Best Memories of Dad: Tuna Fishing Off Montauk With My 3 Brothers

With all the bad news and cold weather I thought I'd toss out a warm, good news story. It's as East End a story as it gets — it's about fishing off Montauk with your dad and your brothers.

To say Dad was proud and attached to his 43 ft. Egg Harbor, with twin Cummings diesel engines, named after my mother, Lady Elizabeth, is an understatement. The 1980s and the 1990s was all about the boat; he even took it for one last ride before brain cancer ended his life a month later.

Most of the summer season the Lady Elizabeth was docked at the New York Athletic Club, Travers Island Yacht Club on the Long Island Sound in Pelham Manor, New York. Our family home was less than a mile away.

However, come August, the wonderful journey up the Long island Sound through the Plum Gut, Block Island Sound into Montauk Harbor to stay for 3 to 4 weeks was a show of force. Fishing poles with Penn International 80s reels would be mounted in place, in case a spool of bluefish would be spotted. Pop had a beautiful Pompanette fighting chair installed for perhaps catching a giant blue fin. On the end of the huge spreaders tuna burgees would be flapping in the breeze while the boat whistled just around 20 knots. Dad would be barking out commands as he studied the screens to make sure the loran, the radar and the GPS were all working perfectly. As a former pilot, Dad loved boat radio and technology. He would pay good money to have the latest and the best so that should dense fog fall upon us 70 to 100 miles off Montauk getting back would be like easier and not impossible.

As everyone who fish offshore knows, sometimes enthusiasm and desire get in the way of better judgment. What I am saying is, the desire to get out to find tuna sometimes clouded our judgment as we attempted to challenge tough seas and had to turn back, not always when close to Montauk. But most of the time we played it smart and safe. Thank you Carl Darenberg Sr. and Carl Darenberg Jr. for the great advice and tips on when not to go and where to go to find the best fishing that day.

Now about our crew. Youngest brother John Clemente was a firebrand of enthusiasm, with a can-do attitude. He loved buying bait, lures, daisy chains and exploring various ways to bait tuna. Younger brother Jim Clemente was the silent source of pure power; Jim still is power-hero strong and when fishing that strength is an asset. He still fishes off Montauk to this day, now with almost 50 years of experience with his own sons and grandsons. Then there was my oldest brother Elia Clemente, who was the leader of the pack. He planned the trips with my dad weeks in advance and did the research for all major purchases and reservations for the trips. He chose where we would go to fish, and to be honest we rarely came back without fish. Elia had certain hunting skills perhaps helped from his two tours in Vietnam. Quite frankly no one was better with "the gaff " then my brother Elia. I would say I can't recall him ever losing a tuna. However on the other hand I let him down when he had brought a perhaps 200 pound yellowfin — biggest we ever saw — right up to the boat . Even with Jim assisting I lost it. Elia was quite disappointed because he had successfully landed so many tuna for us and we/I fumbled his trophy tuna.

Now, Dad had some seamanship skills even if he was an 8th Air Force B-17 World War II veteran. One time when I was a passenger in his single prop airplane we had some really bad turbulence. He saw I was concerned and said in a distinct, calm monotone, "Tom, this was so much more difficult when they were shooting at us."

I had to laugh. But Dad's skills of maneuvering the boat during a long intense fight was first rate. After landing a tuna he would be tired, too — he really put a lot into it.

I must say in the late 1980s tuna fishing was so good that by 4 p.m. the whole dock was filled with albacore calf high and once a week a giant bluefin would be laying there, too. The biggest bluefin I ever saw was just over 1000 lbs. and when it was laying on its side it was up to my chest. It was then when I understood why they call giant bluefins "cows."

Now, all good things come to an end and by the early 1990s as we began to have growing families and the tuna became less plentiful a switch of fish of prey occurred. Led by my brother John's zeal, the fishing goal became shark and not tuna. That's when I dropped off the screen but my dad's 6 grandsons and their dads became the crew. Often in August 36 hour stays way out in the Hudson Canyon more than 100 miles off Montauk became the norm. However forever I will remember the pure pride and joy of sailing into Montauk past Gosman's Dock with a boatload of tuna.

Finally, concerning the giant bluefin we always hunted but never landed. I suppose the closest we ever came was one day when brother Jim hooked something. Then it ran and stripped the huge Penn 80 reel. Brother Elia looked at the stripped reel and said, "That was either a giant bluefin or a submarine!"