Maine Tuna Fishing

It was my second day in Maine. I was there for a long weekend with a few friends and one collective goal: catch a tuna.

It was Day 2, 4:30 in the morning. I walked down to the fish house along a wooded trail lit only by the stars and the Milky Way above. Inside, Sarah and Ryann were making PB&Js and preparing the coffee, while Paul was already on the boat prepping gear.

We had spent the previous day cruising fishing spots and catching bait mackerel, herring, and squid. After spotting dolphins, whales, and a seal, we ended Day  landing a large blue shark. Today, however, we started much earlier, focused on a single location, armed with enough bait to get us going.

Sarah, Ryann, and I had never tuna fished before. Paul, having caught several, took charge of the preparation and research. He dialed in every meticulous detail, practicing perfect crimping prior to the trip, wiping down the lines to eliminate scents, and mapping out the best spots.

We had spent roughly 12 hours on the water the day before, but today was going to be a full court press. We were all running on minimal sleep, but any exhaustion was dwarfed by pure excitement... and coffee.

Once the four of us and Sarah’s dog, Klaus, boarded, we made the one hour cruise out to our primary spot.

On the way, Paul explained the local regulations: the seasonal quota for trophy-sized tuna had already been met. If we wanted to keep our catch, it had to be under six feet; anything larger was considered a trophy and had to be released. A six foot tuna can weigh well over 500 pounds, which is why hooking one is only half the battle - reeling it in requires hours of a grueling, back and forth tug-of-war.

We set up at our first location, deployed our heavy lines, and dropped smaller rigs over the side to keep stocking up on bait. We quickly realized we needed double our usual bait supply because squid kept attacking and tearing chunks off our hooks. We bounced between a few spots throughout the day, spending several hours at each, passing the time telling stories, playing games, and taking in the coast.

As evening approached, a sound ripped through the boat that instantly silenced everything else.

The line on one of the main rods came SCREAMING out. Everyone knew immediately: this was a tuna, and it was massive.

I jumped on the reel, increased the resistance on the line and cranked where I could. The fish was completely unphased, ripping through the line at an alarming rate. I watched 1,400 yards of line dwindle rapidly.

Paul immediately hit the anchor release to give us mobility and started hauling in the second heavy rod so the lines wouldn't cross. Sarah and Ryann reeled in the bait rods, one of which came up with five fish on it, wrapped in a live squid. Everything loose on the deck was tossed into the cabin to give us full room to maneuver, including Klaus.

Every single time the tuna hesitated or made a slight turn, I reeled hard and fast. Every time it felt pressure, it course corrected and took off in the opposite direction.

Paul took one look at the bend in the rod and assured us there was no way we’d be keeping this one. It was an absolute monster, easily 800+ pounds. Within minutes, it had stripped over 700 yards of line.

Then came the worst case scenario:it became clear that  the tuna ended up wrapped in the anchor line. Now, this warrior of a fish was towing both the boat and the anchor setup behind it. I’ll say that again. This tuna was now pulling our boat and anchor through the water. However, getting tangled meant a severed line was almost guaranteed.

Paul and I took turns battling the fish, fighting for every inch. Every yard we managed to crank back in felt like it cost us five more. We fought for 20 relentless minutes. My right arm was already  burning, but this was the exact battle we came for. I was so laser focused I couldn't process anything else happening around us.

In the end, the friction against the anchor line was too much. The line snapped.

A wave of mixed emotions hit the boat. We all desperately wanted to bring that beast alongside the hull and see what we had been fighting, but that elusiveness only fueled the fire. 

Paul quickly re-rigged the lines and we got right back to work. By the end of the trip, we had spent over 40 hours on the water across three days. We caught plenty of bait, landed two blue sharks and two thresher sharks, but the tuna remained elusive.

Catching that fish would have been incredible, but coming up short turned a simple fishing trip into an odyssey. If we reeled that one in, it certainly would have been and is a legendary weekend story to tell. But now? Landing a bluefin isn't just a fun bucket-list item anymore; it's a score I have to settle. It’s an odyssey that might take years and multiple trips, and that’s completely fine. I know I’ll land one of those sons of bitches some day.

And honestly, the fishing wasn't even the best part. It was what happened after our bodies were completely beaten and exhausted at the end of each day. Operating on just a few hours of sleep, we never rushed to bed.

We took our sea legs to the fish house, grabbed drinks, played ping pong, and kept the stories and laughs going late into the night. It was the hand-picked blueberries in the morning, the maple syrup in the coffee before dawn, and the incredible company that made it unforgettable.