For anyone who ever stood on the beach and looked over the bay and wondered what life is like past the jetties, far enough out to where even the thought of sighting land has been given up for dead, well, July 12th was the perfect day to find out. Most of hot summer days are, though, for that matter. It’s this season every year that calms any boat rocking gulf weather left over from spring, offering more consistent runs to smooth seas. And coincidentally, also when most of the prized offshore gamefish have migrated into Texas waters.

I had booked with captain Don the summer prior, but after two canceled dates already due to high winds, my deep sea itch would have to wait until ‘99 to be appeased. And since Don advertises an “affordable” offshore trip, boasting a
full day’s hook wetting at hundreds less than the average charter, I figured it wouldn’t cost too much to find out if he actually knew his way around the gulf or not. Today was the day to find out.

We boarded his ship, the Sea Play, and shoved off just before 7:00 am.

Casting off into a soft sunrise, the Sea Play steadily bumped its way through the rough intercoastal traffic, steering toward the promises of lighter swells farther out, and *cross your fingers* bigger fish to come...

I think this is one of the main addicting points for offshore anglers. You never know what you may catch out there, or how big it’ll be.

We couldn’t see that far down, but king mackerel patrolled below. One raced in to snatch a bait in full stride - often rocketing out of the water when attacking prey as they’re famous for doing - only to disappear in one long gleam of silver. Instantly everyone went into motion to get ready. Fish were gonna be on! But these were no ordinary kings, thankfully; it was a group of heavyweights and they appeared to not have eaten in a while.

Before I could let my hooked morsel all the way out, the spool next to me whined in panic. My cohort, Anthony, grabbed the rig and laid back into the aggressor, helplessly hanging on as the fish ripped off a hundred yards of line. He fought it back from the depths in the traditional spiral pattern, and the mackerel became visible at about thirty feet down. It was the largest I’d seen, a true 40 pounder, an inspiring sight against the blue-black water. As soon as the gaff hit him, I let out my line again. This time I’d be the first to reach the right depth. And as soon as my offering reached it, another king slammed in for the kill.