Somehow kingfish ripping line off our reels and a sailfish gone berserk reminded me of our crew-a boatload of watermen, with ages spanning multiple decades. Why? Because looking around the cockpit, I realized that surfers grow up to become fishermen.

A rigged flyingfish is a geat go-to bait for kinfish and other types of striking fish.

And, why shouldn't they? Both sports-fishing and surfing-bear many similar, yet contrasting qualities. Fish go airborne-kingfish skyrocket, sails tailwalk, tarpon jump, marlin greyhound-and surfers go aerial, busting frontside off the tops, backside 360s, inverts and lip launches through wave crests in mighty vaults. Both sports provide plenty of thrills. What's more, enthusiasts of both disciplines stay attached to their passions by a string-fishing line for anglers and leg ropes for wave riders. It's no wonder so many Florida surfers gravitate toward fishing in their continued quests to sate that thirst for oceanic challenge. 

Being a longtime fisherman and surfer, I found it hard to conceal my excitement the morning I joined Melbourne resident Capt. Dick Catri (credited as the father of East Coast surfing and topnotch charter skipper to boot) for a day of offshore fishing with a double dose of Central Florida surf star brothers-C.J. and Damien Hobgood plus Cory and Shea Lopez-ranked No. 1, No. 10, No. 3 and No. 15, respectively, on the professional surfing World Championship Tour.

Our targets? Speedy kingfish and acrobatic sails, two all-time Sebastian offshore favorites-perfect adversaries for angling surfers seeking fishy thrills.

Our plan was two-fold. After loading up on bait by gold-hooking a cast of scaled sardines, threadfin herring (greenies) and cigar minnows, Catri set course for kingfish grounds approximately seven miles northeast of Sebastian Inlet. Locating the exact locale of the hot kingfish bite wasn't too difficult. A fleet of commercial kingfish buggers marked it fairly well, spinning their rigs around in tight circles to keep on top of the fish, which covered our bottom machine screen on the first pass.

From top to bottom in the 55-foot depths, kingfish appeared on the machine as a solid blob. I thought we were marking bait until the skipper swung the wheel of the 31-foot sportfisher so that our baits would intercept one of the seething masses below. Moments later, four rods sounded a kingfish alarm in unison and the fifth just bucked under the weight of a hefty, speedy mack before popping upright and going slack (the result, we presumed, of another kingfish chomping the swivel in front of the lure). After clearing the deck and putting out gear for a second pass, another pod appeared on the screen of Catri's Escape II, and once again all rods sang that familiar kingfish song, line melting from the reels at an alarming clip. We pulled 'em in and prepared for a third go-round, trolling spoons rigged behind downplaners and a lure/bait combo consisting of a flyingfish rigged on a patriotic red-white-and-blue Ilander.

We considered switching to live baits for the third pass but didn't dare, deciding it best to stick with the speedy approach because these fish were so fired up. Live baits were unnecessary. As soon as Catri's or any other boat in the fleet crossed a pod of fish, every lure in its spread got hammered.

For about two hours straight, we popped 'em and stopped 'em, caught up in an incredible kingfish bite. Our strategy was simple: Mark the fish, grab the rods. Kings were that thick!

After wrestling and releasing maybe three dozen kings, it became routine and we ran offshore in search of "bigger waves," hopefully of the billfish or tuna persuasion. Twelve miles out, we spotted something worth checking-an anchored shrimpboat. Mate Tommy Smith prepared a combination lure/ballyhoo and lure/flyingfish spread as Catri nosed the boat in closer to the shrimper's transom.

"Watch for cobia up top and silver flashes below," our skipper advised as we edged into casting range. "There could be some blackfin tuna still hanging near the boat. It's common for blackfins and bonito to home in on rock shrimpers in early morning while deckhands cull the night's catch. Even after the goodies are gone, schools often remain in the area waiting for more free meals thrown their way."