World Records for Yellowfin tuna

Current world-record yellowfin tuna for men, Julian Allen-Ellis,  353.0 lbs (160.3kg) October 2, 2007, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

Julian Allen-Ellis 353 Pound Yellowfin Tuna October 2, 2007

It is day two of our long planned week-long trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  Ray Klefstad, Eduardo Godinho and I boated out to Corbetena Rocks in a moderate sea-state in high spirits. Peecha is our excellent panga skipper and Ben Cowley is his first-rate deck hand. This spot is known for big fish and is the location of the current IUSA world record yellowfin tuna, so fortunately, we had prepared by studying the IUSA and IBSRC rules before the trip.

Conditions were improved over day one and visibility was very good at 90 ft plus.  Large tuna were jumping on the surface pretty regularly and the whole area seemed very fishy.  The high spots are home to tons of natural live bait that fight for food drifting with the current. Hundreds of boobies are diving the bait on the surface, which Peecha says is a very good sign for big tuna.

On day one Ray and Eduardo had taken two shots each.  Ray shot and landed two wahoo.  Eduardo shot and landed a wahoo then shot and lost a 100 lb class yellowfin tuna with a tear off.  I passed two good shots on wahoo while waiting for something special.  I spotted a solitary 200+ lbs “cow” tuna, a truly magnificent sight, but it never came in range.  We had seen large schools of tuna up to 100 lbs, huge numbers of jack crevalle cruising in the shallower places and gafftopsail pompano on the surface.  There were tons of bait fish at various depths and smaller jacks hanging up current of the high spots and the tuna seemed to be just up current from the live bait.   This is the prime region to be at hunting depth during each drift.  The dense walls of skipjack tuna were a surreal spectacle and held out the exciting possibility of predatory wahoo and marlin close by.

The typical pattern is for Peecha to motor the divers up current, where we get in and drift down over the high spots.  I got into my normal routine of two minutes breathing up on the surface followed by up to two minutes diving, aiming to be down at around 40 or 50 ft when we run into the yellowfin tuna ahead of the high spots.  We did a few drifts without seeing any game fish.  Ray got back into the boat and shouts out, “Guys, were going to get a big tuna within the next three drifts, I can just sense it.” The next drift nothing. The following drift is one I will never forget.

As Ray drifted nearer to the high spot, he spotted a 300 to 500 pound marlin swim by the leading edge of the bait.  I dove before the bait, held my depth at 45 feet, passed on several 50 to 200 pound tuna as they swam by, and then waited in hope for a bigger fish behind the main school.  There were many fish in this school and it seemed to take an age to pass me on the left.  The school had nearly passed from sight over my left should when I saw a dark shape approaching steadily and effortlessly about 15 foot below me.  From above the tuna’s skin was jet black in the deep water below and made it difficult to estimate range but the huge distance between the pectoral fins left me in no doubt this was a really big fish.  It was either unaware or unconcerned by my presence and maintained its direct path and depth as I made myself as small as possible by crunching up and trying not to look it directly in the eye.   As I slowly angled down and extended my gun to shoot I saw the long, arching sickles that are found only on big yellowfin.  The gun seemed to extend and fire of its own free will.  I had aimed for a gill plate shot and allowed significant lead but had underestimated the size and speed of the fish and was at a greater range that I had judged – perhaps 20ft.  The shaft struck the rear third of the fish from above at 45 degrees but it didn’t look like a deep penetrating shot at all despite the forward momentum of the target. We suspected this fish could be a record contender, so I was careful to do everything myself and everything by the rules – which is not difficult as long as you know them beforehand.

I was using my Darryl Wong Ono gun (4 bands, with a 5/16'' shaft 65'' long), Aim-rite slip tip, and 100 ft of Kitto/Klefstad tuna bungie, tuna float, and trailing flag.  In the time it took to watch the tuna turn a full 180 and angle my head up to look to avoid entanglement the float had left the surface, stretched the 100ft bungie to its maximum and steamed past me vertically down before disappearing out of sight within a second or two.  Both the fish and the float left behind a dramatic trail of cavitation bubbles.  The speed and power of the first run was unlike anything I have ever witnessed underwater before.  I wondered if I was ever going to see me gear again or if I could handle such a powerful beast.

My bottom time for that dive was 1:45 and max depth 60 ft/ 18m according to the Suunto.  Eduardo and Ray are yelling their congratulations from the boat but I remain very, very cautious.  It isn't in the boat yet and I am going to do everything I can to make sure I don’t lose this one.
 

The float surfaced after a nervous 5 or 10 minutes wait on the surface.  The trailing flag Ray had made for my trip to Guadalupe made it very easy to spot when it did resurface - even from the water - as it stands a good three feet above the waterline.  This is a wonderful piece of equipment and the Kitto/Klefstad divinycell float and bungie floatline was instrumental in capturing this trophy.  Ray credits Ron Mullins with developing this entire big-game fighting system for landing big tuna. I also thank Ray for showing me how to rig the shooting line properly so that it will not fail.  I crimped this shooting line myself using the techniques he had taught – using two thick-walled cable crimps per connection, not one mono crimp as some use.

I worked the cable-stiff bungie up using the retrieval clip attached to the float a few inches at a time.  The fish ran at least 5 more times, some runs lasting up to 10 minutes. I was very nervous about the holding quality of the shot. I tried to swim with the pull of the fish to reduce drag as I held onto the rear of my float and was towed along with each run.  Several times I had to let go of the float as I judged the pressure on the slip tip might be too much and had to swim after the float and trailing flag.   The runs at first were fairly vertical as the fish dived for the bottom (around 150 ft) but became more horizontal as the fish tired and the bungie was effectively shortened as I clipped it off to the float.   Ray’s tuna floats give 60 pounds of floatation, which seemed to be plenty for this fish.  I climbed on top of the float several times to ease my retrieval of the bungie.

When I had retrieved all but about 3 feet of my bungie, I dove down the 30ft of 1/16” 49 strand shooting cable to inspect the quality of the shot.   I could see the slip tip just under the skin and I knew I needed to get another spear in.  I called to the guys on the boat for a second gun. Ray handed me his unloaded five-band tuna gun as he shouts “shoot it right in the brain!” At this point, the fish was visible from the surface, so Eduardo jumped in with his camera to take some video and stills.

I was so exhausted from the fight and worried about getting too close which may cause the tuna to run again that I rushed the shot and missed! Fortunately, the fish was pretty tired by now.  I reloaded again, dove and intended to hit the brain, but I just got worried that I might lose this monster fish, so I shot it mid-body near the first shot – I did not want to miss again.  Once I had secured the entire second gun’s floatline to the float I felt the fish could only be lost to the sharks now and was motivated to get it boated.  I had lost my first yellowfin at Guadalupe Island to a great white shark and did not want to repeat the experience.

