Gorging on Albacore : Return of Popular Tuna to California Coast Has Anglers Rushing Frantically to Experience Their Feverish Bite

Fishermen came to this city with high expectations but with only vague recollections of how it once was, back when albacore visited our coast nearly every summer and fall.

Even after they boarded the Pacific Dawn in an attempt to experience an albacore bite for the first time in at least 10 years--1985 was the last time there was a substantial run--they wondered if the silver and black tuna still had them spellbound.

John Shull, guiding his boat through the blackest of nights en route to the fishing grounds about 100 miles from his slip at Cisco’s Sportfishing, assured them that nothing had changed.

The “winged” or longfin tuna bring out the best in an angler’s abilities and the worst in his or her character.

From the moment the first fish strikes, Shull said, the transformation from civilized person to pushing, shoving, selfish, crazed maniac is immediate.

It’s all part of the game. Some realize this and accept it. Some even claim they get a certain “rush” from all the excitement. Those who can’t handle it are weeded out and usually end up fishing at the deserted bow, often to no avail.

Robin Milton Love, author, professor and marine biologist, once wrote of the experience:

“It is amazing how a group of ordinary, fairly civilized folk can become so unpleasant. There are among us people of a more sensitive nature who would rather suffer gangrene of limb than board another albacore boat.”

The response of an avid albacore fisherman to this statement might be: “More room for us.”

“Call it longfin fever or whatever, but it’s true. There’s nothing quite like an albacore,” said Randy Stanger, who last caught one in 1979.

He and other anglers have been waiting too long for the most popular tuna to return. Many thought they would never see an albacore again.

Nobody knows for sure why they stopped showing off Baja California and Central California coasts. Experts theorize that a series of El Ninos, which have altered oceanic conditions over the past decade, has something to do with it.

Albacore are sensitive to changes in water temperature. They prefer cooler, clear, blue water in the low 60s. The ocean off northern Baja has been in the low 70s the last several summers, attracting yellowfin tuna but no albacore. Neither have conditions off Central California been ideal for albacore.

Until this year.

Though the ocean can be rough and boats must travel through the night to reach the fishing grounds--the most productive area has been at the Rodriguez Sea Mount, 60 miles off Point Conception but between 80-100 miles from landings from Morro Bay to Port Hueneme--interest has been extremely high.

‘People are calling every five seconds,” said Louie Abbott, owner of Harbor Village Sportfishing in Ventura. “My left ear is completely cauliflower from talking on the phone. That’s the truth.”

Phillip Friedman, who opened the sportfishing information hot line, 976-TUNA, in 1985, hoping to cash in on the popularity of albacore runs just in time to see the fish suddenly stop coming, said interest in the current run has been so great that his line “blew out” Sunday and was down for three hours.

“It overloaded,” he said. “We’re trying to add a few new lines to keep up. This is crazy.”

Indeed, after a 10-year remission, albacore fever is again nearing epidemic proportions.

Shull said even he had some doubts at first and that he had to experience the bite for himself to believe it. Recalling his first trip to the area a few weeks ago, he could barely restrain himself.

“It was so cool, man, just to get that first jig strike,” he said. “I hadn’t fished them yet. It was always in the back of my mind when we hooked up that, like, with my luck it’ll be a . . . skipjack or something. But then we got the fish to the boat and it’s an albie and it’s like, ‘Right on, man.’ Then it was total pandemonium.”

Shull’s luck was excellent. His 13 passengers battled 30- to 40-pound albacore all day, catching 125 and losing a few dozen others.

His next trip, in 30-knot winds and eight-foot seas, was just as chaotic but not as productive.

“We get a jig strike and I look out the [wheelhouse] window and here come seven, eight guys stomping up the side with a rod in one hand and a death grip on a sardine in the other hand,” Shull said. “I said, ‘What are you guys doing? The fish are on the [stern] corner.’ It’s got to be organized. You cast off corner and follow your bait around. Some of these people don’t know that.”

Most of those aboard the Pacific Dawn were aware of what they were supposed to do when the first albacore struck.

Doug Urbach, Brad Norris and Brian Hart were experienced fishermen. So were Todd and Greg Phillips of Seal Beach, John Boland of Orange and Joey Sauceda of Camarillo.

James Baker of Camarillo was experienced, but his 15-year-old son, Jeremy, had never wet his line for big game offshore.

He was eager to try, though. Until the boat ride started to get to him--and everyone else.

Dawn had long passed and the passengers, wide-eyed and alert only an hour or so before, were lulled into a state of semiconsciousness by the constant rocking and by the steady drone of the diesel engines.

Some were sprawled out on the cushioned seats in the galley. Others stared out over a white-capped ocean that seemed to span forever.

The monotony of it all was hypnotizing.

And it was only 9:30 a.m. Something should have happened by . . . ZZZZIIIINNNNNGGGGGGG!!!!

The sound of line screaming from one of the trolling rigs at the stern prompted the call, “Hookup!” Suddenly, all were on their feet scrambling for the deck, moving as if the galley were on fire.

Pushing, shoving, stumbling toward the gurgling bait tank as if it were a fountain of youth, they reached for the sardines and cast them into the tossing sea.

One by one they moved across the stern, following their baits in as they drifted with the current. One of the baits was taken. Stanger hooked up first and was pulled across the stern, almost knocking several people over before making his way up the port rail, somehow managing to avoid tangles. Urbach hooked up and was taken in the same direction, crashing against anglers not wanting to budge, wishing their sardines would be inhaled by a hungry albacore. Sauceda hooked up. So did Greg Phillips, and a few others.

Deckhands Shawn Steward and Sammy Chavez ran the rails with the gaffs, trying to determine which fish were close enough to stick.

Stanger’s came up first and was plucked from the sea and plopped onto Shull’s clean deck. Urbach’s fish made it over the rail next, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Phillips and Sauceda fought their fish, side by side at the bow, while a few others hooked up at the stern.

Shull, shouting “Fresh one!” after each hookup, monitored from atop the bait tank.

Suddenly, the bite ended. Nine albacore from 25 to 40 pounds and five large bluefin tuna littered Shull’s deck.

Those who caught albacore high-fived their buddies, who seemed half-hearted in their congratulations, wanting only to catch an albacore of their own, hoping their turn would come after the next jig strike.