There's a moment, just before the fish surfaces alongside the boat for the first time, when you make a decision. You see the massive body shimmering beneath the surface, the broad sickle of the tail, and you know: this fish is going back. But whether it survives the next few hours doesn't depend on whether you release it. It depends on how you release it.
Why Fight Time Is a Matter of Life and Death
In over thirty years of big game fishing across the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, I've learned one thing above all else: the fight kills more fish than the hook. What happens inside a bluefin tuna or marlin fighting heavy tackle is the equivalent of extreme endurance sport. The muscles go anaerobic, lactate floods the bloodstream, pH levels crash, core temperature spikes. A bluefin that fights stand-up tackle for thirty minutes will typically recover fully. A bluefin dragged out to ninety minutes on gear that's too light may die hours after release from sheer exhaustion.
The takeaway is straightforward: if you want to release, you need to land the fish fast. That doesn't mean horsing it to the boat with brute force. It means fishing appropriate tackle. For bluefin in the Mediterranean, that's 80-pound or 130-pound class — not 30-pound class that turns the fight into a drawn-out affair. For yellowfin off the Canary Islands, 50-pound or 80-pound class is often enough if your technique is clean and the drag is set properly. For marlin, there's a simple rule of thumb: if the fish isn't getting closer after the fourth jump, you're undergunned.
I've made a habit of counting fight time in my head. Up to twenty minutes, I stay relaxed. Past thirty minutes, I increase the pressure. And once it goes beyond forty minutes, I have to honestly weigh whether a release still makes sense — or whether I'm just sentencing the fish to a slow death after it sinks away. That kind of honest self-assessment is part of responsible catch and release.
The Right Gloves: Protecting the Fish, Not the Angler
Gloves are a debate on every boat. Most anglers reach for rough work gloves because they want grip. That's exactly the mistake. Every big game fish carries a slime coat on its skin that protects it against bacteria, parasites, and infection. Rough cotton gloves, leather gloves, or gloves with rubberized grip surfaces strip that layer off in large patches. The fish swims away, sure — but it's carrying exposed flanks where fungal infections can take hold within hours.
What actually works are wet, soft neoprene gloves or dedicated fish-handling gloves with a smooth inner surface. I've been using thin neoprene gloves — the kind you know from diving — in 3mm thickness for years. They give you enough feel to grip securely, and the smooth surface glides over the slime coat instead of scraping it off. Before every grab, I dip the gloves in the water. Wet on wet. It reduces friction significantly.
One detail that's often forgotten: your forearms can do damage too. When you're stabilizing a fifty-kilo yellowfin at the gunwale, you'll often lean your forearm across the fish's body. A dry forearm on wet fish skin acts like sandpaper. So roll up your sleeves, wet your arms, and if possible, place a damp towel underneath.
Keep the Fish in the Water — Always
This sounds obvious, and yet I see the opposite on every other boat. The fish gets hauled completely out of the water, dragged onto the swim platform, someone's digging for their phone, the mate is fiddling with the hook, somebody calls for the camera, and the fish lies on the dry deck for three, four, five minutes. For a 150-kilo bluefin or a marlin that just went through a thirty-minute fight, that's catastrophic.
Big game fish aren't built to support their own weight without the buoyancy of water. On the deck, gravity crushes the internal organs. The gills collapse without water flow, and the fish can't breathe. Meanwhile, core temperature keeps climbing because there's no surrounding water to cool the body. What looks like a brief moment on deck can be the difference between a fish that powers away strong and a fish that dies after it dives.
The method I enforce on my boats is simple: the fish stays in the water. Always. We work at the gunwale, the fish lying parallel to the hull, at least half submerged. The hook gets removed with long-nose pliers or a dehooker, without lifting the fish out. If someone wants a photo, they take it from the gunwale with the fish in the water. No lifting for the camera. No posing on deck.
For marlin especially, a technique that more and more crews are adopting has proven its worth: tag-and-release right at the leader. The mate grabs the leader, sets the satellite tag or conventional tag, and the fish is shaken off or freed with a quick twist of the circle hook — without ever bringing it aboard. The whole process takes less than a minute.
Recovery at the Boat: Take Your Time
What comes after the hook is removed matters just as much as everything before it. An exhausted big game fish needs time to recover before you let it go. I hold the fish at the gunwale in the water, one hand loosely around the wrist of the tail, and idle forward slowly. Water flows through the gills and delivers oxygen. You can feel the strength returning. Tentative at first, then stronger. When the fish starts actively working against your grip and pushes itself downward under its own power, it's ready. Then you let go.
Never release a fish that's rolling on its side or drifting passively at the surface. That fish needs more time. Keep it upright, keep the water flowing, and wait. Even if it takes ten minutes. Those ten minutes decide whether your release was a real release — or just a delayed death.
What Thirty Years Have Taught Me
Catch and release for big game fish isn't a technique you learn once and then master. It's a mindset that matures with every season. In my early years, I made mistakes I regret today. Fought fish too long, handled them with dry hands, kept them on deck too long. Today I know: a good release starts with your choice of tackle, long before the first fish bites. It continues with the discipline to keep the fight short, work the fish in the water, and give it the recovery time it needs.
When you release a big game fish and watch it disappear into the deep with one powerful sweep of its tail, you know you did everything right. That's the better trophy photo.