At this point, the fish as still about 30 feet down, but he is very tired.  It was time to kill it.  It had been a long fight. I had lost my dive knife on a Guadalupe Island trip the year previous and had no chance to purchase a new one.  Fortunately, Ray had a brought spare dive knife that he lent me for the duration of this trip – one of those that has no plastic handle – just a solid piece of stainless, which turned out to be ideal for this purpose.  I dove to the fish and was shocked by the huge size!  I just couldn’t get the knife into him on that dive.  I dove again, and this time, I delivered the coup de gras with a knife into the tuna's head and then pounded the knife in with my fist to get it deep enough into the tuna's brain to finish him off.  I saw one more powerful twitch and that was the end.  A stream of blood poured out of his head area.

I pulled the fish up towards my float and clipped it off .  I got the required three meter teather from Peecha and tied the tail of the fish off to the boat. I climbed into the boat and was dying of thirst.   Gaitoraid has never tasted so good!

Peecha tied another rope through his mouth.  It took four strong guys to pull the fish into the panga.  My dive buddies were convinced this could be a world record contender and insisted on heading back immediately to weigh the fish.  Eduardo had read a fish can lose ten percent of its weight sitting on a boat all day which could mean the difference between a record or no record.  My buddies gave up a whole day diving in prime season to get this fish back before it lost too much weight. We had a bumpy ride home, but were eagerly anticipating the weigh-in.  It took five strong men to manoeuvre this fish from the panga 100 yards up the beach to where my very understanding wife Rebecca and our son Tom were waiting for us with ice cold beers.  Peecha and the crew raise the tuna up on the scale.  A massive 353 lbs and the new world record.  It was 35 pounds heavier than the previous IUSA world record speared by Dr. Craig Petersen the year before.  It turns out that saving the ten percent in weight loss was critical.

It took 1 hour 30 minutes from the time I shot this tuna to the time I finally killed it.  The end of my shaft has a 30 degree bend about 8'' back from the tip and will make a nice memento of this magnificent fish.  The adapter of the slip tip was also bent and is testament to the power of the fish and its initial run.

Thanks to Ray, Eduardo, Peecha and Ben.  This was a team effort and the realisation of a life-long dream.

Julian Allen-Ellis

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Previous world-record yellowfin tuna for men, Stathis Kostopoulos,  311.3 lbs (141.3kg) December 2005, Pacific Coast, Cost Rica

Description of the hunt for Stathis Kostopoulos

On December 8 we were diving in Costa Rica, 50 miles from shore. Despite the first day being blown out with 30-knot winds, 5-foot wind waves, murky waters, and limited fish action, on day two we had some decent weather. I had a peaceful easy feeling. We had located a large school of spotted dolphins traveling with schools of yellowfin tuna below.

Visibility was about 50 feet, a bit darker and somewhat hazy below 45 feet. Current was weak. Swell was small. It was sunny, with minimal wind from the north. Water temp 81F.

I was using my Kitto tuna gun, 65", 17 lbs without the shaft, front and back wings, four bands 5/8", a 3/8" shaft, 7x7 coated cable, Alexander slip-tip 5" tricut. I had a 75’ bungee, homemade with Mullins materials, and 2x1 stretch. At the end of my bungee I had 2 Rob Allen hard buoys 11 L each, and lastly one Riffe torpedo buoy, all daisy-chained. I was in top shape as I had been diving every week in California for the last couple of months.

We attempted the first dive on the school. Me and Greg were the first to dive. While waiting on the boat I was breathing slowly and exhaling with slight pressure in order to condition my lungs before the jump. As soon as the boat stopped I jumped in the water. Took one breath and I went down. I was descending at an angle so that I can see more on the way down. At 20 feet I saw a group of spotted dolphins go by. At 30 feet I saw two tuna, probably around 100 lbs coming from my left. I let these go by and I continued my descent. Then I saw this much larger tuna at 45 feet down also coming from my left. I swam towards it and took aim. At this point the fish veered a bit towards me. The tuna was at least 20 feet away from the tip of my spear and a bit lower. I shot it aiming behind the right eye. The spear hit the fish besides the first dorsal fin and penetrated about 2 feet at a 45-degree angle. The tuna took off at a steady speed in a straight line, and I could see that my spear had entered right by the first dorsal fin and toggled somewhere inside the fish.

I went for the surface and grabbed the buoys. The tuna kept swimming at a steady 1 to 2 knots speed. It took down the first RA float and the second one for some time. It never pulled down the Riffe torpedo float. The crew saw me skiing and followed me from a safe distance. The captain asked if I wanted to drop my gun, but I said no; it is good practice, and a good defense if a shark shows up. Half way through the hunt the tuna picked up speed, up to 4 knots. I was leaving a wake behind me. Still only the first two RA floats were pulled down.

After about half an hour into the fight the fish slowed down and then stopped. The first buoy was still pulled down, and the second RA partially pulled by the dead weight of the fish. I could not see the fish as the bungee was stretched to almost 150 feet. I started pulling the bungee and clipping it with the tuna clip. When I got to the cable, I could see the tuna was not moving. I then realized that this is a very big tuna! I asked the crew for the second gun. I loaded the Wong 120cm eurostyle gun with one band, 7mm shaft and a small slip-tip, and went down. I shot the fish on the spine and the blood poured out; the fish was dead.

I then went up and started pulling the float line of the second gun. It was hard work as the tuna had a net buoyancy of about -35 or -40 lbs. My Matrix fins were working overtime, very successfully indeed. When the tuna hit the surface I grabbed it by both pectoral fins and rode it back to the boat. The crew gaffed it through the mouth and pulled it on board. (this part is caught on video).

The crew immediately bled the fish in order to improve the meat quality. We then measured the fish. It was at least 79" long and girth 58". Captain Richard did some calculations and said that the weight of the fish would be at least 311 lbs, in which case this would be a new world record! We put a wet towel onto the fish trying to keep it wet until the weigh in. But the fish lost a lot of blood and juices for 7 hours on the deck until we went back to shore for the weigh-in. Using Terry’s formula the weight would be 58x58x79/800 = 332 lbs. 

The weigh-in

The weigh-in proved to be quite an adventure. Since there are no marinas with scales, we went to the beach. We tied 2 buoys on the tuna’s head and 1 at the tail. We then dragged the fish onto shore with a dingy. At the beach we used two posts and four of us carried it on our backs. It was very heavy!

A local man used his truck to load the fish and move it to the weighing tree. We did another measurement on the truck. It was 79 inches long and girth 58 inches. We found a big tree, and threw a rope and pulley with hooks. We then hooked up our certified scale. A four-foot black rope ½" which would be tied to the tail of the fish was used the zero out the scale. Then the giant tuna was hoisted up and the scale showed 311.3 lbs, exactly as the captain estimated! Using the formula as a benchmark, we conclude that the fish potentially lost as much as 20 lbs of blood and juices within the 7 hours until the weigh in.

