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The year was 1953 and for an 11-year-old, it could not get any more exciting than this. I was on my father’s 34-foot boat hoping to see a giant bluefin tuna harpooned.

During the late 1940s and early 1950s, bluefin tuna started showing up a few miles outside Mount Desert Island during July and August. Some local lobster fishermen feverishly rigged up their boats with harpoons and pulpits expecting to boat one of these monster fish, and that they did.

It was a thrilling addition to the daily chore of pulling lobster traps, and it also added a few dollars to the family coffers.

Newspaper articles started to appear showing these gigantic fish being hoisted out of boats at local wharves. Even Bud Leavitt of the Bangor Daily News got in on the excitement by booking a tuna trip with probably the best harpooner at that time, Harold Alley of Great Cranberry Isle.

My father, Henry Wass of Southwest Harbor, not a lobsterman himself, had a lobster-style, 34-foot pleasure boat built in 1950. Swept up in the challenge of tuna fishing, it wasn’t long before he had the Driftwood decked out with the gear needed to bring one of these ocean brutes to market.

That gear included a 15 1/2-foot wooden throwing pole (harpoon) that had a 19-inch iron metal rod protruding from one end and a leather strap attached part way up the 1 1/2-to-2-inch round pole. A razor-sharp brass dart with an attached wire cable slipped on the end of the metal rod and a rope tied to the dart’s cable ran down the side of the pole where it was tucked into the leather strap.

Left to right, Henry Wass of Southwest Harbor, the father of Bangor Daily News outdoors contributor Leighton Wass, used this tuna dart and a harpoon pole to “iron” 21 giant bluefin tuna during one year in the 1950s. Bluefin tuna were processed with hatchets and butcher knives during the 1950s at Beal’s Wharf in Southwest Harbor. Credit: Courtesy of Andy Wass

The rest of the rope was carefully coiled in the back of the boat and attached to a painted wooden keg. A pulpit was fitted to the boat’s bow, which allowed a harpooner to be directly over a tuna in the event of a throw. A couple of gaffs and extra rope were used to bring the fish over the side of the boat.

My father went tuna fishing for sheer enjoyment. I remember on one trip with him, he ironed (harpooned) three, but only two would fit in the boat, so the third was tied along the boat’s side as we returned to dock. One summer, he harpooned 21 tuna while Harold Alley ironed either 22 or 23.

My father’s largest weighed a little over 700 pounds, while Alley’s largest weighed in at 808 pounds.

An old 1957 article I have shows the results of a tuna contest held in Southwest Harbor. First prize of $25 went to Harold Alley for his 650-pounder, second place of $10 to my dad for his 605-pound tuna and third place ($5) to Buster Bunker.

The price paid for tuna “in the round” at Beal’s Wharf (still a well-known landmark today) began at 21 cents a pound, but that dropped a few years later to 12 cents and finally to 7 cents. I’m not sure if that even paid for their gas back then, but nobody wanted to buy tuna fish at that time.

We all know how that has changed from watching the television show “Wicked Tuna.” A bluefin tuna can command tens of thousands of dollars today. Matter of fact, in 2019 a Japanese restaurateur paid $3.1 million for one 612-pound bluefin tuna.

For harpooners to locate bluefins, it was essential to choose a day on which the wind was light. On rough, choppy waters, it was more difficult to spot splashing tuna on the surface as they swam in pods chasing food like squid, herring and mackerel.

When out hunting for these handsome fish, all eyes needed to be searching for signs. I recall that the helmsman would sometimes shut off the engine and we’d just drift in a promising area, occasionally hearing the tuna splash before seeing them.

And when some were spotted, it was all hands on deck! My father would practically run up to the pulpit to get his harpoon ready and Maurice Beal, his helmsman, would put the boat in high gear to catch up to the fish before they sounded.

Left to right, Harold Alley (not wearing hat) of Southwest Harbor works with a crew member to muscle a bluefin tuna aboard their boat off Baker Island. Credit: Courtesy of Steven Herrick

The important job of the steersman was to watch the harpooner in the pulpit since he could see the fish best. The harpooner would point his pole in the direction of the fish and also motion when to slow down or speed up. I can still vividly visualize my father on the pulpit with his harpoon cocked, a sure sign he was about to throw at a tuna. There were occasional misses, but I don’t remember many.

It was a dangerous time when a bluefin was ironed with a dart. The rope attached to the tuna would go zipping out of the boat at warp speed. I was always given very strict instructions: don’t go near that rope!

To get ensnared in the rope with a tuna moving at breakneck speed was a sure way to never see daylight again. As I recall, an extremely sharp knife was kept close by to cut the rope if ever necessary.

When the rope was mostly out of the boat, a wooden keg with the rope attached was thrown overboard. Its primary purpose was to tire the tuna, making it easier to pull the fish into the boat a little later on. Getting these behemoths aboard the boat was no easy task, and often took three men, depending on their size.

Back at the wharf, usually Harvard Beal’s in Southwest, the huge fish had to be hoisted by block and tackle from the boats. Inside, I remember men dressed in slickers and boots dressing the giant fish with axes and long, sharp butcher knives. If a tuna’s stomach was sliced open during the gutting process, squid and fish would pour out onto the slippery floor.

Toward late afternoon, people would gather at Beal’s Wharf to watch the tuna boats come in. Some of the boats would have four or five, and I’m guessing the average weight was 300-500 pounds, with a couple that almost hit 900 pounds.

The largest giant bluefin tuna ever caught was on rod and reel, off the coast of Nova Scotia, in 1979. It weighed an astounding 1,496 pounds.

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Leighton Wass grew up in Southwest Harbor and graduated from Norwich University with a B.S. in science education. He taught high school biology in Vermont for 33 years and also is a freelance writer. At... More by Leighton Wass, Outdoors contributor