Keep it light, and make the most of the inshore mahi run.

We were smack dab in the middle of tuna country and my heaviest rod was spooled with 15-pound test. It wasn’t by accident, but by design that Chris Megan and I had motored 40 miles south of Martha’s Vineyard with tackle better suited for back bays than blue water. We’d eliminated the tuna trolling temptation to focus on mahi-mahi for an episode of On The Water TV.

Until that early September morning, most of my experience fighting mahi had been cranking on a 30-wide trolling wheel while a hapless dorado skipped across the surface toward the boat. Though the mahi always added some delicious fillets to the haul, they offered very little sport on the heavy trolling gear.

The aggressiveness of mahi, and their tendency to concentrate around floating structure, inspired us to make the long run south to an area known as “The Dump” with schoolie-striper-grade tackle. In addition to regularly receiving plumes of warm water from the Gulf Stream, The Dump is a popular fishing ground for offshore lobstermen, who set deep-water lobster pots in the area, marking their positions with buoys called high-flyers. The mix of warm offshore water and floating structure is a winning combination for mahi, and one that sport fishermen can easily capitalize on.

The morning’s sea surface temperature plot showed 72-degree water at the Dump. As we approached the area, Chris flipped on the radar and began studying the screen. High-flyers are equipped with large metal radar reflectors that help the lobstermen find their pots—and can help sport fishermen find the mahi. The lobster pots are usually set in a line that fishermen can follow as they hunt for the ones holding fish. Using the radar and GPS, Chris plotted a mahi roadmap when we arrived at the Dump.

We had our selection of light-tackle spinning rods rigged with bucktails, soft-plastic jigs and topwaters. I’d also brought along a fly rod. A mahi on the fly had been a longtime goal of mine, but on the big sportfishers, the motto is “tuna or bust,” and fly rods are generally tackle non grata.

Chris killed the motor upwind of the first high-flyer and we drifted down on the buoy. As I worked out line with the 9-weight fly rod in the bow, a triumphant, “Here we go!” exploded from the stern. Chris’ 7-foot spinning rod was bent down to his knuckles and a small but spunky mahi tap-danced across the surface. Distracted by the show, I’d let my line hit the water well short of the high-flyer. When it occurred to me that Chris might need a hand boating the fish, I began clearing the line, but as the Clouser Minnow zipped toward the surface, a mahi materialized and dragged it back to the depths, along with most of my fly line. Doubled up and doing the dorado dance, Chris and I made circles around the boat, working to keep our lines from crossing. Chris successfully landed his, but mine spit the fly next to the boat. One mahi in the box, we circled around for another drift and another double hookup.

If they haven’t recently been fished, a school of mahi will be very aggressive on the first couple passes. However, the fish will become increasingly wary as more schoolmates are hooked and boated. The mahi will go from striking the lures to following them at a distance, and eventually, they will stop showing interest in the lures altogether. Even though the fish are in plain sight below the high-flyer, it’s time to move on.

When our fifth drift past the high-flyer failed to produce a hookup, Chris and I moved on. We buoy-hopped a few more times before finding another school. Like the first, the fish were all in the 2- to 5-pound range, but we fully expected to find a larger one.

The week before, Shaun Ruge of Riptide Charters was fishing among the high-flyers at The Dump when he tied into a 30-plus-pound mahi on a 10-weight fly rod. I gained a true appreciation of just how exciting that fight must have been when a mahi half that size ate my Tsunami split-tail minnow and melted line off my reel. The fight consisted of a series of long runs, bitter stalemates and 6-foot high leaps. Eventually, the fish slowed down long enough for Chris to sink the gaff.

By the end of the day, we’d kept about a dozen mahi between us, releasing twice that many. The following day, we divvied the fish up among the crew at the On The Water office. Mahi are a great fish to harvest—they grow and mature quickly, are short-lived, and are excellent eating. That night, Chris and I enjoyed some freshly grilled mahi while we discussed the details of our next light-tackle trip to the inshore tuna grounds.