The scale has been certified on Jan. 2005. There were at least four witnesses to the catch and at least 10 witnesses of the weigh-in.

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Greg Pickering

Previous world-record yellowfin tuna for men, Greg Pickering—307 pounds (139.37 kilograms) by Greg Pickering

On the morning of the 22nd of May 1998 the last day of our trip to Socorro Island I took the panga and motored around to the wall at Cabo Pierce. I was joined by Ron Mullins, Gerald Lim and Andreas Agathos and boat hand Franco.

I checked all along the wall and out wider at the spot where I had taken a 210lb Yellowfin Tuna the day before. The visibility was about 55 - 60 feet. A lot of bait-fish were present but I didn’t see any Tuna for a long time. I kept diving to depths of 30 feet, for several hours. I firmly believed that fish would show up sometime that morning. Four Yellowfin came by with the largest not exceeding 150lbs. Shortly afterwards I met up with Ron Mullins. He asked me if I had seen any Tuna, I said I had only seen 4 and he remarked that "he hadn’t seen much."

I think it was the very next dive that I made another 30 foot dive and lay horizontally in a relaxed position facing directly out to sea. I believe the depth of the water exceeded 200 feet in the area I was diving. While in a perfectly relaxed state I noticed a solitary large Yellowfin Tuna moving rather slowly in a straight line, coming from my right. It made eye contact with me but made no change of its course or speed whatsoever. It appeared likely that the fish, which I estimated to be about 200 lbs would pass under but slightly outside of me. I slowly moved my gun into position, which had been in a retracted position held close to my body.

I allowed the fish to pass me and what seemed like a long time, but was probably only about 5 seconds, I pulled the trigger. The spear hit pretty much where I aimed. The fish had given me an opportunity for a great shot. The spear entered the top of its back and drove down on an angle towards the bottom of the gill plate on the opposite side. The fish gave a flick and disappeared. I rushed to the surface and lay on the boogie board and began retrieving the bungee steadily. I was expecting a rapid pull from the fish but nothing happened for the first 3 or 4 minutes. Then the fish started really pouring on the pressure as it sounded into hundreds of feet of water. I quickly clipped off the bungee with the large stainless shark clip attached to the board. I was pulled down with the board to a depth of 40 to 50 feet. The bungee must have been stretched close to its maximum at this time. Then I let go of the board. What proceeded was the toughest fight I have ever endured. The board returned to the surface but every time I tried to retrieve the bungee the board was pulled down. I did not at any time lose sight of the flag attached to the board. I would pull up the bungee a couple of feet and clip off. On occasions I had to dive and grab the flag and pull the board back up. The panga from the Ambar III had arrived. I had released my speargun stock, a Steve Alexander 5 band tuna gun and Franco had taken it into the panga.

The fish made 2 big circles over to the point, each time returning to the area where I started. While over by the wall on the point I had fears for my gear being cut on the rock face. I managed to stay on the board by putting a lot of bias at the rear of it. The board was pulled down again but not very far. The fish started to tow me over to the point again but it went right around it this time and into the next bay. It crossed some shallower bottom (the ridge) and this was the first look I got of the fish. I thought that at this time it might be larger than 200 lbs, it was certainly fighting harder than any previous fish I’d taken. I pulled the bungee while riding the board, hand over fist, one, two, three, four, clip off and rest. I then repeated this continuously. I was conscious not to overload the muscles in my arms. This allowed me to get the fish to about 50-55 feet from the surface.

I could not raise the fish any higher at this point. the fish was circling around, giving big kicks of its tail fin. The bungee now shortened off was being stretched considerably and began sliding through the clip. This happened several times and then the rubber section broke, exposing the inner cord. Several days earlier I’d shot a 78 lb Wahoo and my bungee became tangled up in the rocks putting a small cut near one end of it.

I immediately called for the panga operator (very close by) to pass me the second-shot gun that belonged to Ron Mullins. This gun, a 4 rubber Steve Alexander was attached to a 50-foot bungee and small plastic float not exceeding 25 or 30 lbs of flotation. I very quickly cocked all 4 bands and prepared to make the difficult dive. I was pretty worn down by this time and my heart was still racing. The fish, still circling fairly steadily saw me when I approached and tried to turn away. I had to make a rushed shot, which was similar to the first but exited on the other side near the gill plate. When I surfaced I told Franco (the panga operator) to bring Terry Maas to take some underwater shots.

I was concerned about the broken bungee. I clipped the shooting spear line (steel cable) off the second gun to the clip holding the flag line at the rear of the board. I wasn’t happy until I clipped the shooting line of my first spear to the front clip on the board. This was difficult to do because the fish was still circling at speed and I only had one free hand. By the time I did this I noticed that I was surrounded by a tangled mess of steel cable and bungee.

By this time Terry Maas had arrived with camera in hand and begun to document the struggle. He took a few underwater shots while the fish pulled me up to 50 yards away from him at one time. After a few more minutes big streams of blood began billowing from the fish. This was documented on camera. By the time Terry had taken all 36 frames I had the fish on the surface and under control. It had bled to death after a 40-45 minute struggle.

At this point I noticed that the tail of the fish was level with the heel of my foot and its head extended above the top of mine. It was indeed a large fish. Several sharks had watched the fight but always stayed in the distance. I secured a rope through the gills of the fish and tied it to the bollard on the side of the boat. Shortly afterwards we reached the Ambar III. The weighing procedure then took place. Andreas Agathos, Gerald Lim, Terry Maas and Mike McGettigan were present on the boat at the time of the weighing.

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Jay Riffe

Previous world-record yellowfin tuna for men—277.9 pounds
(126.04 kilograms) by Jay Riffe as told to Terry Maas

