This column is dedicated to the recreational fisherperson who wants to have a good time, get the boat wet, spend time with friends and family, and maybe catch a couple fish.

This has been a very good fishing year for me. I've even put several monster-size mutton snappers in the fish box. This has truly aggravated my buddy Ritchie, because he targets muttons, and doesn't like to be out-fished. Ritchie lives six months in New York and six months in Marathon. Last year, he had a little incident where he fell overboard and his false teeth fell out of his mouth. Fortunately, he retrieved the teeth as they fell toward the bottom of the ocean and...lived to tell the tale.

During his six months in Marathon, Ritchie fishes every day. In fact, he motors past my house at 7:15 every morning on his way out. Ritchie is one of the best fishermen I know. He is consistent, dedicated and patient. Ritchie's boat is always neat and tidy. He taught me the trick of keeping all my tackle and gear in shoe-box-size covered plastic boxes labeled with black Magic Marker for quick identification and accessibility. Ritchie keeps his boxes all in a nice line in his cabin and in alphabetical order. I draw the line at alphabetical order. Remember, messiness is the sign of an organized mind.

Ritchie loves it when I call him in New York while I'm out fishing. "You son of a gun," he moans. "I'm up here freezing, and you're catching all the fish before I get back down there." On several occasions I've been talking to Ritchie when a fish takes a bait. I put my cell phone on speaker mode, set it on the cockpit floor and give him a blow-by-blow description of what's going on.

Ritchie called me last week while I was fishing for yellowtail snappers in 62 feet of water. The bite was hot, but the fish were small, barely legal. I put the cell phone on speaker mode and Ritchie suffered through two catches, one of which actually pulled line off the reel and made Ritchie moan when he heard the drag screech. "Oh, I wish I were there," he cried. Then he added, "Why don't you put one of those Hank Brown jigs on the line, cast back past all the little fish and find some bigger fish?"

Although I was free-spooling line (using no weight at all) back into the chum slick, I was not getting hit until I had let a couple hundred feet of line out, but, I decided I would humor him. "OK, captain Ritchie," I said. "I will try that and, if it works, I'll call you back."

I tied a one-eighth ounce, chartreuse jig on 15-pound fluorocarbon leader. The hook was no bigger than my fingernail, a number one, with a tiny piece of squid impaled on it. I hauled back on the rod and prepared to cast. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a school of ballyhoo "greyhounding" behind the boat. I whipped the lightweight spinning rod forward and the bait sailed through the air. The instant it touched down, the surface exploded and a vibrant-blue mahi mahi erupted from the water heading skyward with my fishing line peeling off the reel.

It's funny how fast things can change on a fishing boat. My tranquil day of 14-inch yellowtails in dead-calm water, turned into a life and death challenge of man against nature. The mahi soared again. He was lit up like a Christmas tree. I was alone on the boat and immediately started to wonder if this fish would ever make it into the fish box.

"Keep your cool, C.J. Keep the pressure on him. Don't let the line go slack or he'll spit that hook," I said out loud to myself. "Come on fishy, fishy. Come on aboard. I won't hurt you," I lied out loud to the fish. He jumped again. This was a big fish, definitely a gaffer. "Gaffer," I thought to myself, "There's no one here to handle the gaff." The fish bulleted to the port side of the boat. I followed. Fishing line was still stripping off the reel. The fish broke the water and ran to the starboard side of the boat. I followed. We did this several more times. The fish, and I, were beginning to tire.

I fell into a calm, rhythmic pattern of lifting the rod tip then reeling down to retrieve line. The fish fell into the rhythm and started coming toward the boat. There comes a time in the fight against a big fish when you can keep him moving toward the boat if you just stay calm and don't panic him into another frenzied run. We had reached that point. I held the rod in my right hand and grabbed the gaff in my left. "That's it, nice and easy," I said, not sure if I was talking to the fish or to myself, "Come aboard where you belong."

I knew I would have only one shot to gaff this fish. The hook was too small, and the line was too light, to keep this up for much longer. I reeled with my right hand, slow lifts and slow, steady turns on the reel handle. The fish was calmly swimming forward. The light pressure on the line was coaxing him closer and closer to the boat. I could see him clearly. I held the gaff above the water in my left hand. I eased him toward the boat, and as soon as he was close enough, I gaffed him in one smooth motion. And before he knew what hit him -- he was in the cockpit.

I immediately put the cell phone on speaker mode and called Ritchie. "You were right, Ritchie, the bigger fish were back in the chum. I just boated a mahi that's gotta go 12 to 15 pounds on a one-eighth ounce jig," I bragged.

"I should be back to Marathon in another three weeks," Ritchie interjected.

"Hey Ritchie, you got any other suggestions?" I asked. "Go to ....," he replied, and we ended the conversation. The fish weighed out at just over 13 pounds. With the help of a calculator I determined that the jig he hit was 1/1,664 of his weight. And, to my astonishment, when I checked his belly, there were nine whole ballyhoo stuffed in there. That's the nature of this fish. They eat all day. In fact, mahi have been known to grow to 20 pounds in just one year.

It was another perfect day. Loretta and I had fresh yellowtail and mahi mahi for dinner. I had a new story to tell -- and a new picture to show. And, as usual, life is good in the fabulous Florida Keys.

C.J. Geotis is a life-long fisherman who followed his dream to live in the Florida Keys over eight years ago. He lives in Marathon with his wife, Loretta. His E-mail is fishstories@bellsouth.net.