You’ve heard the term. Whether it conjures up images of sizzling reels or cold fish dip, “smoker” pays homage to those mythic, 30-pound-plus kingfish. If catching one of these guys is your passion, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more productive port than Jupiter, Florida.

Plenty of facilities near Jupiter Inlet.

Located in northern Palm Beach County, Jupiter was built around a single, unifying concept. Settled originally by hermits and shipwreckers, the town quite literally learned how to live off the land. It wasn’t long afterwards that residents began augmenting their trapping and farming incomes by catching and selling fish. As the years went by, schools of Spanish mackerel, bluefish and pompano were gill-netted commercially in an effort to satisfy our nation’s growing obsession with seafood. Eventually, commercial fishing became Jupiter’s defining opus. Yet while inshore netting supplied the town’s bread-and-butter, it was an offshore species that put icing on the cake.

Kingfish, or kings, echo the town’s history and still help pay its bills. If smaller schoolies provide the daily drama, those truly large individuals give it an epic twist.

I speak from experience. Not long ago I, too, hook-and-lined these giants for profit. My fishing partner and I would fish just north of the inlet, then race back to the dock and later, to Fort Lauderdale in hopes of selling as many as we could stuff in the box. I still remember how we took them to a particular restaurant that specialized in kingfish steaks. Our greed notwithstanding, it was legal in those days and everybody got their money’s worth.

Back then, we’d drag blue runners on 50-pound outfits. That part hasn’t really changed. Neither has the need to muscle a big king into the boat before the sharks or porpoises get her. If you haven’t tried it, putting the boots to a 40-pounder on heavy tackle is a lot like punching a brick wall. There’s an immediate stutter, followed by a feeling of helplessness that can take minutes to wear off.

At one time, the schools of juveniles stretched for miles. That was before commercial interests drift-netted kingfish by the tons. The runs eventually dwindled as a result, leaving a few large individuals in their wake. Incidentally, if you no longer see nets drying, it’s because long-overdue legislation put an end to the slaughter.

Jupiter has always represented the epicenter of the smoker fishery. Although populations of trophy fish remain fairly widespread, with major concentrations occurring in the northern Gulf of Mexico and off Key West, it’s still Palm Beach and Martin counties that host the motherlode.

School kings normally frequent depths ranging from 50 to 140 feet, but the larger individuals tend to run closer to shore.

Off Jupiter, smokers can be found anywhere from 80 feet of water to the actual surf, where they’re occasionally seen skyrocketing through baitfish schools. The big kings seldom school, rather choosing to behave like supercharged barracudas.

The biggest fish are often hooked very close to the beach around bait schools.

For some, there’s still a business side to kingfishing. Nowadays, however, it’s a series of light-tackle tournaments that’s generating all the interest and attention. An organization known as the Southern Kingfish Association currently sponsors huge contests that award hefty prizes for the largest fish, while attracting hundreds of boats. When I spoke with SKA entrant Mike Hogan, he explained the lure of competition kingfishing:

“The SKA conducts a series of major tournaments throughout the south. They recently held one down your way [Fort Lauderdale]. I understand the winning fish came from Jupiter.”

I commented that Jupiter seemed a long way to run. However, Mike assured me that marathon dashes were part of the program. (continued)