Jay Riffe speared his world-record, 277.9-pound (126.04 kilo) yellowfin in January 1991 at San Benedicto Island, Mexico. It was late in the afternoon when friend and fellow diver Doug Ulmer suggested that they try the lava flow off the south end of the island. Doug had seen bait there earlier in the day and had shot a 200-pound yellowfin in the same place the year before. The divers found a line of green water close to the flow. Visibility in the green water was 30 feet, while visibility in the outside blue water exceeded 70 feet. Bait fish gathered at the interface of the two currents. Jay dove and saw a school of large tuna swimming cross-current from the green water toward the blue water. Having little experience with big tuna, Jay tried waving his hand to attract them. Unfazed, the huge fish ignored him.
Heart pounding madly, Jay made another dive into the green water. He broke out of the green water into the blue water layered below. Vague shapes below him quickly materialized into tuna as he kept kicking deeper. The fish were deep and they kept coming," Jay said.
Contrary to what I knew about good bluewater hunting technique, I swam as fast as I could, directly toward the fish, making all kinds of noise. There were four fish, abreast, swimming at a fast clip. I picked out the largest and aimed in front of its nose, knowing that its distance from me and fast speed would affect my aim. Sure enough, my spear hit it in the shoulder immediately in front of its dorsal fin. Just missing the spine, the spearshaft exited midway between the pectoral fins. It did not explode away like other large fish I'd shot, but rather kept going a fast clip. On the surface, I had just enough time to grab my last float as it raced by. White water spewed behind my head as my two buoys and 300 feet of line held fast to the speeding monster.
The lookout on the mother boat Sundiver saw my wake and dispatched a deck hand in the panga who picked up Doug. Shortly, they arrived at my side. I handed my gun up to Doug but was unable to speak because of the water rushing by my face. I held on to the last buoy for 55 minutes while the fish made a great arc, from shore, out to sea and back to shore again. Finally, the fish slowed and I began to retrieve my line. Just as my other buoy surfaced, the mighty fish made another run, ripping the line from my hands. I watched helplessly as all of my gear, including the two buoys, disappeared straight down beneath the waves.
I jumped into the panga hoping to spot the floats in the rapidly fading sunlight. Seconds after turning the boat into the wind, one of my buoys resurfaced. I jumped back into the water and tried to pull the dead weight of the immobile fish straight up from 130 feet. Too heavy to pull up in the water, I got back into the boat and pulled with all my muscles. Like a sack of cement, the big fish came up by inches. I pulled it gingerly, fearing that my monofilament shooting line might part. Many minutes later, we tied the spear line to the side of the boat. Diving down 30 feet with Doug's gun, I tried for a kill shot. The shot was good, as the fish instantly turned color and died. It was dark by the time we got back to the boat, but the flash camera really helped capture its beautiful colors, yellows, blues and silvers-one fish I'll never forget.

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Sheri Daye

Current World-record yellowfin tuna for women—179 pounds
(81.26 kilograms) Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, June 22, 2006 by Sheri Daye

by Sheri Daye 

I was diving in Mexico, near a pinnacle. I had not seen anything worth shooting after one day of searching, so I was bored. I was hovering at 40 feet, looking at some large rainbow runners and thinking about shooting one when I noticed a large object coming towards me. I soon realized it was a tuna, so I shot it and was able to land it. That lone tuna was the only one seen during the entire trip, and none were spotted by other divers who went there after us. Good thing I wasn't busy "chasing rainbows" when the tuna came by!

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Previous World-record yellowfin tuna for women—157 pounds
(71.27 kilograms) Flamingo Beach, Costa Rica, Nov 2, 2003 by Sheri Daye

   My Mom has the most perplexed look every time she looks in my Jeep and sees all the spearguns in the back.  I know she’s trying to figure out how I went from a girl who was doing so well in ballet to a woman who collects weapons of mass destruction.  I blame Terry Maas.  I saw his picture and was filled with lust…over the tuna, that is.  I soon found out that holding your breath is not easy, bluewater guns are not cheap, and tunas are not found in my backyard of South Florida.  Furthermore, where there’s big tuna, there are big sharks, but my desire remained strong and undeterred.

   I made two disappointing trips to “the Lump” off Louisiana. Swimming around in chum-laden, cold, green water, I saw nothing resembling a tuna.  However, I knew that one must make many trips, sometimes over a period of years, just for the chance of landing one.  On a positive note, I met G.R. Tarr there who invited me to Costa Rica, to join a group of hard-core hunters who shared the same affliction.  After a short visit with my relatives down there, I met my new friends for a van ride to the Pacific coast.

   There were eight of us.  G.R., from Florida, organized the trip.  Sasa Bratic, originally from Bosnia, is a big guy who must have been the class clown.  He is personable, likable, and makes everybody laugh.  Guy Nesbitt from Texas, originally from South Africa, is a high-energy, intellectual, and introspective individual.  Ritchie Zacker, the youngest at 26, is bullishly strong, full of spunk and bravado -- typical of a guy his age.

   Ralph Tieman, from California, was the oldest but can kick everybody’s butt.  He’s been Spearfishing Athlete of the Year and has been competing for many years.  Similar to his sparing use of words, the only time he took shots at tunas, they hit the mark...no wasted energy there.  Roberto Reyes from Puerto Rico, originally from Cuba, is often described as a gentleman, and he was one of the most experienced bluewater hunters.  In fact, he was the only one that had successfully landed a tuna previous to this trip, though many of us had tried before.  Bruce Dutton is an adventurous soul who went on to try his hand at surfing despite stories of 14-foot crocodiles.

   Add me, a Eurasian who was born in Nebraska and grew up in Honduras, and you have quite a melting pot.  Despite the diversity in age, nationality, and occupations, we had a common passion, and it was enough to create an instant bond.  During the long van ride across mountainous terrain, we told endless stories of fish, while Sasa had us laughing with stories of Bosnian chickens.

   It is “Day One”, and we are splitting up into two boats in the morning.  As we load gear, Roberto comes to the dock holding his stomach saying, “Oooh…I feel sick.  I just talked to a fisherman.”  I ask, “What’s wrong?”  I figure he is about to say that we had wasted our time coming here...that there are no fish.  He continues, “They caught a 200-pound tuna yesterday.  I am so excited; I'm going to throw up!”

   As we motor away from the coast, the captain looks through binoculars for the boiling mass of birds and bait, locally known as “carnada”.  The seas are relatively calm, with an occasional sailfish splashing across the surface.  After a couple hours, we are in 500 fathoms of water, in the middle of a feeding frenzy.  We jump in with birds swirling all around us, and we kick down into the bottomless abyss.  There is no more lonely, exhilarating, or vulnerable feeling than floating around, suspended in deep blue, while waiting for something big to appear out of nowhere.

   I am mesmerized by the school of bait, silver slivers turning and flashing in unison.  Sailfish start breezing by, dorsal fin erect, causing momentary panic among the baitfish.  Some of the sailfish cruise closer still, casting an inquisitive eye and asking me to please get away from their bait ball.

   Later, the captain locates spinner dolphins, hundreds of them, jumping and spinning and making their way to somewhere.  Their jumps and spins are so spectacular that I can watch for hours, but we are here for another purpose.  We are instructed to drop in beneath the dolphins; this is where the tunas might be found.  The captain runs the boat into position, and two at a time, we slip down to about 40 feet and watch dozens of porpoises swimming by at a fairly fast clip.  These playful undulating guys turn and look, squeal and chatter, sometimes coming in for a closer look, and sometimes “hitting” me with their sonar – a very strange sensation.

   Another drop…my eye focuses on one of the many large gray objects speeding by, and it is a Galapagos shark.  Sure enough, it peels off and makes a beeline at me.  I point my gun while trying to see whether there are more of these mixed in with the porpoises.  It turns off and swims over to greet Ritchie who just descended near me.  Ritchie does the same -- faces off and points his gun.  After a few seconds, the curious shark rejoins the procession, and I throw the theory about “no sharks around dolphins” out the window.  Many drops later, we all reunite for dinner and agree that we had seen many beautiful sights, tunas or not.

