Anglers seldom anchor over submerged wrecks to bait up pelagic fish, but that’s exactly what we were doing only minutes after our anchor line came taut. From a livewell brimming with bait, Jeff Weakley was tossing handfuls of wiggling pilchards behind our anchored office boat, the mighty Manta (pride of the Stuart fleet).

Colorful corals attract a wide variety of fish.

Much to our surprise, except for Jeff, who seems to expect these things, a dark sail popped up only 20 yards astern, within easy casting range. It casually eased around, gulping single baitfish that suddenly found themselves between the devil and deep blue sea, so to speak, with nowhere to run. Or hide; that big sail was making short work of them. Another handful of bait was flung out, with crew members pointing at the twisting sail. I groped for a fat pilchard in the well and pinned a brown, offset circle hook just forward of its eyes.

The medium spin outfit arced that livie right into the strike zone, which for sailfish must be about 20 yards, and the line quickly came tight with the reel in gear. When the rod was bowed up like a banana and the drag singing, I pumped it twice and handed it off to my son Ian, who hung on while the sail smoked for the horizon. Sandwiches flew in the air, and getting the anchor line on its buoy was a comedy to watch, since our crew of offshore veterans, wives and teenagers had not previously worked together as a team. One motor sputtered to life and I spun the boat around and began to follow the fish, Ian easing up to the bow, keeping the rod high and bent.

Free to follow, our only worry now was a wad of sargassum weed on that 20-pound line. More than a dozen leaps later, we unhooked the sail and released it after pictures. The circle hook had done a perfect job. So had the wreck, for that matter, which attracts a lot more critters than just bottom fish. Back on our anchor buoy, we were soon live-chumming bonito, with doubleheaders hooked up. A nice dolphin soon came aboard, along with several bottom fish.

You gotta love Florida’s offshore artificial reefs; they simply attract fish across the entire spectrum, from billfish to snapper. With several thousand permitted artificial reefs, Florida just keeps building more all the time. (Today’s reefs are greatly refined from earlier years, when fishermen dumped the wrong stuff over the side, even refrigerators that floated away. That’s why today’s materials are restricted mostly to concrete and ships).

Dropping concrete offshore is easy, with the right gear.

“We have our state artificial reef fund secured for this year, another $600,000,” says Bill Horn, an environmental specialist in the artificial reef section of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. “All are scheduled for sinking before the end of June, because the permits expire then. You have to get a permit for a reef, and they won’t give you one if your site is near live bottom. We’re trying to enhance non-productive areas, so we stay away from live bottom.”

As it turns out, Florida has a pretty good slate of new artificial reefs scheduled for this year. First in line is Oriskany in Pensacola, the Vietnam-era aircraft carrier that is more than 800 feet long.