To many anglers, Fort Lauderdale may still seem like a little brother to the well-muscled sailfish centers of Stuart, Palm Beach, Miami and the Keys.

But look again. An aggressive artificial reef program centered in 90 to 300 feet of water has attracted massive schools of baitfish, and, combined with modern livebait kite tactics, success is just about assured for the Lauderdale charter fleet and recreational boats alike.

Best of all, the sailfishing is fairly easy duty. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to fly a kite, and fishermen who can't catch their own bait can always fork over $50 for a dozen goggle-eyes most any day of the season from the bait boats inside Port Everglades Inlet.

Sails are caught here year-round, although winter winds from the north and northeast can move more bait and sailfish into the area and into shallower waters, invoking the classic east coast sailfish bite. A good color change or current rip is what to look for, and, for lack of that, the artificial reefs provide a common sense alternative.

All that's well and good, but the truth is weekend warriors--like tournament anglers--can't always count on ideal conditions. Making do with what's out there--and keeping an open mind as to the possibilities_is critical to success.

That concept was driven home recently at the Fort Lauderdale Billfish Tournament, which I had the good fortune to fish.

Our captain John Wilson, a light-tackle guide from Stuart, had received instructions from an unnamed Lauderdale old-timer who informed in hushed tones, "Six hundred feet and forget the kite. Just flatlines and balloons."

Mike Bumpus and I thought it sounded pretty deep for sailfish, but that's where we were headed. Neither of us knew for certain whether the fellow was pulling our leg or offering honest-to-goodness advice, but we were a long way from the money and willing to at least test the suggestion.

As we later discovered, Deep Throat was right on target, and we had a better shot at winning the thing than we realized. Also, we weren't the only boat to engage in the supposedly covert operation. Indeed, one private boat of young weekenders and two out-of-town charterboats tallied 21 releases in a day's action in 600 to 700 feet. The three boats also swept the top spots.

Jimmy and Freddie David nailed 10 fish before the 26-foot Frick & Frack lost battery power. They drifted in to shallow water, where they lucked into another three fish while waiting for a tow.

John Dudas, captain of the 46-foot charterboat L&H based in Key Biscayne, led his anglers to a half-dozen fish far offshore that same afternoon--enough to clinch second plac--and he ended up dragging Frick & Frack and its crew of victorious brothers back to RJs Landing.

When the duo hit the dock, all eyes were on the release flags above Frick & Frack's T-top. They were festooned with more red than a Chinese Valentine's Day party. For quite some time after the tournament, a popular item of discussion in sportfishing circles was "What in the world happened out there in the wild blue yonder off Port Everglades?"

Capt. Gary Dippold and Hillsboro Marine Fishing Team took third place with nine releases, five on the second day, and he was one of the first to cross the 600-foot line. "What led me to the deeper water was the weather conditions," he said. "I fished the Mako Masters off Palm Beach a few years ago and we won it with 13 releases. On some days off that part of the coast, you hit 400 or 500 feet before the swells start to get big. Off Lauderdale, that same thing happened at 600 feet this year. We had a mild cold front pass over, and when we got out there it was d‚j… vu. We stopped to talk, looked down, saw three sailfish swimming next to the boat, and said, 'This is it!'"

Wilson, Bumpus and I found many of the same conditions in that deep water. As the line on our depthfinder approached the 600 mark, a fleet of flying fish skittered out from our path--the first we'd seen. Good sign, I remember thinking. Sails are tops among the handful of predators equipped with the lightning speed necessary for running down the glittering popsicles.

The water looked productive, too--indigo blue, freckled with scattered bulbs of sargassum and the odd piece of migrant flotsam. Even though the Gulf Stream was shuffling its unseen feet at no more than two knots, we'd at least found some localized, wind-generated current.

Dudas, Dippold and the Davids were fishing a little farther south of us and they chattered over the VHF all day, reporting releases to the tournament committee boat. Our team didn't get anywhere near the top tallies, although we raised two fish and released one closer to shore, but we fished the same methods--drifting live baits on flatlines and under kites. We also used basically the same baits--pilchards and goggle-eyes. Quite simply, the other guys scored and we didn't. On the other hand, neither did several other viable contenders, including many members of the local charter industry.