   The next morning, the fishermen tell me about “tigres grandes”.  When asked to translate, I answer, “Never mind.”  We are repeating our drops when I notice the frontal view of a large object coming at me with startling speed.  My mind automatically assumes it is a shark.  I start heading up while keeping an eye on the approaching object.  As it passes just beneath my feet, I see a row of vibrant yellow triangles.... tuna finlets!  Before I can make a move, the fish is gone.  I shout back to the boat, “Atun, atun!”  The captain is happy to hear of a confirmed tuna sighting, and I wonder whether I missed my one and only window of opportunity by being a wimp.  I can’t believe -- I actually ran away from a tuna!

   I drop in again and see five nearby!  It’s such an exciting sight, that I shoot prematurely.  Damn…I completely miss the tunas!  Worse than that, I forgot to back up my gun with my other hand.  My four-banded Wong Ono gun recoils against my snorkel.  I feel a dull pain and fear that I have broken my front teeth.  I climb back on the boat, and I’m worried sick.  I’m too embarrassed to tell them, and I’m scared to look.  I finally find my reflection on some stainless steel and am relieved to see only a small chip, and it’s not a front tooth…thank God.

   A little shaken, I reload my gun and jump back in.  Again, I see tunas speeding by…all sizes.  I hang there, I calm my heartbeat, I let a few pass, waiting patiently for just the right one.  I spot a monster coming through -- the biggest one I’ve seen yet!  I back up my gun and shoot.  Yes!  It looks like a well-placed shot on a huge tuna!  I did it…I am ecstatic!  It immediately sounds, taking the slack out of my breakaway line.  I feel the line whizzing across my shoulder and burning the skin on my cheek.  I do not want to die from chasing tunas, so I back away from the line fast.  Within a split second, the two floats go speeding past my head, straight for the bottom. 

   For the first time, I can “feel” the explosive power of these tunas.  I’ve not even started heading for the surface yet, and I can already see that the disappearing floats have compressed into pancakes.  My heart sinks, as I know they aren’t coming back up.  Although I appear calm on the surface, I feel like a basket case of emotions.  I swim back to the boat with my gun, minus my terminal gear, minus my first tuna.  I have never felt such extreme happiness and such profound disappointment, all within a split second.

   In the meanwhile, Ritchie and G.R. have jumped in and both managed to shoot tunas.  We can tell when there is a “hit” by watching the buoys…they suddenly skid across the water.  I watch from the tower as we follow Ritchie who is fighting the line and being dragged around.  Toward the end, he comes on the boat, all pumped up and looking for a second gun.  He laughs at himself, noticing how much his hands are shaking from the adrenaline.  G.R. jumps in to help.  After fighting awhile longer and putting a second shot, Ritchie gets his magnificent tuna onboard -- the first one landed! 

   We drive over to G.R.’s floats, which have been dragged quite far.  We go through the same procedure.  Eventually, G.R. brings the tuna up and makes a second shot.  I am happy for them, and I marvel at their fights and their fish, but after losing my fish, my floats, and part of my tooth, I am downright depressed.

   The mate notices and comes over.  In Spanish, he says, “Don't you worry now.  The tunas are still there.  You are going to pull yourself back together, get in there, and get yourself a tuna.”  Ritchie says, “Hey, I'm done, take my floats and go get one, girl!”  I look over, and G.R. has already started re-rigging my gun.  Sasa further encourages, “Let's go!”

   With this show of support, I am re-energized, and Sasa and I jump in together.  I float down and find tuna-highway again.  I wait, I watch…here comes a close one now, I pull the trigger!  I hear Sasa shoot one at the same time.  My tuna drives straight down again, but this time, only two of three floats are submerged.  The third remained at the surface at all times, though sometimes in a vertical position.  I wasn’t exactly sure what to do at that point.  I’d looked at the pictures in Terry’s book, but I had not actually read the text.  I figured it must be like fishing.  You reel it up, it goes back down, you reel it up, it goes back down, and eventually somebody gets tired and gives up…hopefully him.

   I had previously asked the guys not to help me or touch my line, unless I was drowning, in case the fish qualified for a women's world record.  According to the rules, I also could not get out of the water or hand the fish to the boat until it was subdued, though I was allowed to receive a second unloaded gun.  After an hour of playing tug-of-war and being dunked repeatedly, I start to worry.  The guys have been helping each other, and perhaps this is a nearly impossible task to do alone.  Perhaps I am creating a hazardous situation by taking so long to get it out.  I notice that Sasa has landed his tuna on the boat, and I am sure they all want to go home by now, and I really don’t want to be in the water at dusk.

   Suddenly, my tuna takes off with a great burst of energy, and I hold on creating a wake.  G.R. has been videotaping beside me.  When I ski past him, we give each other the same wide-eyed look of concern.  We can read each other’s mind, and we are certain that a 20-foot tiger is munching on my beloved fish.  I gingerly bring the line back in, and there is no shark attached...what a relief!

   The tuna has tired himself out with this last run, so I ask for my second gun.  I load it, swim down, and easily deliver the kill shot.  Surprisingly, this fish turns into dead weight – literally.  It’s negatively buoyant and starts to sink!  I kick furiously just to bring it up and swim it to the boat.  I feel like a Labrador Retriever…huffing and puffing my way back, proudly delivering my catch to the waiting mate through the tuna door.  I look up at him, half expecting a pat on the head.  Without words, he grabs hold of the fish, and we give each other a knowing smile.

   We soon learned that the other boat with Roberto, Ralph, Guy, and Bruce had succeeded in getting a tuna for each person also, which made us even happier.  It was not by chance, for we had learned to act as a team, and we celebrated each other’s successes. 

   That night, we dined on fresh sashimi and tuna cooked three ways.  We celebrated Sasa's birthday, life, the ocean, friendship, and tunas.  We couldn’t have imagined a better outcome, and we were thankful for the bounty of the ocean and the safe return of our team.  Ralph commented, “What a miracle that the whole team succeeded in landing a tuna.  I can tell you from many years of experience that this is an extremely rare occurrence – practically unheard of.  This was a very special trip.”

   It all started to make sense.  I took ballet so that I would develop strong legs, the better to kick those long fins.  I got into spearfishing so I could appreciate Mother Nature and acquire a profound respect for life.  More importantly, I’ve made special friends and had the pleasure of sharing what nature has generously provided.  Perhaps the next time my mother gives me that puzzled look, I can try to explain.... 

