It was the last day, very near quitting time, and while we tried to raise another fish for Karl, it just didn't happen. As I sat there, finishing up my beer, cooling down and pondering a possible sailfish double, the captain suddenly kicked up the engine rpm's a couple of hundred - a sure sign he had sighted thrusting bills and burgeoning sails thrashing the surface into foamy whorls of white water and frantic bait. We quickly closed the distance, the captain skillfully maneuvering the boat so only the teasers would pass through the carnage. All eyes were locked on the teasers and everyone was ready for the inevitable. He insisted the boat go into neutral the moment a sail first nailed a teaser.
Apte insists the boat be dead in the water when the fly is tossed.
We never had a problem drawing the sail to the boat using Stu's technique, and when the fish was in range, there was no prop-wash to obscure the fly or the fish. Not one hungry sail, properly teased, ever lost interest or refused the fly. I had to slow down the crank on my reel so the mate could rip his teaser through the gang of billfish first, removing it from the water so only mine would remain. As I continued working the fish, Stu, nonchalantly strolled over to his rod, picked it up, and took his sweet time about readying for the cast. He was making a point for the camera, that you have plenty of time to get set.