By: Wilson Kerr

        This February, my girlfriend and I made a much-needed escape from a record Northeast snowstorm to the Bahamas. We flew 150 miles SE of Nassau to Long Island, a scrubby, thin strip of coral and rock with a lot of local character. I brought all my flyfishing gear for the bonefish I hoped to stalk, plus a little Cabela's freshwater telescopic spinning rod and a few lures for catching dinner, if the opportunity arose.

        We arrived on Valentine’s Day afternoon and, as we got settled in, the old Bahamian couple whose apartment we were renting advised we could hike to the rough, windward side of the island to possibly catch a jack or two off the rocks. We were equipped with a kitchen and the thought of a first meal of fresh fish sent us off on our inaugural adventure of the trip.

        The surf was pounding, the wind howling, and it was getting late by the time we reached the shore. The "rocks" were actually low cliffs along a steep volcanic shoreline strewn with ocean litter and driftwood. The sea was a low-light mosaic of deep blues and greens. We picked our way carefully out to a little point and I rigged up the totally inadequate-feeling 12 lb spinning setup. The only lure that would cut through the blasting onshore wind and roaring surf was a metal jig and each cast nearly spooled the reel, as the wind bowed the line. To my surprise, I quickly hooked a little blue runner jack and "surfed" him up over the rocks onto the cliff. A few more would make a perfect first night's meal! I timed another cast with the rhythm of the waves and a little strike followed. I reeled high and fast to get the fish up over the sharp rocks but it turned away suddenly and then effortlessly peeled off line like a 20 pound tuna! Whoa. Then, seemingly disconnected from my bent rod and screaming reel, far out among the swells, a giant barracuda leapt in a spray of bright white and tail-walked like a 500 pound marlin! I turned to yell to Nicole above me on the rocks but she had seen it too! At the same moment, we both realized that this enraged behemoth heading for the open ocean…was what I had hooked!

        I moved down into the wash on a low spot and fought the fish for twenty minutes, convinced that every long run would snap the feeble rod, spool the reel, or pop the humming 12 pound mono. I yelled back to Nicole, as she cheered and called out warnings about the waves crashing in, that I had only a small chance of actually landing this fish. I had a foot of wire above the lure, but could feel it scraping along unseen edges of coral and rock. Before I could make a plan that seemed even remotely sufficient, the fish was deep at the base of the rocks at my feet. The sky was darkening and I could see nothing of the huge fish I knew was right there. It moved around to the corner of the point I was on and then a perfectly-timed wave deposited a giant toothy head clear of the water! I grabbed for the leader, which promptly snapped like thread. Time then froze as the huge fish lay there, exhausted and disconnected from me, with my lure hanging from its mouth, half in the wash. A twitch would have freed it... As the next wave rolled in toward the rocks, I jammed my thumb under it’s gills, clamped down hard, and leapt up and clear of the spray, as Nicole moved gear and snapped pictures. What I dragged up onto the dry rocks was transformed instantly from an unknown force at the end of my line, in its element, to a HUGE beautiful barracuda that was ours! We both whooped and grinned like idiots at the improbability of what had just happened. Our reaction was seconded only by the reaction of the old couple when we got back to the house in the dark! We all ate a delicious Valentine’s Day dinner that night and had fresh fish all week. Never did see any bonefish.

Note from Captain Cronin: I wanted to thank our good friend Wilson Kerr for sharing this wonderful story with us. Wilson is an accomplished angler who spends a great deal of his time chasing fish with us on Martha's Vineyard.

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