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I gazed at the two
black marks with awe. They were nearly 11 feet apart and etched into
the side rails of Brewster Minton’s fish-rigged-and-battle-ready,
pale green, 31-foot Bertram Bahia Mar, Cormorant Princess. Like
something out of a Hemingway novel, the marks denoted the 129-inch measurement
of a behemoth blue marlin that Minton’s crew caught and released
as a brilliant by-catch to tuna fishing in the far-off canyons of the
Northeast.
An almost-11-foot
blue marlin is a big fish, but it’s certainly not Minton’s
first, nor is it likely his last. This angler—complete with worn
baseball cap, tried-and-tested rubber boots, and a Capt. Quint-like
air about him on the warm May morning we met—is arguably the ultimate
in hard-core. In fact, Minton says if he could get in 50 two-day-plus
offshore trips in a year, it still wouldn’t be enough. When weather
permits, he’ll go out for a couple of days, load up on fish, come
in to offload his catch, and go right back out, taking time only to
refuel and fill his boat with as much bait as it can safely hold. (This
often works out to be three or four times what weekend warriors carry.)
But, like most fishermen, Minton’s extraordinary zeal for fishing
had humble beginnings.
Minton, who most just
call Brew, started fishing as a kid in a 12-foot Sears Gamefisherman
that he used to explore his native Oyster Bay, Long Island. Back then
he was catching “snappers” (baby bluefish) and fluke (a.k.a.
summer flounder). He loved to fish, but he also loved to snow ski, and
so he worked for a ski company demonstrating skis and, on occasion,
racing downhill. However, a bad fall at 50-plus mph resulted in a major
knee injury, ending his tenure. Soon after, he opened a health club
in Hoboken, New Jersey, but made time to fish, albeit not for tuna,
at first.
Minton’s dedication
to fishing was reflected in regular trips (sometimes five nights a week)
from Hoboken to Montauk, New York, to work the surf for striped bass.
For those of you unfamiliar with the area, that’s almost 250 miles
round-trip. Minton would throw on a wet suit, swim out to his favorite
rock, and cast all night, then drive back to Hoboken and work, napping
when he could in his office.
Minton soon learned
through the grapevine that some formidable big-game action—tuna
fishing, to be specific—was taking place about 70-plus miles off
of Long Island. Names such as Hudson Canyon and The Dip were tossed about
as tales of big tuna were told. Once he learned of this fishery, which
reportedly held 100-, 200-, and 300-plus-pound tuna, he says, “I
read everything I could about offshore fishing.” Soaking up as much
knowledge as he could through books and talking with experienced captains,
Minton was poised to start his offshore adventures.
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Just Call Him Brew, Part 2 > Page 1, 2
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