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Julanne Lum

Previous world-record yellowfin tuna for women—38 pounds     (17.24 kilograms).
by Julanne Lum as told to Terry Maas

Thirty-four-year old Julanne Lum and her husband Matt, both rising stars in California bluewater spearfishing, traveled to Socorro Island, Mexico in early 1994 aboard the Ambar III, hoping to land a big tuna. The previous year Julanne shot and lost one of the few bluefin tuna speared in California waters that year. The couple's goal was to have Julanne shoot a big tuna before their first child was born. Four months pregnant, Julanne achieved her goal by spearing a 38-pound yellowfin tuna, the North American spearfishing and IBSRC record for women. She remembers:
While I was hanging 25 feet underwater and staring hypnotically into the blue, dozens of bullet-shaped fish started to materialize in the distance. They came toward me fast, and I soon realized they were small yellowfin tuna. Turning to my right, I made two slow kicks away from them to pique their interest. As I had hoped, the school split and circled around me from both directions. Aiming my gun away from the advancing fish and avoiding eye contact, I waited for them to circle in front of me. On cue, the fish edged closer, begging me to pay more attention to them. I chose the closest fish and when I pulled the trigger, the ocean exploded with the sound of 100 tuna tails beating a hasty retreat.
Next came a strange 'whooshing' sound. I looked up to see my buoys zipping past me on the surface, and I knew the fish was still on my spear. As the tuna sounded, my first buoy went under, spilling line out of the line pack. I was amazed at how fast and how strong this fish was. When the buoy resurfaced, I grabbed the float line and began to fight the fish.
My heart dropped when I saw a dozen 6- to 8-foot Galapagos and silky sharks circling my tuna. I pulled faster as Matt dove down to fend them off with his gun tip. When I pulled in enough float line to reach my cable spear line, I took out my knife, preparing to stab the fish in the head. I kept pulling on the cable, but Matt yelled at me to get away from the now dangerous line. I had loops of cable all around me and if a shark had grabbed the tuna, I could have gotten tangled in the wire and been dragged down. I charged the sharks with my empty speargun in an attempt to get them away from my fish because some were getting very close and snipping at my tuna. My actions worked and I quickly handed my catch up into the waiting panga. Matt and I flopped into the boat just as the sharks came back for more. I can still hear the voice of my obstetrician, telling me to keep my heart rate down during the trip!

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Terry Maas

Previous world-record yellowfin tuna for men—256 pounds
(116.22 kilograms)

It is evening at San Benedicto Island, Mexico, October 1989. I am hunting adjacent to a rocky underwater pinnacle, its tip reaching just 10 feet short of the surface, its sides plummeting to the ocean floor 300 feet below. This subsurface rock is a giant fish magnet. Large oceanic predators are attracted by clouds of bait fish seeking both food in the passing currents, and refuge in the pinnacle's crevices and caves. It is evening and a glance toward the horizon reveals just a finger's width of sky under the rapidly sinking sun. Except for a small area of beautiful penetrating golden light from the sun, the deep blue water is now black.
As I make my way, swimming up-current, schooling hammerhead sharks circle just 50 feet below. I have never seen hammerhead sharks in this schooling mode show any aggression toward a diver, nor have I seen them attack a speared fish. Nevertheless, their presence, along with the darkening water, heightens my awareness.
This is a wild time of day! Just a few minutes more and nightfall will force me from the water.
The always nervous bait fish are now frantic. Several times a minute I sense distant bait fish being attacked. Their escaping tails, beating as one, emanate an eerie, deeply pitched thundering sound; it strikes me, reverberating in my chest..
BOOM..BOOM....BOOM.
I know the tuna are near; I feel them close by. Suddenly I hear, "Tuna!.I'm on!" I look up to see the crew from our mother boat, the Ambar III, dispatch the chase skiff to aid my fellow diver, heading out to sea, pursuing his disappearing floats.
Once again I dive into the ever darkening water and orient into the current. My heart is pounding. A perfect circle appears at the limit of visibility, now another and another; soon there are four circles, all approaching me on my level. The circles metamorphose into giant yellowfin tuna. Twenty-five feet under the surface, I am very still when the tuna first appear; they are unaware of my presence. At the last minute, the lead fish swerves to avoid me, presenting a perfect shot. Unbidden, my speargun convulses in my hand and the spear strikes the tuna's side. The spear shatters its spine rendering the fish motionless. I swim back to the Ambar III with the fish in tow. Later, my yellowfin's weight is recorded at 255 pounds-a world record.

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Craig Peterson

Meritorious Award for yellowfin tuna, Craig Petersen—317.5 pounds
(144.14 kilograms). by Craig Petersen

October 30, 2006 my friends Joe Acevedo and Tim Kohl and I are diving off Mexico’s pacific coast near an open ocean rock called ‘Corbetaina’. After a week of diving, none of the divers have shot any tuna. I tell them not to worry as I am bringing the luck of King Neptune and assure them that we are going to shoot big fish today. It is my first day diving with them but I have filled myself with the positive belief that this will be my day. It is a nice sunny day, the ocean being a bit bumpy but underneath it is about 84 degrees with about 50-60 foot of visibility. I’m using my Kitto/Klefstad 65 inch tuna gun with 5 5/8 bands, 3/8 inch shaft, 800 lb cable shooting line with an Alexander 5" tricut slip tip. I use a 75’ Kitto/Klefstad bungee with a single homemade divinycell float.

The day is amazing as we see a lot of fish. Tim lands a 174lb tuna and then I land one that Tim believes is the same size-I think it is a little less but it is never weighed-I’ll call it 170lbs. We see a couple of very large wahoo as well but are unable to make a shot. By late afternoon the captain tells us we only have time for a few more drifts and He will take us out over one of the "outer" high spots. I know that the late afternoons are the best times for tuna in this area so my anticipation is high as I make my first dive to depth. In my case it is about 50 feet and as I reach it, I settle in to a wait and see, hanging for as long as I can, maybe 30 seconds before I ascend to the surface for air. On the second dive as I plane out at 50 feet I immediately see a large tuna in the distance. I know he is big because I have picked him up at the edge of visibility (about 50-60ft) and he looks big but I can’t tell for sure so I decide to rush towards him. He is heading straight at me but as I kick toward him he veers to my left and as I close the distance between us he starts to accelerate. Fortunately not too fast but as I get to within 20-25 feet from him I can see that he is about to hit another gear so I let the shaft fly and see it hit solidly just past mid body and then watch for a second as he explodes away. I turn for the surface desperate for air and when I get there my float is gone.

In my rush to the surface I did not follow the float line or float so I had no idea where it might surface. I called the panga over and got on board to help find the float. I was very worried about the shot holding but hopeful that it would and that the float would soon resurface. The captain and I searched for perhaps 5-8 minutes before the captain spotted my float. I immediately jumped back in the water and swam to my float which was moving very slowly if at all as the float was upright "tombstone style". It was at least 300 yards away and it took me several minutes to reach it but just to see it upright meant the fish was still on and I was exuberant to say the least.

