I remember reading the story. The NY times even covered it, amazing fish.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/23/sports/23fishing.html

Catching Tuna and Hanging On for the Ride
Julia Cumes for The New York Times
Dave Lamoureux fishes for bluefin tuna from his kayak in Massachusetts.



By CHARLES McGRATH
Published: November 22, 2009
YARMOUTH, Mass. — Dave Lamoureux’s kayak, named Fortitude, must be the only one in Massachusetts registered as a motor vessel. That’s because a powerboat registration is required to get a permit to fish for tuna here.

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Captain Andrew Poce via Dave Lamoureux
Dave Lamoureux with the 157-pound bluefin, a record tuna for an unassisted kayak fisherman.



Apparently, it never occurred to the authorities that someone might be crazy enough to want to catch a bluefin while sitting in what amounts to a floating plastic chair and enjoying what Melville called a “Nantucket sleigh ride.”
Since the end of July, Lamoureux has caught three bluefins this way, paddling a couple of miles off Race Point, at the tip of Provincetown, hooking a tuna and holding on, the rod clipped to a harness on his chest, while being towed at speeds up to 15 miles an hour before the fish exhausts itself.
His most recent catch, on Nov. 5, was [ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wi5uOE3dPPA"]a 157-pound bluefin[/ame], a record tuna for an unassisted kayak fisherman, and a near record over all, topped only by a 183-pound halibut caught by Howard McKim, an Alaskan, in 2004. Reeling in a halibut, though, has been likened to hauling in a load of plywood, and some of Lamoureux’s admirers consider landing a bluefin, known for its power and ferocity, the greater feat. He is a hero at bait shops up and down Cape Cod. On fishing blogs, a few grumblers call him a dangerous idiot.
Until about 10 years ago most kayak fishermen knew each other by name. Lately the sport has enjoyed a growth spurt, but it is still not recognized by the International Game Fish Association, the official record keeper for saltwater anglers. So kayakers keep their records informally and on Internet forums. There is an honor system. Some kayakers allow themselves to be towed out and back by a mother ship.
Lamoureux’s record required paddling alone and bringing the fish into shore.
Lamoureux is 42 and friendly, with a big smile and a ready laugh, and lives most of the year in Chicago, where he is a futures and options trader. He also has a place in Boston and access to his parents’ summer home here.
“My personality — I trend toward risk and danger,” he said last week, explaining that he used to rock climb and do extreme skiing.
But kayak fishing entailed “measured risk, not being-crazy risk,” he added, and compared it to trading. “Being a trader, you like risk. You’re comfortable with it. You have to weigh the reward versus the other side, which in this case is your life.”
Lamoureux’s 12-foot Heritage FeatherLite isn’t even a fishing kayak.
It’s a recreational kayak he found in the family garage and modified with additional equipment, the exact nature of which he will not disclose.
“I can’t be revealing all my secrets,” he said, “or else guys who are younger and in better shape will be breaking my records.”
When Lamoureux climbs into his kayak, wearing a wet suit or a dry suit, he is loaded down with safety gear: life jacket, whistles, strobe lights, a signaling mirror, a compass, two GPS devices, two radios, two cellphones, and two knives, in case he is dragged too far out to sea and needs to slash the line.
He hasn’t yet capsized, but Lamoureux still prepares himself psychologically to wind up in the drink.
“I actually consider myself safer than the average boater because all the safety equipment is attached to my person,” he said. He also carries dive fins in case he has to swim home. “I don’t plan on calling the Coast Guard or the commercial fishermen for help,” he said. “I think that’s irresponsible.”
When Lamoureux first showed up in their fishing grounds, commercial tuna fishermen figured he was lost or in distress. Now he has befriended several of them, and he will turn over a fish too big for him to manage. In August he reluctantly did this with a bluefin that eventually escaped but that on the fishing boat’s sonar looked to be about 800 pounds.
“That just broke my spirit,” he said. “They told me, ‘That fish is so big, it doesn’t even know you’re here.’ ”