Submitted for your consideration: It was 6:30 AM - Saturday before Memorial Day - 1984 or 1985. I'd been driving from Blacksburg, VA since 11:00 the night before to get to the beach for the sunrise fishing (early morning and late evening generally considered the better - more productive times). The day dawned not particularly promising: A slate gray sky with SW winds about 20-25! I looked over the dune on the left and I saw - *MASTS* - catamaran masts! This put me in even a worse mood. Fishermen generally don't get along with cat. boaters - they tend to get in each others way. Cat boaters can be very inconsiderate and will fly right through your fishing area without a care in the world. But I thought to myself, "Oh, well! If this is what I get, then this is what I get." So I got my bait, rigged my rods and walked over the dune. There they were! No less than 10 of them! And there was a TV crew and lots of people milling about. It was the Worrell 3000: An annual grueling 3000 mile catamaran race from Ft. Lauderdale FL to Virginia Beach sponsored by the Worrell Publishing Co. that attracted professional, endorsed specialists from all over the world. The sailors had just completed a leg from Portsmouth Island to Hatteras Village (the Durant motel served as HQ) and they were trying to decide if they were going to go ahead with the day's scheduled leg across Diamond shoals and around Cape Hatteras to Nags Head, or postpone it due to weather. There were several safety reasons to consider. Several boats had broken up off Portsmouth Island the day before and the American boat still had not arrived from the previous day's leg! The American boat finally arrived and after a short (45 minute) respite, they decided to go on with the schedule. The horn sounded and boaters pushed their cats across the shore break and out into open water. The last boat out was the American. Just as they pushed off, I decided to reel in my line to check my bait and felt a tremendous tug! Was it a catamaran? No! Couldn't be. They were too far *UP* the beach. Sure the wind was howling, but still. Then the drag started streaming out line. It took off straight out and then *DOWN* the beach. From that I figured it had to be a shark. But what kind and how big? My rod was bent over double as I walked down to the water line and then started following my fish to the right, down the beach. By then, all the cats were gone and the spectators, with nothing better to do, decided to watch me fight my fish. The fish took me a half-mile south and then back the other way. Still, I couldn't get any line back and couldn't see it, but by then I had figured that it had to be a pretty big shark to work like that. Finally I started getting line back, and I could make out a shape in the slough between the sandbar and the shore break. Yup! It was a shark alright - a *BIG* shark! As I gained line, the shark got its strength back and headed out again. The crowd was enjoying this one immensely! Slowly but surely, I worked the shark back into the slough and close enough to shore to get a look at him. It was between 6' and 7'long! And it was a maneater. A *HAMMERHEAD*. "Does anybody have a gaff?" I half-heartedly called around behind me to noone in particular. But, no! These were sailboaters. "What's that?" I heard someone mumble. Then my thoughts turned to those poor cat sailors. If there were hammerheads out in the water, I sure wouldn't want to be there. The fight lasted almost 40 minutes before I finally got it to the shore break and could take a really good look at it. Yup! It was every bit of 6'6" and went somewhere between 125 and 150 lbs! It was good-sized! So carefully, I cupped my hand over the spool to bring him over the shore break on the next wave and? At just that moment, he got his strength back, turned around, headed out to open water, and broke my line. It had been an excellent fight. But what would I have done with him if I had landed him? Probably looked at him for a while and then revived and released him. Because I wasn't going to eat him. I went to the Pelican's Roost and told Steve about it. His response was, "Oh, yeah. We've had a few of them caught around here lately." But they hadn't told anybody!! Two days later, I caught and landed a 50 lb'r on 15 lb. test line. When I came home and checked the record book, I found that the International Game Fishing Association (IGFA) record was open for hammerheads on 20 lb. test line. I could have had an IGFA line-clss record fish, if I had landed and kept it. But I do that - lose or release record or citation fish. Consider the following. It was Oct. 4, 1992 - I drove out to The Point at Sunrise -- cloudy, low tide, little breeze, some drizzle. There weren't a lot of us out there - I'd say maybe 30 - 40 fishermen. We saw the fish come around from the south to the north side of The Point. There was a nice slough on the north side and these fish were munching down on the bait ahead of them. We thought it was just a nice little pod of taylor bluefish (2.5 - 4 lb. range). So we all cast light stuff (10 lb. test on light rods). I cast out, hooked up and broke off immediately. So I said, "HhMmmm. Maybe they're a little bigger than that." So I grabbed a 15 lb. outfit, rigged it and cast out, hooked up and again broke off immediately. By then my curiousity was definitely aroused. Clearly, they weren't little bluefish. What were they? So I tied on another lure, loostened the drag, cast out again and hooked up immediately. This time, the fish started taking line *STRAIGHT OUT* and fast, in greyhound leaps! As I settled in for the fight I started watching what others were doing and what the fish were doing. The fish would go to the top of the sandbar, turn hard left and with their mouths wide open charge straight toward the beach, pushing the bait in front of them. It was one of the most awesome spectacles I've ever witnessed. By now, my line was still going out, and my spool was getting smaller and smaller. I figured I had to do something quick or I'd get spooled. So I tightened the drag just a little bit. The fish stopped. Then it became a matter of turning the fish around and fighting it onto the beach. By then, one person had landed one. They were Jack Crevalles, and big ones, too (25 - 30 lbs.)! Crevalles are semi-tropical members of the jack family along with tuna, mackerel and bluefish. But jacks have an exaggerated forked tail and carry not only legendary speed, but also heavy "shoulder" strength. Big jacks, along with tuna, are some of the hardest fighters in the water. After a half hour fight, I finally got mine to the beach. I took its measurements (35" to fork) and weighted it (23 lbs.), took a picture with it and then revived it and released it. Later, at the tackle shop I found out that I had caught a citation fish - had I kept it. But I wasn't going to eat it (jacks aren't particularly good eating), so I released it. But I have the memory and the picture to show. Cardinal rules of fighting big fish in the surf There are 3 cardinal rules for fighting big fish in the surf: 1.) Stay in front of the fish at all costs. If the fish goes left, go left. If the fish goes right, go right. This goes hand-in-hand with cardinal rule #2. 2.) Walk down to the waterline and fight it from there. Keep the distance between you and your fish as short as possible. The advantages to this are that it a) provides you with leverage over the fish, and b) lesstens the probability that in a crowded fishing area your line will accidently get tangled or cut by another fisherman's line or lure. 3.) Don't try to "horse" the fish in. Know the breaking limits to your line. You can catch 100 lb. fish on 15 lb. line. You just have to be careful. Let the fish run.