A wickedly good Nova Scotia bluefin tuna adventure
An estimated 500-pound bluefin tuna breaks the surface close by Tuna Fever Charter Boat Melissa and Papa III. (Jeff Tribe Photo)
Jeff Tribe, Post Correspondent
Big-game rod bending in a tight arc, I braced my feet on the chair rail and hung on for dear life, thankful it was attached to me and I to the boat. Unseen, the bluefin tuna headed straight down into 20 fathoms of Atlantic Ocean, 300-pound test monofilament line screaming off the massive big-game reel.
You can read all the articles you want.
And watch every video you can find.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, will prepare you for the adrenaline rush of a 500-pound fish making a run.
“The power, the sheer fight in the fish is unbelievable,” said Tuna Fever Fishing Charter First Mate Ken Snow in the aftermath, pointing out reels are set for between 35 and 40 pounds of drag. “And they’re just screaming the reel.
“And then when you’re trying to get it back… man against beast, this is literally man against beast.”
I was in better hands than the tuna, aboard captain Billy Bond’s custom-built 38-foot Cape Islander Melissa and Papa III, christened after his daughter and her nickname for his father. A lifelong resident of Canso, Bond got his first fishing licence at the age of 13. His 50-year career on the water spanned smelt, mackerel, cod, snow crab and shrimp, before a current focus on lobster and tuna.
Years ago, tuna were considered a nuisance, unintentional bi-catch in nets. But in the 1970s, a small market developed says Bond, Asian and other buyers eventually lining up on the wharf to bid on freshly caught and cleaned fish, prices running from $20 to as high as $55 a pound.
He purchased his tuna licence later, which today, means one to two tags per year. Fish are now sold through buyers, Bond describing a ‘prime’ specimen dressing out at 330 pounds going for $12.50 a pound earlier this season. That multiplies to a good number, until you factor in overhead, $2 per litre diesel fuel and crew wages, or the fact additional tags purchased from other fishermen come at a cost of $2,000 per.
“Guess what, we’re doing it for fun,” laughed Bond. “That’s what we’re doing, because we like tuna fishing.”
The practical season for bluefin off Canso is spring, summer and fall, around winter migration for spawning. Ninety per cent of fishermen are cooperative, helping each other locate fish which can be found a mile offshore or 20 miles out.
“It’s a big ocean,” said Bond. “It’s hit and miss, but normally we do all right.”
In his mind, bluefin tuna are the most beautiful fish in the ocean, large, powerful, graceful and aerodynamic, like bullets going through the air, except through the water.
“They’re a big fish, it’s a big game. You’re not playing with a little trout in a lake.”
A 500-pound tuna will give a good fight, five or six good runs, some of them outlasting heavier fish in terms of time taken to get them to the boat. But there was the estimated 1,100 pounder which Bond and Snow fought for six-and-a-half hours, only to have it snap a brand-new line, right alongside.
“Got him up, had a look at him, that was about it,” smiled Bond, adding with a laugh, “and then I cried for two hours.”
‘Fifteen or 20’ years ago, he entered the charter business. Bond has appeared on The Discovery Channel (Catching Monsters), Fishing Canada and also visits the Toronto Sportsman’s Show annually. He has two booking agents and clients can also schedule trips directly through his website: https://www.tunafeverfishingcharters.com/ or connect via his email bill.bond62@outlook.com or phone number 902-366-2934.
Tuna tactics include trolling sets of rubber squid on a steel bar, one ‘stinger’ with a hook trailing the rest.
“That’s pretty much it, the weakest guy gets it,” explained Bond, who trolls mostly in the fall.
This day, we began a drift over the point of an underwater shoal ‘eight or nine miles’ offshore with presentations of live mackerel. Two lines held circle-hooked swimmers on the end of six-foot fluorocarbon leaders. A third illustrated Bond’s preferred method, a skilful and well-practised kite/second line combination taking the bait 10 metres off the starboard side and holding it on the surface.
Obviously, one is there for tuna but the overall experience of embarking from a maritime wharf, passing lighthouses, other vessels, finding a whale or two if you’re lucky, is not to be understated. A hook-up with a six-foot blue shark proved an added bonus, if unwelcome for the crew. They have a habit of rolling when hooked, tangling themselves in leader, line and hook.
