Big John

During the fall, winter and early spring of the 1960’s and 1970’s, nearly all of the shallow water wrecks in the area of the Quicksand’s that lies west of the Marquises Keys, held many giant barracuda, cobia and amberjacks. It was not uncommon to take a total novice angler that had never handled a fly rod in their life and catch any of the aforementioned species on any given day. Amberjacks in the 40-pound class were common and would only win honorable mentions in any of the fishing tournaments of that time. In those days, it would take at least a 50 pound fish or larger to win the fly division in any of the tournaments.

We had perfected the techniques for taking these fish to a science. It consisted of catching a number of blue runners of about 2 to 3 pounds and storing them in your live well. We would proceed to the wreck where we intended to fish. We would anchor directly over the wreck. This would allow the fish to be comfortable with the cover of the wreck immediately beneath them. Therefore they were very aggressive right away. A large blue runner was selected and placed on a relatively small hook (in order to avoid hooking the predator), attached to a heavy line and a stiff rod. The (blue) runner was then dangled in the water and allowed to swim on the surface with only about 6’of line out of the rod tip. The frantic action of the runner at the surface usually drew immediate attention. More and more of the predators gathered at the side of the boat for their turn at the offering. The more predators, the more aggressive the action. After a while, an experienced guide could make any of these fish respond as he would like. It became relatively easy to choose the very fish that you wanted the angler to catch.

When the fish was ready, the anchor, with float attached, was released and the current as well as the wind would cause the boat to drift away from the wreck. It was up to the guide to recognize the proper time to allow the angler to present the lure to the fish. This is critical, as the fish will become more wary, the further away from the wreck that it travels. Also, the greater the distance, the further the fish must travel to get back to the wreck. Therefore, the further that you get from the wreck, and still get the fish to eat the lure, the better your odds of landing the fish.

In December of 1976, while checking out some of the wrecks for potential trophy fish, Jim Anson and I came upon a small wreck in only 12’ of water. I could see several large dark shadows cursing the fringes of my visibility. After anchoring, I prepared a runner and slipped it into the emerald green water. With out hesitation, the shadows turned into missiles and with an explosion of white spray, a large barracuda cut the runner in half. The other half of the runner was simultaneously smashed by several large amberjacks. As this was almost a daily occurrence, the fish had become programmed to the feeding agenda. By now, every predator in the area knew that dinner was on the table.

Jim grabbed the fly rod and took position at the bow of my old 20’ Sea Craft. As the next volunteer runner was hooked on the teasing pole and slipped into the water the action began. With every pass of a fish, the runner was jerked from the water and immediately dropped at the tail of the aggressor. With 10 or more fish vying for the morsel, the action became frantic.

It was not uncommon for barracuda to come crashing into the boat with teeth slashing and anglers and guide running in different directions. I was once pinned in the corner of the transom while a barracuda with teeth chomping was balanced on the gunwale of the boat with its head mere inches from my groin. The fish performed a balancing act for longer than I wanted it to. It then fell into the boat and began flopping and slashing around on the floor while I performed the rapid tippy-toe two-step. After the cuda settled down and I had counted all of my parts, the fish was returned to the water.

On Command, Jim threw the anchor float over the side and we began to work the fish away form the wreck. Suddenly from under the boat, a gigantic AJ of proportions totally unknown in shallow water came blasting the runner. With one smash the giant gulped the large runner and broke the teaser line. “My gosh, did you see that?” I exclaimed as if one wouldn’t see an explosion while setting on a stick of dynamite. As I turned to Jim, I could see his eyes fixed to the foam on the water where the giant had just exploded. His mouth agape, he couldn’t speak. After we regained our composure, we decided to accept the challenge, but we were going to need more distance between the wreck and us. I quickly tied another hook on the teaser line and attached another runner. Dropping the teaser overboard, the runner was met with another explosion and with a resounding snap, the teaser line parted again. This guy not only wanted to play but also was setting new rules for the game. Another runner was prepared and by now we were about a quarter of a mile from the wreck. If we could hook this big boy now, he was ours.

This time I was ready for him. Jim was in the bow and ready to cast when the command was given. The runner hit the water and sure enough we were playing by the same rules. The AJ came crashing from under the boat but I was on a hair trigger guard and the runner cleared the surface just as the water erupted. Dropping the runner at his tail, he swirled and made another pass. Several more passes and he was ready. “NOW” I cried, and Jim slammed the popper into the water and made a long strip of the fly line. As the popper made a loud gurgling and splashing noise, the big boy inhaled it without hesitation. As Jim set the hook, the fish swam around the boat as if looking for another meal. Then as if tiring of the game, he started swimming directly towards the wreck. The normal procedure is to lay back and let the fish swim into the current and fight the drag of the reel as the boat continues to drift away from the wreck. We were so far from the wreck that we couldn’t miss.

It soon became apparent that this fish hadn’t read that part of the book. The line just kept spooling from the big fly reel. With each moment, we expected the fish to turn to the side and start sliding our way. With dogged determination and composure, the fish kept heading directly for the wreck. He had outlasted my patience and spool capacity. I quickly started the motor and began to follow. This ignited a spark and the big AJ began to smoke the reel. As I advanced the throttle, Jim yelled out. “I can see the bottom of the spool”. Just then the line that had spanned from the rod tip to the water, went slack.

