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The first time I ventured offshore on a sport-fishing boat was in Watamu, Kenya, in 2006, and I was instantly hooked on big-game fishing. I lived in Tanzania at the time and was working as a professional hunter. My adventures in all kinds of fishing disciplines rapidly grew over the years, taking me all over the world in pursuit of a wide variety of species in rivers, lakes and oceans.
Years ago, I met Samir Rahal while fishing in Cape Verde; Rahal is the proprietor of the five-star Terrou-Bi hotel and fishing center in Dakar, Senegal, which sits on the most western tip of the African continent. His boat Twin Soul is a fishing machine, sporting the best equipment and a highly experienced crew ready to take on any big blue marlin, yellowfin and, most notably, giant bluefin tuna.
Lots of community development and hard work goes into protecting the marine ecosystem off Dakar, an area that has always been known for its fantastic fishing. That said, it still might be a secret as to just how large some of these fish can get here: blue marlin in excess of 1,000 pounds, yellowfin tuna over 250 pounds, huge bigeyes and finally, giant bluefins. The waters off Dakar are a natural migratory path for both bluefin and yellowfin tuna; in fact, it’s one of the few places on earth where you have a shot at catching a blue marlin, a yellowfin tuna and a bluefin tuna all in the same day.
I recently found myself living in Dakar, and in mid-December, I joined Twin Soul on a bluewater trip. After a double espresso and a croissant, we left the marina right in front of the beautiful hotel at 8 a.m. I shared a laugh with the crew and my friend Capt. Giorgio Assolari on the way out, telling stories and reminiscing about past catches.
After an easy 30-minute ride, we put the teasers out and started trolling with lures until we were able to locate live bait. We quickly had one bait on the outrigger and another on the downrigger, ready for action. Shortly after 11 a.m., my fishing buddy, Shay Fisher, hooked his first blue marlin; after a brief fight, we released the fish with high-fives all around. Following a second espresso and an early lunch, we pulled a spread of lures to another spot, quickly catching more live bait and a couple of dorado along the way. We spent the afternoon looking to hook into something special. I was next up on the rod.
Two other boats in the vicinity had hookups right at 4:30 p.m. as Assolari marked a big fish at about 90 feet. A few seconds passed, and then chaos erupted when the reel started to scream, humming with a heavier tone that could only mean a giant bluefin. The excitement of being harnessed to the reel in the fighting chair and the bucket list battle ahead is hard to explain. For two hours this fish showed me why it’s the strongest fighter in the ocean, taking line right down into the Dacron backing multiple times.
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It was epic watching the sun setting through the harmattan—the dust blowing over from the Sahara Desert this time of year—while hooked into the fish of a lifetime. All the preparation didn’t ready me for the sheer power, and we battled for the next two hours.
My feet ached from pushing down on the fighting chair as I fought with the nearly locked-up drag. The giant fish pulled line as if it was nothing. I slowly fought for every inch of line back, until I finally lifted the beast from the depths. After four and a half hours, we boated the tuna. I was mesmerized at how big and thick it was, realizing the epic fight I had just completed.
At the dock, my fish tipped the scales at just over 700 pounds. A lifelong dream had come true. I was overwhelmed with emotion at having succeeded in this fishery—one of the pinnacles of offshore fishing—amid the small but vibrant community of Senegal’s sport fishermen.
