An angler fishing off Stuart hooked this monster bull shark, then tail-roped it for a photo before release. Simply cutting the leader is recommended for anglers who don't wish to court boatside peril.

“Get your little rod and help us catch bait,” Brian said.

By that, they meant I should cast a “regular” streamer on my “little” 9-weight rig in order to help fill the livewell. Meanwhile, both captains intended to use spinning outfits and bucktail jigs to tap into what appeared to be an inexhaustible school of one-pound jacks. I followed their instructions but was rebuffed. It’s only then that I recalled Andy’s words about bringing along a sinking line.

By the time it was over, we managed to catch several dozen jacks and two Spanish mackerel. The mackerel, incidentally, didn’t care a lick about how fast the fly sank. A big one hit and burnt my stripping finger just about the time Brian and Andy finished squaring away the boat. Within minutes, I was back in position and braced for another high-speed run.

It didn’t take long to reach wreck number two. By the time we slowed, I could already see fish on the surface. Once again, they were mostly jacks, only this time much larger. I quickly managed to tie a foam popper to my makeshift leader and get one in the boat before things took a serious turn. Within a few minutes, however, we were ready to embark on the mirthless business of teasing barracudas for chum.

If you intend to catch sharks offshore with any consistency, chumming is de rigueur. And it so happens that hereabouts, ’cudas make excellent chum. Following this premise, Brian and Andy have worked out a system of teasing cudas with live jacks fished on heavy conventional gear where their customers get in on the act. Whenever a cuda strikes the jack, it immediately cuts it in half. That’s when whoever’s working the teaser rod jerks the remaining half into the boat while the sport immediately slaps a “head fly” in its place. Today, that sport was me.

As we came to rest at anchor, I was able to completely survey my surroundings. From what I could see, barracudas were everywhere. Andy grabbed the teasing rod first but the cudas within casting range weren’t in a cooperative mood. Although I eventually got my chance, after missing two shots and failing to hook a huge grouper that rose from the wreck, I was summarily sent to the foredeck and told to reflect on my sins.

Brian took over. By using a combination of live bait and a rubber tube lure, he quickly managed to land several 20-pounders. I hoped we were finally in business. As it turned out, no sooner had Andy hung two butterflied cuda carcasses from a cleat than the action shifted gears.

I was the first to see it. Back a hundred yards in the slick, a dorsal and tail fin cleaved the surface while a large shark began homing in on the scent. The shark was coming fast. I’d seen his kind before, yet never while holding a fly rod in my hands.

“Big hammerhead,” Andy proclaimed excitedly. “That fish looks 10 feet long.”

I knew he was right. At the same time, I was anxious to capture the action on film. Hammerheads are especially powerful, fast-moving sharks that take advantage of an incredibly sensitive homing mechanism to locate their prey. Whether this one would strike was problematical.

When I made the decision to dive for my camera, Brian was happy to grab a fly rod. I knew he understood the drill, so we’d find out one way or the other whether it was possible to hook, let alone hold such a monster. By the time he was able to make a back cast, the hammerhead was within range. What followed was a series of perfect deliveries that kept the fly continually in its path.

Compared to the big hammerhead, the oversized Deceiver looked like a misplaced orange crumb. The shark ignored it several times but finally inhaled it a mere 20 feet from the boat. The strike precipitated a merry romp that practically ripped rod and reel from Brian’s sweaty hands. He worked the heavy tackle to his advantage. Unfortunately, after running 50 yards, the shark straightened out the 4/0 hook, leaving him to reel back the fly line empty-handed. At this point, everybody wanted to shoot the messenger.