Tripletail have a certain prehistoric look that rightfully suggests toughness.

It was my turn at bat. I stared at the dark fish hanging beside the marker buoy off Port Canaveral. This would be a triple or a strikeout, I mused. After gobbling up my live shrimp, the big, feisty tripletail beat it back toward its barnacle-laden home. It pumped like a giant bluegill.

“Whoa!” I yelled, watching line melt off my spinning reel.

Tripletail angling around pilings, docks, wrecks and other structure is much like bottom fishing for grouper. When a big grouper hits, the first few seconds are critical in getting the fish away from structure. It’s the same with tripletail.

I palmed the spool of my reel, turning the fish.

“Good job,” said Jim Ross, as he eased the boat away from the marker. Suddenly, the fish streaked back toward the structure like a ball player trying to steal home without getting picked off. I cranked down and again the fish turned, this time heading straight for the boat at full sprint.

“It’s a big one,” said Ross. “At least a 30-pounder.” Russ Rivers, standing barefoot nearby, nodded in agreement. Both had caught a glimpse of the fish.

I was about to pat myself on the back for keeping the fish from fouling my line, but then it happened: The fish made a third and final trip to the buoy where it slid into the barnacles, slicing my heavy mono leader.

The day was young and the dejection short-lived. As we worked the buoy line that extends off Port Canaveral, we landed several tripletail in the 8- to 12-pound class. Just none as big and tough as the one that broke me off. After each hookup, we used the boat to finesse our fish away from cutoffs.

We saved a tripletail each for the dinner table. The meat is white and delectable. In Florida, each angler is allowed two tripletails over 15 inches per day. I especially like them battered in a mix of buttermilk, corn meal and flour, and fried in hot peanut oil

Tripletail have been a favorite of mine since I was a youngster fishing the Gulf of Mexico with my dad, just across the state line in Gulf Shores, Alabama. I will never forget my introduction to tripletail fishing. Back then, we called them blackfish.

I remembered those early days fondly as Ross, Rivers and I worked the markers off Port Canaveral. I learned early on that for this type of fishing, a good skipper can make a big difference in whether you score or strike out.

During my first tripletail trip as a boy we spotted a big “blackfish” hanging around a marker buoy. The captain told my dad to cast his bait to the piling and hang on. Apparently, Dad was so excited that he must have misinterpreted the “hang on” advice and just as he hooked up on the big fish, the skipper hit the throttle to keep the fish from swimming back to the buoy and cutting him off. Apparently, Dad should have been clutching the fishing rod with one hand and the boat with the other. Unfortunately, he had both hands on the fishing rod when the skipper gunned the engine. This sudden maneuver flung him bouncing on his butt all the way across the width of the boat. For a few seconds, he was as dogged as the fish. Dad managed to get back on his feet and subdue the big fish.

Pitching baits and jigs to Canaveral buoys.

What’s great about fishing out of Port Canaveral for tripletails is that you don’t have to have a big offshore boat to catch them around the buoys and jetties on a calm day. At times you can catch them inshore around markers in the Intracoastal Waterway.