When the Tuna Ran Wild

By Robbie Perdue

There are fish stories — and then there are fish truths so wild they almost seem like lies.

For a few glorious days this April, something rare and almost mythical happened just off the Outer Banks: massive Atlantic bluefin tuna started running the surf like it was the canyon wall offshore. And not just showing up on sonar or baiting offshore trawlers. We’re talking big, barrel-chested bruisers making a scene right at Jennette’s Pier in Nags Head.

Not in boats. Not miles out to sea.

From the pier. From kayaks. From the beach.

It started like most great fish tales — quietly, with a rumor.

Late March, a few folks spotted large shadows in the surf. Then came the splash, the bend of the rod, and hours-long fights to beach these giants. Bluefin tuna — the kind that usually require deep-sea charter boats and serious muscle — had come in so close you could smell ’em from the railings.

And just like that, the news spread like fire through the tackle shops and bait buckets.

Tuna Fever

On April 4, a local fella named Stefan Turko paddled out in a kayak and came back like a legend — towing behind him a 140-pound bluefin like it was a prize marlin.

One day later, Aki Min had that same glint in his eye. Inspired by Turko’s catch, he launched his own kayak, dropped a line, and pulled up 154 pounds of pure muscle. A fish like that can sink a lesser man — or flip a kayak if you’re not careful. But Aki landed it and grinned for the cameras.

Another monster — 64 inches long — came out of the surf on a boat just off the end of the pier the next day. And for three days straight, the pier was electric. Lines were tight. Crowds were gathering. Phones were out. Bluefin tuna in the breakers — the sort of thing you might see once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky.

Then Came the Rules

But as fast as it came, the dream ended.

On April 8, a NOAA officer showed up at Jennette’s Pier like a dad walking into a house party. The music stopped. The fun drained. And a federal fine loomed.

According to the officer, fishing for bluefin tuna without the proper federal permits is illegal — even from the beach, even from a kayak, even if that fish is practically knocking on the door asking to be caught.

The pier was instructed to remove all social media posts referencing the tuna action. And just like that, the bite — and the buzz — was shut down.

The Internet Responds (As It Always Does)

The response online was swift and sharp — a mix of satire, sarcasm, and frustration familiar to anyone who’s ever watched a rare window of nature shut under a stack of regulations.

One viral image made the rounds showing three officers mock-kicking a man holding a tuna on the pier. The caption? “Bluefin Task Force in action.”

Others pointed fingers at social media itself. “This is a perfect example of how Facebook ruins everything,” wrote one charter captain from Oregon Inlet.

Was the regulation necessary? Maybe. Were the fish protected for a reason? Certainly. But there’s something about seeing a fish the size of a whiskey barrel leaping in the surf that stirs something primal in a Southern heart. Something that doesn’t understand why, just this once, a few working folks can’t enjoy the wild magic when the sea gives up her secrets.

Fish Run. Legends Stay.

The bluefin have moved on now. The pier’s quiet again. No more kayaks towing meat wagons. No more rods bowed like tree limbs. Just the usual hum of sea breeze and tourist chatter.

But for a handful of days in early April, the surf along Nags Head was alive with something rare, raw, and unforgettable. And whether you were there to see it or you just heard the stories passed around at tackle shops, the memory lingers.

After all, when the tuna run wild in the surf, and the government shuts it down the next day — well, that’s not just news.

That’s folklore.