bluefin tuna
Dean Martin and dive buddy Steve Hathaway made an attempt at the giant bluefin off New Zealand in a well prepared effort. Dean Recalls his word-record hunt.
A number of years ago, a commercial-fisherman friend told me that he often painted huge blips on his sonar while night fishing off the west coast of South Island, New Zealand. He reckoned they had to be bluefin tuna. His stories triggered my interest in the possibility of spearing one, so my dive mate and I, Steve Hathaway, began to plan a trip. These giants are most often seen off South Island’ s east coast. While this area is known for its scenic beauty, it is also our most isolated and exposed coastline. Treacherous weather from the south brings huge seas and high winds, often lasting for weeks, sometimes months. One needs only to read the dozens of plaques dedicated to lost fishermen in West Port to begin to appreciate the dangers of hunting in these waters.
Steve talked to local commercial fishermen for months to learn as much as possible about these fish and the dangerous seas they inhabit. He learned that a single tuna could pull down seven, large commercial fishing floats, and they traveled in dangerous company. Each fisherman told a similar story, with a recurring antagonist. Huge mako sharks bit away the entire body of their tuna from the gills down, while they struggled in vain to bring these beasts into the boat. The hapless fishermen were left with nothing but tuna heads for their troubles. These were very sobering conversations, indeed. All the local fishermen agreed, they would never swim in these sharky waters. They thought we were crazy for even considering it. This particular year, there was an unusually high number of makos around. One fisherman described them as being present in“ plague proportions.” Sometimes after these talks, Steve would come away with serious doubts about the venture.
Previously, two bluefin tuna had been boated— 168 and 204 kilograms( kgs)— by divers who felt that it would be impossible to land a bigger one. They said it was simply too hard for a single diver to lift such a massive fish from the depths. Despite the negative comments and potential of getting eaten, Steve and I resolved to make the attempt.
My contribution to the team was to build the special gear required— a gun and a float that could
handle monster fish. I originally had a concept for an underwater parachute to slow the fish down, but the thought of getting tangled in extra lines nixed that idea. Instead, I decided to modify a simple Boogie Board by adding a solid wood backing, designed to handle the stress of the board getting pulled through the water at waterskiing speeds. I added a triple harness, which I hoped would keep it level as the fish pulled it through the water.
The guns were another story. Being a“ build it yourself” guy, I modified my 20-year-old, homebuilt gun by doubling its length and adding seven 18-mm rubbers, along with a Riffe shaft and a Steve Alexander slip tip. After the first test exploded the trigger mechanism under the load of 700 pounds, I cut a new mechanism from some old 318 stainless steel. Our next practice shots revealed that, while we now had a very accurate gun, the recoil was so strong it bruised our hands. We solved this problem by adding a Tommy-Gun-like handle for better maneuverability and shock absorption. Our gear was finally ready.
I trained in the pool each morning to avoid possible leg cramps, should fighting the fish take ages. The excitement was unbelievable! We talked on the phone several times a day for six months and continued to prepare our gear, attempting to cover every possible scenario to ensure safety. Steve booked a boat with the skipper that started the commercial fishery for bluefin tuna in New Zealand. He shared with us many of his encounters and experiences with these fish, but he remained dubious about the possibility of landing one with a spear.
Soon, hunt day was upon us, and we sailed to the zone. Upon finding a fishy area, we ground bait from the boat, hoping to get these fish within shooting range. The chum worked well to pull in the odd fish, but the water was filled with fluffy white plankton, and the visibility was limited to 15 meters. With the water clarity obscured, the large, camouflaged tuna blended into the background. Our sinking white bait looked like small flickering lights contrasting brightly against the dark water. Frequently, while diving into the chum, a“ light” blinked out as a large fish came from virtually anywhere to engulf the ground bait. Quite quickly, all the bait disappeared; time to jump back into the boat and try again.
I was lucky to be first up to dive, with Steve on my
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