It was 6:00 on a cold, dark April morning when Scott Harrell and I arrived at the Gulfport Municipal Marina. Jay Mastry was already there, along with his two unofficial crewmen — Kenny and John — as well as Kelly, a recent retiree from the St. Petersburg Times, and Aspen, who I think was Kenny's girlfriend but I didn't ask.
I was the least experienced fisherperson of the bunch. But Jay said it would be cool. "It's easy," he said in his disarming drawl. "You'll do fine."
We were after kingfish. They run through these parts in the spring and fall, heading for cooler waters. Jay, a well-known captain who has won several major kingfish tournaments, steered his 26-foot boat toward the Skyway, where we would stock up on baitfish. After Kenny threw a 9-foot casting net out several times, we had a good little school of fishies with which to lure bigger fishies. Our first stop, fairly close to St. Pete Beach, was a bust, and Jay wasted little time with it. We then headed out about three miles to some spot in the open Gulf that Jay could've found blindfolded.
In these parts, big kingfish, the tournament-winning kind, range from 35-50 pounds. Landing a big "hawg" like that would be possible, but we wanted to catch fish more than we wanted to wait around for hours, hoping to land a trophy. So we used smaller bait to attract smaller fish. We didn't have to wait long.
Kenny and John baited poles and put them in slots. When someone saw a pole bend, they yelled "Fish on!," and a fisherperson stepped up to take the rod. During my first catch, I was tense, my left forearm burned; I spun the reel furiously and got a little winded. When I brought Fish No. 1 to the surface, it turned out to be a skinny Spanish mackerel. What, pray tell, would happen if I got a big king on the line? Would I fold?
I never found out. My best catch was a kingfish that I estimated to be about eight pounds.
Harrell got big props from the boatmates when he reeled in a king that the crew estimated at about 15 pounds. "Good job, good job," Jay said. It stung me. Maybe I should push that fuckin' Harrell overboard. Shit, all he did was just grab the right fuckin' pole. I could've pulled that fucker in.
I felt better when Aspen caught a king that might well have been bigger than Harrell's. We didn't weigh 'em, but I know hers was bigger. I just know it.
There won't be any kingfish to catch this summer. But there will be tarpon. They easily surpass 100 pounds, which will burn your forearms even more.
Jay Mastry does a limited number of charters. He can be reached at 727-822-3070.—Eric Snider
This article appears in May 14-20, 2003.