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TAG-AND-RELEASE PROGRAM LETS FISH SWIM AWAY AFTER FISHER'S ADVENTURE OFF KONA COAST
By STEVE MITCHELL Special Sections Writer
LA TIMES
They'd caught seven big billfish off the Kona Coast the day before our outing, including a 798-pound Pacific blue marlin. The charter fishing fleet also returned to the Big Island marina with 10 mahi-mahi, the feisty game fish called dorado in Southern California. But there was no telling how many fish we might bring in.
Capt. Neal Isaacs told me all this as he steered his 33-foot Bertram sportfishing boat, the Anxious, out past the lava rock harbor entrance to Honokohau Marina, three miles north of Kailua-Kona.
Quickly doing the math in my head, I figured 25 boats went out, keeping or releasing a total of 17 quality game fish. Obviously somebody got the short end of the rod. "So, there's a good chance we could get skunked," I said to the captain. Turning to me on the bridge, Isaacs had to raise his voice to be heard above the growling twin 320-horsepower Caterpillar diesel engines. "'That's why they call it 'fishing' instead of 'catching',"' he said, smiling.
 I'd been on charter boats before, fishing off Catalina, San Clemente Island and San Diego. I'd also fished from small pangas in Loreto and larger cabin cruisers in Cabo San Lucas. But the outing in April was my first excursion off the Kona Coast, known as one of the premier fishing destinations in the world.
Isaacs is president of the Kona Sportfishing Promotional Group, which represents about 85% of the charter boats on the island. In addition to promoting deep sea fishing, the group supports a tag-and-release-program, but the final decision to keep or free the billfish is up to the customer and the captain.
I planned to tag and release anything that wasn't what I considered to be good eating fish, like mahi-mahi.
The Big Island of Hawaii has 50 miles of 1 leeward coastline, protected from the winds by the Kohala Mountains, the Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa volcanoes and Mt. Hualalai. The calm, deep waters are like a magnet, attracting powerful blue, black and striped marlin as they follow their prey - schools of tuna and other small bait fish – through the island chain.
In addition to marlin, there are many other varieties of big game fish off this beautiful coastline, including Pacific sailfish, spearfish, ono (wahoo) and ahi (yellowfin tuna).
My day on the ocean had been arranged by my long-time friend and fishing buddy, Larry Gregg, a carpenter who works on boats out of a small shop at the harbor. We were joined dockside by Isaacs, owner of the Anxious, and Tony Clark, a veteran fisherman who is usually the skipper of the boat- unless Isaacs wants to take her out. Our deckhand for the day was 13-year-old Chris Choy, the son of restaurateur and TV chef Sam Choy, who wrote "The Choy of Cooking" and other cookbooks.
Friends had told me amazing stories of catching billfish right outside Honokohau Harbor, sometimes as soon as their lures hit the water. But two hours into the trip, we hadn't so much as snagged a piece of kelp.
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"For a fisherman, it's the most beautiful sound in the world. Clark shouted 'Hook-up!'"
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With five lines out, Isaacs trolled in front of Kealakekua Bay, where Capt. James Cook was killed by angry Hawaiians back in 1779 in a confrontation over a stolen boat. Then on past the gentle slopes of Mauna Loa, which at 13,680 feet, is one of the world's largest volcanoes. A half-dozen pilot whales circled off the starboard side of the boat, feeding on bait fish. A few miles down the line, we saw four Pygmy whales, their pale shiny hides making them look like miniature Moby Dicks as they briefly surfaced, then slid back into the glassy cobalt blue sea.
Three hours out and suddenly there was the scream of 130-pound test line peeling off the gold-plated Penn International reel mounted on custom rods secured to the rail of the Anxious. For a fisherman, it's the most beautiful sound in the world. Clark shouted "Hook-up!" and Isaacs slowly throttled back on the engines,
Leaping off the gunwale, I climbed into the fighting chair, an imposing piece of furniture with a fiberglass foot rest the size of a snowboard. Clark handed me the heavy rod and reel, encouraging me to use my knees and thighs to fight the fish, instead of my back.
I didn't know what I had until the 40-pound shortbill spearfish broke surface and raised its head, wildly shaking the purple lure in its mouth. Highlighted by a bright blue dorsal fin running from the top of its head to the tail, the small spearfish battled fiercely, but was no match for the heavy tackle better suited for its larger billfish brethren.
Within minutes, the 5-foot-long fish was alongside the boat where Choy deftly tagged it with a bright yellow tagging stick. Clark unhooked the lure and released the spearfish, which languished on the surface for a few seconds before darting into the blue darkness below.
"There's not a whole lot of those kind of fish around," Isaacs said. "Kona is one of the few areas in the world where the shortbill spearfish is found." He said anglers who want to catch every billfish that swims come to Kona to get their shortbill spearfish. And, he said, all of the light tackle and fly fishing records for spearfish are for fish caught off Kona.
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Billfish Conservation
by Captain Neal Isaacs
The tagging and releasing of billfish helps conserve the billfish population and also gives us much needed information as to their growth and habits from the returned tags.
The "Anxious" fishing team supports tagging and releasing of billfish, depending upon the condition of the fish.
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Feeling pretty good about the rarity of my catch, if not the size, I sat back and enjoyed the scenery as we continued trolling. Within an hour, the reel began screaming again, and this time, Isaacs was on deck to hand me the rod. Suddenly, the line went stack. Cursing softly, Isaacs released the spool, feeding yards of line into the wake behind the boat.
And there, about 30 yards behind me, was another spearfish, leaping out of the water toward the lure like a kitten chasing a ball of thread. After the third or fourth watery pounce, the line went tight again and I set the hook. "You got him," Isaacs yelled, as the billfish began its run, peeling more line off the reel.
This one put up more of a battle, even with the heavy line, and by the time I got it to the boat, the fish and I both had a workout. "This one's bigger - maybe 50 pounds," said Clark, who released the billfish after Choy tagged it.
Back at the helm, Isaacs was monitoring the radio reports from the other charter boats. He announced that our two spearfish were about the most exciting thing going on that day, and suggested we come about and "head for the barn."
On the way back in, the veteran skipper congratulated me again, adding I might expect a phone call or two from the National Marine Fisheries Service, sometime in the future. "What'll happen is, those spearfish you caught might be caught again ' and hopefully, someone will write down the number off of the tags attached to the fish and notify the National Marine Fisheries Service," Isaacs said.
And when that number is found to correspond to the number on the postcard', I filled out after each tag and release, the agency is supposed to contact me, he explained. He said tagging and releasing a fish can be every bit as exciting as hauling it up on a rope at the dock and taking pictures of it. Most billfish, with the exception of swordfish, are not very good eating, so the value of killing it would mostly be ego.
But by catching and releasing the fish, an angler not only helps ensure the continued existence of the beast for other fishermen down the line, but provides scientific information about the species.
For example, Isaacs said, he tagged and released a 190-pound blue marlin right in front of the harbor two years ago. "It turned up off the Galapagos Islands about 100 days later," the skipper said. "That's 3,500 miles away."
As we rounded the entrance to the harbor and motored past the marina's fish dock, Clark tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the weigh-in area. There, hanging by its tail, was a small spearfish. The angler stood proudly beside the fish as his companions snapped photographs. "Guess he won't be getting that phone call," I said.
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