Baptized in Fish Blood: How a 28-Foot Grady White Fed Our Community
There is an old saying among ocean fishermen: You don’t truly own a boat until the deck has been baptized in fish blood.
Just days after bringing our 28-foot Grady White Sailfish over from Honolulu, she got her official baptism. But more importantly, she found her true purpose.
Our boat isn’t just a piece of machinery or a weekend hobby. In the islands, a boat is a tool for self-sufficiency, a bridge to the ocean, and a way to provide. On this particular trip, with the right crew and a massive stroke of blessings, we proved exactly what this vessel is capable of.
The Luck of the Ulithi and Ifalik Boys
We headed out into the deep blue with some serious ocean intuition on deck—the incredible good luck of the Ulithi and Ifalik boys, Aden and Reynolds. When you go out with people who understand the water, the energy shifts. You just know something good is on the horizon.
We hadn’t been out long before we ran right into a massive school of Hawaiian Skipjack (Aku).
When a school like that hits, the deck turns into beautiful, chaotic adrenaline. But we weren’t using modern fishing rods out there—we do it the islander’s way. We were hand-lining.
If you’ve never hand-lined a giant skipjack, it is an experience of pure, raw power. There is no graphite rod bend or mechanical reel to take the strain and absorb the shock. It is just your bare hands, the line, and the muscle of a deep-sea fighter pulling furiously on the other end. Your hands feel every single slam, dive, and run.
Working seamlessly together, we hauled them over the gunwales one by one. But as they piled up on the deck, we realized we had a unique problem on our hands.
These weren’t your average-sized skipjacks. These fish were absolute giants.
“We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Cooler”
We laid them out, and when we went to pack them away, they literally would not fit inside a normal-sized cooler. We were bending tails, rearranging ice, and laughing at the sheer scale of what we were pulling out of the Pacific.
By the time the frenzy subsided, the Grady White was covered in fish blood, our coolers were overflowing, and we were sitting on our first truly decent haul.
But the best part of a catch like that isn’t the fight, and it isn’t the pride of filling the boat. It’s what happens when you tie up at the dock.
Feeding the Family and Honoring Service
In our culture, a bounty from the ocean is never meant for just one house. It’s meant to be shared.
This massive skipjack catch went straight to the people who keep us grounded. We were blessed to be able to feed the Remathau community on the Hilo side—the folks we know and cherish—alongside our Chuukese side of the family. Seeing that fresh fish split among family and neighbors is the real reward.
In fact, this boat has been generating blessings since its very first runs. Just a trip prior to this one, my nephew and I headed out with a specific mission. We managed to land enough to donate an entire, packed cooler of fresh fish for my niece’s retirement party, honoring her years of dedicated service in the US Army.
The Next Chapter: Upgrading the Fleet and Lessons Learned
Right now, the Grady White is resting on land while I am away on a trip to Washington. But the mission is far from over. In fact, we are gearing up to take things to a whole new level.
To go along with the boat, we’ve added a heavy-duty Ram 2500 diesel to our setup. Pulling a 28-foot vessel requires serious muscle, and this truck is going to give us the torque, traction, and clearance to launch from absolutely any spot on the Big Island. We won’t be limited by standard ramps anymore.
But unlocking remote waters also means being absolutely flawless with your preparation. If there’s one thing the ocean teaches you, it’s respect—and sometimes you learn those lessons the hard way. Ever since coping with a heavy dose of PTSD from a previous run where we had to navigate our way through a fuel shortage, my preparation checklist has completely changed.
I learned the hard way never to rely too much on the fuel gauge. Now, before the keys ever turn in the ignition, I make double sure our main fuel tanks are filled to the absolute brim, and we always carry extra fuel tanks on board just in case. Out there in the open water, peace of mind is just as important as a good engine.
When I return to the island, this new land-and-sea combination—backed by rock-solid preparation—is going to unlock remote waters and open up even more opportunities to give back.
The ocean provides, but you need the right tools, the traditional skills, and the smarts to stay safe out there. Huge thanks to Aden and Reynolds for bringing that island luck aboard, and to our family for always keeping the community first.
The decks are washed, the truck is ready, and we are already looking forward to the next run.
P.S. Should we get another boat—a smaller version as a backup? Stay tuned.
What’s your favorite way to prepare fresh Hawaiian Skipjack? And what is your number-one safety rule when you’re heading out into deep water? Let me know in the comments below!
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