As he came into view Tim and Joe were shouting about how huge he was. My heart was pounding as I got to the cable shooting line and clipped it to my float. I breathed up as best as I could and dropped down to inspect him. I had only planned to inspect him and surface for air but what I saw shocked me. The slip tip was toggled justunder the skin! It looked like it might slip right out so I decided I didn’t have the luxury of another dive as I might lose this fish right now. So I forced myself down to him and as I reached his jaw and turned him up, his whole body briefly flared-fins shot out and even his color changed, and that was it. His battle was over. I slipped my hand into his gills and kicked to the surface with the magnificent fish. It was going to get dark soon, so after too few pictures the captain insisted we go. We got the tuna on board and we were soon speeding back to the dock. We were excited at the prospect of this huge fish but when the captain said he was definitely over 300 lbs, our excitement grew and we knew we had to find a scale. As luck would have it a scale was available and after zeroing it out with the rope attached, we hoisted up the yellowfin tuna and watched as it settled in at 317.9……, .8…… and finally stopping at 317.6 lbs.

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Gerald Lim with his 255-pound yellowfin (story of 265-pound fish)

Notable catch for yellowfin tuna, Gerald Lim—265 pounds
(120.31 kilograms). by Gerald Lim

In 1995 off Roca Partida, Mexico, National Champion Gerald Lim landed a 265-pound yellowfin. It was late afternoon, the water was 76-degrees Fahrenheit. Gerald remembers:
Visibility is almost 200 feet, rendering the water a startling sapphire blue. The delicate interplay between sun and surface sends fingers of light dancing toward the bottom, like a stained-glass window in a cathedral untouched by human hands. Behind me, a monolithic column of volcanic rock rises vertically from the bottom 250 feet below to greet the air like a gigantic column in a Roman ruin. Schools of nervous baitfish below me dart about as one, reacting with senses far more acute than mine to unseen predators.
Suddenly, this long dormant volcano is once again lit up with living fire as giant yellowfin tuna appear-their backs, a foot-and-a -half wide, are a deep blue-black with metallic flecks. A startling, iridescent-blue-and-gold stripe separates their backs from their silver bellies. Long yellow dorsal and anal fins, the trademark of large fish, trail behind. Their tails sport two rows of bright-yellow finlets, swishing side-to-side with each tail beat. Supreme masters of the moment, these fish exude confidence-almost an arrogance-as they swim by.
My reverie is broken by the realization that I am here to hunt these magnificent creatures. After two quick breaths, I angle quietly down toward them. The school responds by angling downward, not panicking, yet keeping their distance. At 60 feet, just as I break off the quest and angle upward, I notice a small group of even larger tuna move into formation with me. Calling on my reserves, I redirect my approach to this new target. I close the distance quickly, aim at the nose of the nearest fish and squeeze the trigger.
The gun recoils as six bands send the 7/16-inch shaft hurtling toward the tuna, striking it at mid-body and sending a plume of greenish blood shooting out. In the blink of an eye, the fish accelerates to warp speed, creates an audible roar and in 2 seconds, carves out three loops of a 50-foot diameter spiral around me, all the while trailing the plume of blood like a crippled fighter plane. As I desperately try to swim up and away from those deadly trail-line spirals, the tuna puts its head down and powers straight for the refuge of deep water, taking those dangerous coils with it.
Just as I reach the surface, my 100-foot elastic trailing line stretches to its full 300-foot capacity and my float is rapidly towed under. As soon as the fish changes direction, however, my float pops back up. Quickly, I catch the float and grab on. The great fish heads for open sea with me in tow. Soon, it slows down, the tension on my trail line lessens and I begin the grueling work of retrieving the stretched line. The fish makes several more short runs until my well-placed shot takes its toll.
Within 20 minutes, I've pulled the fish to within 30 feet of the surface. I hand my trail line to our skiff-tender in exchange for a second-shot gun for the coup-de-grace. I know my shot is true when the fish just quivers after the spearshaft penetrates its central nervous system-the battle is over.
Once in the chase skiff, I admire the great fish beside me. Almost 7-feet long, this fish exemplifies a most perfect design in marine high-performance. Fighting valiantly for its freedom, this noble fish towed me for a mile. Still panting from the exertion and flushed with success and the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I reach out to touch this beautiful creature beside me. I am filled with awe and admiration, and perhaps a twinge of melancholy.

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Mark Barville

Notable catch for yellowfin tuna, Mark Barville—260 pounds
(118.04 kilograms). by Mark Barville