There was a popular song in those days called “Big John”. As John is another name for Jack (Amberjack), I called that fish “Big John”. Each day that I was in the area, I would swing by that wreck and sure enough Big John would be at home. I made it a point of hand feeding him two or three runners just to keep him happy. On two more occasions, Big John came out to play with fly fishermen and the results were similar. Big John 3, anglers 0.

Big John became a legend over the next several weeks. However, I now believe that most of the people that we talked to, thought that we were exaggerating the size of the fish, as no other anglers that I know of ever attempted to capture him. Several weeks later, Big John disappeared and was not seen for some time. I was sure that he was gone for good.

In January of 1977, Dr. William Munroe of Hollywood Florida, an old and dear friend of mine, and I were fishing for the MET fishing tournament and needed a large AJ on fly, so we headed west. Anchoring on the wreck, the response of normal sized AJ’s was instantaneous. We began to tease. An AJ of the size to win the tournament began to cooperate. We went through the normal routine and after a decent fight we boated a big AJ. By now the tide had changed and the tide and wind were opposing one another. As we stopped on top of the wreck, I spotted a huge shadow along the bottom. It had to be Big John. I grabbed a runner and impaled it on a teaser hook and dropped it into the water. “Hello”. It was Big John. As I continued to dabble the runner, Big John cursed around and around under the boat. The slick surface and clear water betrayed the drift, or lack thereof. For twenty minuets, we sat right over the end of the wreck. “It would be useless to hook that fish here.” I said to Bill. Big John was just waiting for the game to begin. Finally I said, “What the heck, the worst that can happen is we will loose a fly.”

As I lowered the runner completely into the water, (pressing start on the game) Big John came crashing to the surface. He missed the runner and immediately turned for another pass. “Bill, drop the fly!” I yelled. Bill’s reaction was immediate. As the runner passed the fly, Big John came crashing from under the boat in his normal attack mode. I jerked the runner from the water and with mouth agape, Big John sucked the fly in and cleared the water by nearly four feet. The fly line came tight while the giant was airborne. As the fish felt the now familiar sting of the hook, his tail responded by swimming violently while still in the air. As he hit the water, going away from the boat, the tail left a giser of white spray that soaked both Bill and I. The fish was on top of the wreck and with the speed it was running it soon was beyond the wreck. We were not on the anchor, so I fired up the engine and we sped around and around the small wreck. Then, seemingly without provocation, Big John left the wreck and headed for open water. Something was not right. “Oh no, Bill there must be a shark there or he wouldn’t have left that wreck.” He continued heading for deeper water but must have had a change of mind. We had now been on the fish for an hour, but he appeared to be heading back for the wreck. I told Bill to pressure him up to the limit of the 15# class line that the tippet was made of. Bill complied but the fish showed on signs distress. As the fish began to near the area of the wreck, he began to show signs of apprehension and the relentless pressure began to take its toll. Big John began to tilt slightly to his side and as time passed, turned totally on his side. This meant that he was tiring and would soon be ready to gaff. We were now one hour and 45 minuets into the fight. As he edged closer and closer to the surface, I could get a better idea of his size. Finally, I took the 6’ auto gaff and reached down until my right ear touched the water and mad a blind pass with the gaff. I felt resistance and set the hook. “Oh my gosh.” I had barely penetrated the skin and had no more than 1” of skin at that. The fish had not taken off as he felt the gaff, so I played him gently until Bill could get a second gaff to me. I finally got the second gaff into the back and pulled him to the surface. “This thing could eat the current world record.” I told Bill. We pulled the giant aboard and decided to head for home.

On the way in I ran past a large piece of floating carpet. I stopped and picked it up to cover Big John so that he would not dehydrate and loose weight due to the sun. He was a way to large for my fish box. As we approached the dock near the scale, one of the dockhands asked if we had caught Big John. I stated in the affirmative and he yelled out to the others around the dock that we had caught him. A crowd gathered around and as I removed the smaller AJ from the fish box I heard some of the crowd “Oh” and “Ahhh” a little. We weighed that fish and it tipped the scales at 64#. Just 4# under the current world record set by Steve Chapell, just a couple of years earlier. Everyone seemed somewhat impressed. I then said, “ If that one impresses you, then this one should really impress you.” I got back into the boat and removed the carpeting from over Big John. They were indeed impressed. Big John tipped the scale at an impressive 103 pounds, 12 ounces.

Bill had been a member of the Miami Beach Rod and Reel Club only a short time and had never taken a fish any where near that size before. I told him then that he had no idea of what he had accomplished that day. I made a daring statement at that time and I stand by it today. That record may never be broken. Now that amberjack has become of such commercial significance, we may never again see an amberjack of that size at the surface where it would become susceptible to a fly rod. Big John now hangs on the wall of Bill’s den in Montana and will live in our memories forever. Check out more fishing adventures at DelphFishingCharters.com