arms on the bobbing boat, it made me a pale white color, ridding my skin of any existing visible tan. Tyler, our host, took us to the right spot.
“That’s a heck of a way to start a morning,” he said.
My girlfriend Katherine and her mom and uncle had just caught multiple tuna and almaco jack, just minutes into our fishing trip. But I was slowly applying my sunscreen, and was yet to catch anything. I lowered the bait and my line into the water. This was only my fourth time deep-sea fishing, so I wouldn’t call myself a pro.
Chomp.
I sharply pulled the rod up. Something was still pulling my line.
“Lift slowly!” Tyler shouted. I’d been told off. “Reel when you’re lowering your rod down!”
“I can’t even lift the rod up, so there is no down!” I thought. This thing was heavy.
So I attacked it gradually: slow lift, quick one-crank reel. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Tyler grabbed his hook and claimed the fish from the water.
I was right: It was heavy. The tuna I’d caught was the largest of the trip. At least 18 pounds, Tyler said. Nice.
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