Mexico, 15 January 1996

I was invited by John Johnston, a freediving friend of mine, to join him and four fishermen on a fishing/diving trip aboard the Ambar III with Captain Mike McGettigan, to the Revillagigedo Islands, 200 - 250 miles southwest of Cabo San Lucas, Baja, Mexico. This is the story of our 8th day out.
I woke up from a very deep sleep. I could hear the engine changing speed. The air was so comfortable and the seas so calm that I had left my porthole open all night. I looked out and saw a single large white rock, split above the surface like two rabbit ears, with the blue water just like a mirror below it. The sun was just rising and bathing the whole scene in clean white light, not a cloud in sight.
We anchored in 275 feet of water, about 300 yards southeast of the rock. We spent the morning enjoying the shear beauty of it all, swimming with a whale shark that had adopted us for the day. No giant tuna that morning, just getting used to swimming in those waters and that environment. We got out and rested and the others had a giant lunch. I just soaked in the outrageousness of it all. I had not fired a shot yet on the entire trip (except for a couple of "unloading shots" at wahoo when we had to get out of the water-- I got the wahoo, incidentally).
It was about 2 PM. I felt very calm and peaceful, slipped into the 75 degree water with my tuna gun, norpreme line and float, and then just lay there, alone in the silence (the others fell asleep). The water was at least 120 foot visability. Giant columns and rivers of skip jacks, about 18 to 20 inches long, swished and swirled with large bonito schooling down below them as deep as I could see. The trigger fish and chubs maintained constant vigilance, while the wahoo guarded the outside boundary. Large schools of jacks swam below me sideways as though they were spying on me.
The water felt acutely alive to me. I drifted motionless on the surface to the outer edge of the bait, about 100 yards in front of the rock. Everything was perfect, something was about to happen. Suddenly a school of 10 lb. tuna rushed in from the north. Then 3 or 4 giant yellowfin appeared from my left as I was facing the rock. They were deep and heading my way. I took in a very deep breath and dropped to about 30 ft and leveled off. I felt great, I was entirely relaxed and my heart beat was slow and calm.
My body continued to sink slowly as I streamlined myself toward these giant tuna. I was stunned by their color and size, and thrilled by the way they moved through the water. They kept their distance, but I had practiced this scenario over and over in my mind before and just stayed silent and motionless, waiting. My gun was extended, body streamlined, I had lots of air and this was intense. I decided to go into my "white sea bass hunting mode" and become dead still. It worked. Although the fish I had selected stayed out of range, a new group of giants appeared from my right. I kept my peripheral vision peaking out the side, waiting, as I very gently allowed my body and gun to drift in their direction (I was still sinking). I could see about 14 or so of these giant fish swimming around me, some were really huge, but none were a perfect shot yet.
Suddenly a very large fish appeared from nowhere, directly in front of me. I remained still as this fish rushed in straight at me with its mouth wide open. About 20 feet in front of me he suddenly turned to his left, providing me with the perfect opportunity for a good shot. This was exactly as I had envisioned it for weeks prior to the trip! I took a powerful kick forward, extended the gun fully, lined up straight down the shaft for the middle of its head and pulled the trigger. Time was in slow motion, and I loved every millisecond of it! I saw the shaft penetrate completely through its head before the fish belted out of there.
Moments later, there was no doubt onboard the Ambar III what had just happened. Captain Mike, California IGFA rep. Hal Neibling, deckhand Carlos Gonzalez, and John Johnston (with underwater video camera in hand) were racing toward me in the rubber raft. The norpreme lines were very effective, I grabbed the boogie board float which Gerald Lim had made, and held on as it sped away out to sea. The race was very short. I was actually looking forward to the ride, but it never really happened. The tuna had taken me out about 200 yards, and there were no fish in sight, no sharks, nothing but shimmering blue water with shafts of light dancing away below. Just as John jumped in the water with the video camera, the buoy became still, it never even went below the surface. Suddenly the stretch norpreme lines became limp and started floating up. I frantically pulled the line up, fearing the worse--some gigantic shark biting off the whole fish. John continued to document the entire event. My heart just sank. I had waited patiently for 7 days while the guys were fishing, with just a few hours in the water... my body was ready to explode--I needed to dive hard and get a monster... now was it suddenly lost?
I looked hard, then I could see the fish deep below me, making weak, failing efforts, then dropping. ECSTASY! The fish was so heavy it sank the buoy in a straight up and down line, just at the surface. Above me, I could hear Mike screaming "get it in, get it in before the sharks get it!" Panic again, was it heavy because sharks were munching down happily? I pulled hard, was I going to rip the shaft out? No, I saw it penetrate straight through the middle of its head, but... Hell, I just started pulling! Using my fins to brace myself, I pulled slowly. I would guess its dead weight in the water to be around 35 lbs, which is heavy when you're weighted as well. Eventually a yellow dot appeared, head first, slowly making a tuna profile. No sharks, anywhere! I continue, feeling happy as hell... the profile increases, then suddenly at 35 feet the fish turns sideways. "Yee Haw!" There are wild screams from the raft when the fish provides this stunning display! Now I'm worried, it's so close, what if it tears out somehow? John lends me a second gun, a Riffe #4 with four bands. I let go of the fish, drop down just above it, then fire a shot that penetrates clear through the backbone and out the other side. He's mine! Pulling slowly to avoid being cut by the cable shooting line, I got it up, wrapped my hands around the body just below the pectoral fins, swam it to the raft, and then permitted Mike to hand gaff it to secure it for the ride back to the Ambar III. The fish weighed in at 260 lbs. My first shot ever at a giant tuna, straight through the entire head of the fish! HA!
It took us four months to finish eating it, mostly seared (with olive oil and cracked pepper in a red hot skillet), and it was delicious to that last bite!

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Ron Mullins

Notable catch for yellowfin tuna, Ron Mullins—235 pounds
(106.69 kilograms). by Ron Mullins

San Benedicto island Mexico, May, 1996. I had never been to San Benedicto and I felt as though I had found a place that a great spirit created for the most highly developed of the ocean’s predatory realm. I had never seen any thing like it before. Everywhere I looked the abundance of life was breathtaking. Schools of bait fish swimming into a gentle current would flash with the passing of every other fish in the area. Schools of jacks, giant mantas, sharks, wahoo and giant tuna filled me with a sense of anticipation more intense than I had ever felt before. A giant blue marlin, possibly more than a thousand pounds, came to me to remind me of my own mortality.
As I worked into the current, large schools of giant yellowfin tuna, most more than a hundred pounds, soared by in groups of fifty to a hundred fish. Some of the tuna would glide under me, turn on their side and look up at me as though I was floating debris. I had already landed two tuna of about 125 lbs. on the trip and was holding out for a true giant. As the schools of tuna soared by I found myself in awe of their beauty and strength. Their streaming dorsal and anal fins, called Alison fins, are unique to the yellowfin tuna and usually distinguish the larger yellowfin from the smaller ones. Their incredibly bright yellow finlets are so stunningly bright they appear to be lit with electricity.
Swimming into the current, I constantly saw groups of dolphin, sharks and tuna. I became aware of how connected everything was. Every time I saw the groups of sharks I noticed the tuna and dolphin were not far away. Every time I saw the schools of tuna, I would keep a sharp eye for the long streaming fins and the distinguishing girth of the giants.
On one dive, hovering at about twenty feet, I noticed a school of yellowfin coming from my right. The school was mostly 100 to 125 pound fish. At the end of the school one fish stood out. The fish had the long streaming fins I had been looking for but the most distinguishing feature was the immense girth of the fish. It was so much wider than the other fish in the school that I knew it was the fish I had been looking for. With my speargun held as close in to my side as possible, I waited for the fish to come as close as it was going to get. When the fish was only about fifteen feet away I extended my speargun, which reduced the distance from the fish to the tip, to about ten feet. I aimed at the spine and squeezed the trigger.
The tuna turned so hard my 3/8 inch shaft flexed to the point that force of the water bent the shaft. The blood left a trail, a witness to the damage caused by the spear. As the fish disappeared I saw where the spear had struck. I was shocked the fish was still moving. The location of the wound looked perfect. The spine should have been hit.
I raced to the surface to get a good hold of the stretch line I made just before leaving on the trip. The stretch line was a new hollow material with a 1000 lb. rated cord inside. I knew the fish had the power to take my float down but the bottom wasn’t deep enough. With the stretch line able to stretch to 300 feet and the bottom at about 100 feet the only thing the fish could do was try to run for deeper water.
The shot proved to be placed very well. The giant tuna, mortally wounded, slowed and my friends caught up with me. One friend had a video camera and the other had a still camera. Both of my friends filmed the remainder of the fight.
I pulled the fish up to within about thirty feet of the surface and secured my stretch line to my float with a clip. I loaded the second shot gun and dove to the fish. The tuna was swimming in circles and I had a hard time lining up the shot. I fired but didn’t make a kill shot. The fish accelerated again and I had to fight it back up to the surface. Eventually I was able to get a hold of the fish and dispatched it with my knife. I tied a rope around the tail and pulled it to the chase boat where we secured it and took it back to the mother boat, the Ambar III. We used the crane on the boat to hoist the fish where it weighed 235 lbs.

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Tom Murray

Notable catch for yellowfin tuna, Tom Murray—220 pounds
99.88 kilograms). by Tom Murray

Date ----- November 2, 1996
Location ----- Lunker Hole, San Benedicto / Isla de Revillagigedos

It was not a record but my largest Yellowfin to date, at 220 pounds.