I love it when things all go according to plan! That’s how yesterday’s half-day charter with Brett and his three youngsters, 13 year-old Drake, 11 year-old Gunner, and 9 year-old Capri (and I hope they’ll forgive me if I got the boys mixed up). I’ll be honest, it started with a couple of question marks, beginning when I saw Brett’s trip request late Friday afternoon for a trip on Saturday morning. I had already written off the weekend for charters, especially with an erratic weather forecast. The boat wasn’t even in the water, and the dry stack was about to close for the day. Fortunately, I was able to get a call in, and they took care of me right away. I arrived at the dock early, as usual, to make the boat ready for the trip. There are a number of things to be done before pulling away, to make sure everything is shipshape for the clients. The weather was brisk, but I could see that it would be a beautiful day. The sun had just begun to rise, the breeze was light and offshore, and I was pretty excited. Brett had told me that his primary objective was to get his kids on some fish that they could take home. I knew the Spanish were running hard on the beach, along with a growing number of false albacore and the ever-present possibility of a king mackerel. When you’re fishing, there’s never a guarantee that you’ll catch fish, but the conditions this time of year make it pretty hard to come up empty-handed. My confidence was as high as it gets. Brett and crew were supposed to arrive for an 08:00 departure. About 07:45, a light veil of fog started to move across the marshes. By the time they arrived and got loaded on the boat, the light veil was a curtain. Visibility was being steadily reduced to the point where we pulled away into a veritable pea soup. With a combination of slow speed and electronics, as well as familiarity with the area, we made our way out to the inlet. But I can tell you that there’s not much that is as disorienting as a thick fog. What is normally a 15–20-minute run took us almost an hour… and we hadn’t even started fishing yet. The kids were, as youngsters generally are, full of energy and ready to fish. The long ride stretched their patience, but as soon as we hit the open ocean and got clear of the channel, I put a couple of Clark spoons out and we were fishing. They had decided to fish in order from youngest to oldest, so Capri would get the first fish. It didn’t take long before the planer tripped and she brought the first Spanish to the boat like a champ. From there it was sporadic as we moved down the beach, looking for birds and surface action. As always, it sometimes takes a couple of attempts to get the hang of pulling the Spanish in smoothly, so they don’t get bounced off the hooks. But by the time we got into the thick of things, the crew was on their game! Once the fog started to lift a little and I was comfortable that we could see (and be seen), I set out a cedar plug way back, and dropped down a 3 ½” drone on a planer. As I told Brett, that’s sort of a Hail Mary, just in case we can pull up a stray king mackerel. Just as we spotted a group of birds working an area, the rod with the cedar plug bent hard, and line started ripping out. My first thought was, “kingfish,” but as the fight started in earnest, I realized we had hooked a big false albacore. If you’ve never fought one of these guys, I can just tell you that it’s an experience. They pull like compact freight trains and simply never give up. I think it was Gunner’s turn, and he did all he could to handle that fish. Brett finally had to step in and lend a hand (or two), but finally that fish came to the boat. It may have been the biggest specimen I’ve ever brought aboard, and certainly ranks in the top three. We got a couple of pictures and sent it back over the side to get even bigger. Bonita (false albacore) is not terrible on the table, but it’s not generally prized either. Spanish mackerel are better to eat, and they would have plenty of them. We caught four or five more false albacore, including one double-header that just about wore us all out, and a bunch more Spanish. We would find a hot spot and work it for a while, and then move on down the beaches, running from Topsail to Wrightsville. By the time we pulled in the lines, we had a dozen good keeper Spanish, and I lost count of the ones we released or lost. I’ve got to say that those three kids are excellent anglers. I really didn’t have to do much coaching at all. In the final tally, Gunner’s big false albacore took the prize for overall biggest fish, but Capri put the biggest Spanish mackerel in the boat. That left their dad with the questionable honor of smallest fish of the day, a lizardfish. We had run a bit over the allotted six hours (and still had a long ride home), and I know everyone was getting a little tired, so we ran in through Masonboro Inlet and headed for the dock.