King | skipper | chair

I wonder if Earl is feeling as frustrated as I. He comes out of the galley with another sandwich and says, "The fish ain't hungry, but I am."

The skipper and first mate are feeling more antsy. They want to catch something. They can't go back to the marina empty-handed. Kevin tries one more rig, and after a few circles pulls in the lines and says we're headed back to the Midnight Lump. We roar along at full throttle, kicking up spray, the wake forming a perfect V behind us. Nobody says a word.

A single boat remains at the Lump, motionless in the midday sun. Earl says there were so many boats today, all chumming for tuna, that the chum attracted sharks, which scared away all the fish. And so that's why the Lump is now empty. Our crew puts out the lines and begins trolling. Within two minutes, someone yells, "FISH ON!" and reels in a three-foot King mackerel. Jonathan grabs a bat, smacks the head, and tosses it into a locker of ice. I think this is all pretty exciting, but the crew assures me it's just a mackerel, and they don't taste that good.

Five minutes later, "FISH ON!" It's another King, slightly larger. Earl lands this one into the boat. The mood change is instantaneous, the adrenaline pumping. Finally, we're catching fish. "The next one's yours," they tell me.

We troll for a few minutes. Suddenly, the rod shakes violently, and the reel zings. "FISH ON!" Whatever is on the hook, it's hauling, rolling out yards and yards of line. Jonathan squints out at the line dancing across the surface: "Could be a snake."

He helps me grab the pole and jam it into my harness. The boat is chaos. Everybody starts pulling in the other lines and yelling, "Keep it tight! Keep the line tight!" The fish is unspooling line crazy fast, like it's attached to an Indy car. Kevin confirms, "Wahoo!" from the captain's chair.