From nothing to the impossible: how we challenged the King of the sea

That morning, the sea had no intention of cutting us any slack.

Wide, long, heavy waves.

The boat rose and fell as if it were breathing with difficulty, and every time we took a wave on the bow, salty spray hit us in the face.

And yet, there we were — my friend and I — two fishermen who know how to read the water and trust each other blindly.

He knows every secret of that area; I keep my eyes fixed on the sea, ready to catch even the smallest detail.

In the midst of that constant motion, in a sea that seemed too rough to give us hope, I see a flicker.

A reflection.

Something breaking the monotony of the waves.

“There!”

And as it always happens when the sea decides to tell you something, everything changes in an instant.

The first frenzy explodes among the waves — violent, sporadic, incredibly hard to chase in that sea.

Gulls diving, fish darting away like shards of silver.

The little tuna arrives like this:

in a rough, unpredictable sea that forces you to keep your balance just to hold the rod’s handle.

It’s a short but intense fight — the kind that warms your muscles immediately and makes you realize the day is alive.

Then… silence.

The sea slowly begins to settle.

The waves stretch out, the surface starts breathing more gently.

And just when the sea truly calms down, it happens again.

Another frenzy.

This time cleaner, more orderly, in water that feels almost transformed compared to hours before.

A striped tuna…

in a sea finally manageable, in a moment when nature seemed perfectly synchronized…

A blue bullet that tests you with incredible force, and when we finally bring it to the boat, a liberating laugh escapes us.

You realize the sea has given you two tastes… but the real one, the huge one, is still out there.

And indeed, we won’t see it.

Not that day.

Not the next one.

Not even the week after.

Days of endless calm begin — flat, too flat.

Zero signs, zero marks, zero movement.

The kind of silence only sport fishermen truly know: the one that slowly eats away at your hopes.

But we don’t give up.

Never.

You read the sea in two, not alone.

My friend and I exchange intuitions, ideas, strategies — even just glances.

Every choice is teamwork.

And then, when resignation is really starting to knock… the impossible happens.

In the middle of yet another flat expanse, I see a shadow moving beneath the surface.

Slow.

Heavy.

Different from all the others.

“It’s him.”

I say it without thinking, as if the sea itself had suffocated my doubts.

The hit comes a second later.

A whip on the rod, the drag screaming louder than it had in all the previous days, the boat trembling.

The bluefin tuna.

The giant.

The ghost that had ignored us for weeks.

The battle is ferocious.

A physical, mental, emotional trial.

Arms burning, back straining, hands shaking.

Minutes that feel like hours. Hours that feel like one long, unending fight.

And the two of us, always together.

Supporting each other, stepping in when needed, knowing what to do without even speaking.

When the giant emerges from the blue — immense, silver like a bullet — the sea seems to stop.

It’s the perfect ending to difficult days, to hopes worn down and then rebuilt, to intuitions, to readings of the water, to trust.

It’s an ending written by us.

And signed by the sea.

As the sun sets, I realize that certain catches aren’t just fish:

they’re memories.

They’re friendships.

They’re true stories, carved among the waves.