“He wraps it up, bites it off and everything’s gone,” explained Bond.
This time, the trio managed to cautiously and safely extricate the hook, photo ops included.
There’s also the chance to hang out in the open Atlantic with experienced fishermen who happen to be Maritimers. This is Nova Scotia after all, where when my wife got hung up on the side of the road, six vehicles stopped to help, converted a tie-down strap into a makeshift tow rope and had her back on the road before you could say ‘ceilidh.’
Great place, great people.
Snow, who returned to his father’s native Nova Scotia from the Barrie area at 11, operates his own lobster boat. He joined Bond tuna fishing and acts as auxiliary captain when he’s unavailable.
“I don’t know if we’ve caught a thousand,” said Snow. “But it’s been hundreds.”
The third crew member, Will Bouck, is a Long Point, Ontario native who grew up fishing for trout and salmon on Lake Ontario and perch, pike and bass on the inner bay, trolling little perch Rapalas with his dad Larry on sand flats out of Old Cut.
“Deadly, deadly,” said Bouck. “There wasn’t a bass opener we didn’t come home without our limit.”
He has been in Nova Scotia for five years, fishing for four, with Bond for three, for both lobster and tuna.
“Straight adrenaline from the second you get hooked up,” said Bouck of the latter. “The adrenaline rush and just the size, the size of them when they come to the boat.”
We were comparing notes on sea duck hunting on small, rocky Nova Scotia islands to Long Point, and checking out a massive non-typical buck on Bouck’s phone, when as it does, calm turned into chaos.
“Oh, oh, oh!” Snow exclaimed, indicating a pole on the port side, which had abruptly done a 180-degree turn. “Hooked up!”
It was an organized chaos, other poles quickly reeled in to avoid tangling, the ‘fish on’ model tied off with a rope (one does not wish to lose a $3,000 reel, $1,000 pole and $500 worth of line), before being carefully moved and anchored in the port position on the stern where Bond could see runs unfold and drive in response. Snow placed himself in between, anticipating and communicating with the captain as Bouck took point on the pole, an efficient partnership reacting in a hurry.
“You go from zero to 60 faster than a Ferrari,” Snow laughed.
In general, when the tuna ran, Bouck watched the reel peel. When it paused, he would recover line with his gloved, left hand and reel with his right. And when it ran toward the boat, he reeled like a madman. Guided by he and Snow, as well as his own experience, Bond expertly steered the boat to keep the line clear, while also strategically, encouraging the tuna’s natural tendency to go deep, a vertical hook-up having better odds of staying put than a shallower angle.
Battling a tuna is a mental as well as physical game.
“Find your zen, your calm spot,” Snow explained.
Bouck spoke to getting past that first adrenaline rush, controlling one’s breathing and ‘getting back on.’
“You get fighting a fish, it doesn’t take long to wear yourself out. We always tell you just take your time, deep breaths and reel the fish in when he lets you. Because when he first hooks up, he’s just going peel line and run, run, run, run.”
After several powerful runs, the fish entered the finishing phase, a ‘death circle’ near the surface, showing ‘colour’ while lying on its side. It’s a critical period, tuna trying instinctively to chafe the line on the keel or propeller, says Bouck.
“They’re really smart, they know how to get underneath the boat and break themselves off.”
Twenty-five minutes after Snow’s initial cry, an estimated 400-pound ‘butterball’ lay alongside the boat. On this catch-and-release trip the fish’s health was paramount, line holding a biodegradable hook quickly snipped, tuna returning to the depths.
Having expected to be only an observer, a second hook-up provided an unexpected opportunity to be shepherded and assisted through a turn on the back end of the pole by Bouck and Snow.
No, I did not find my ‘zen.’
And yes, I did wear the ‘wussy’ tag for reeling with both hands.
But I’ll happily take it for an experience which can only be described as indescribable in terms sheer elemental power and adrenaline, a greater understanding of Ernest Hemingway’s classic novel.
We headed back from a great eight-hour journey, photos and video captured, a bucket list item checked, an opportunity I never expected, shared. It was difficult to adequately express ‘thanks’, save for the deep understanding in one for whom the experience never gets old.
“They’re just an amazing fish to catch,” Bond concluded. “It doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been at it, it’s still exciting to catch one.”
Video
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