Catch more than one of these amberjack in a day, and you won't be smiling for long. They're tough.

Man, I’d like to catch some jacks this weekend.”

I wasn’t sure why my friend wanted to waste a whole day on amberjack fishing. Then he clarified, “I mean some big jacks,” and I could picture the smile on his face. Captain Matt McLeod followed that up during the next few days with phrases like, “I want to find some good’uns,” and, “I don’t mean some little punk jacks.” I chuckle at my friend when he says that, because I know two things: He’s dead serious about fishing, and he will find the fish he’s after.

Word on the docks was that offshore rocks to the southwest and the neighboring oil platforms MP255 and MP252 were holding monster jacks. Matt put the trip together with his girlfriend Renee Seuzeneau, her dad Sheldon, her brother Mark and his wife Lisa. Mark and Lisa were visiting from Tampa and this would be their first real offshore trip, but both are accomplished inshore anglers. Matt steered the 31-foot center console southwest out of Daybreak Marina to our destination about 70 miles away.

About 35 miles southwest, we stopped to bait up. Several of us put down two-drop rigs loaded with squid over a barge that sat in about 130 feet of water. We weren’t trigger fishing or snapper fishing, we were bait fishing. You’ve heard it before, but we knew we needed some monster baits to get the big jacks to bite and keep the “skeeters” as Matt might call them from eating all our livies. We caught some fine hardtails, or blue runners, in the 12- to 14-inch range, but that wouldn’t do. We loaded the livewell with porgies, or what the locals call white snapper, that were between 2 and 3 pounds each. We also had some fine football-size mingos, or vermilion snapper, and a mixture of other baits, too. We were ready to fire way.

As we finished our run to the rocks, there was only one other boat within sight and we basically had the place to ourselves. A quick circle over the spot and we had fish marking solid at about 125 feet, which left us another 100 feet or so to the bottom. We would rig a single rod at a time with one big bait and put it on the downrigger at, you guessed it, 125 feet. Our plan was to belt someone up and have them ready, slow-troll this bait right past their wheelhouse and hang on.

Another good AJ trait--they love jigs.

On our first pass, the fish didn’t disappoint as Matt tangled shortly with a “little” 30-pounder. Matt almost never takes the first fish, but this one hit the bait as he was lowering the downrigger. And honestly, I think everyone wanted to see what they were getting into before they stepped up to the plate.

Sheldon was up and ready on the next pass, and our eldest member of the crew (at 63) made it look easy. That is to say, he didn’t scream like a sissy each time the big fish would rip off 20 or 30 yards of line. (I won’t admit to the same behavior either, regardless of what the crew says). After about 10 to 12 minutes of anticipation, Sheldon’s fish graced the cockpit and would weigh 56.8 pounds back at the docks. High-fives and grins lit up the boat. We were in a groove now. Matt would load the rod with one of our bigger baits and I would slow-troll us over the rocks until one-by-one we all got a turn at the big fish below.

Mark would next tangle with his best-ever jack, grunting and sweating in the July heat until his fish, a modest 51-pounder, was finally aboard. My trash-talking while the guys fought their fish finally caught up with me. After several rounds of, “You know your sister would have had that one in the boat by now,” the crew decided it was my turn. Matt dropped the downrigger and turned us west and then northwest back over the rock, as I put on the gut-bucket. The rodtip bounced a couple of times as the line popped out of the downrigger. I picked up the rod, free-spooled it a bit and then threw it into gear after a few seconds of payout. The rod bent sharply and I could barely make it into the belt under the pressure of this fish.