Hal Chittum is no stranger to angling adventure.

Over the past 7 or 8 years, he's been exploring the ragged edge of fly-, light- and heavy-tackle angling off Australia's Great Barrier Reef. During that time he befriended top Aussie skipper, Hayden Bell. On his annual 40-day treks to chase wahoo, dogtooth tuna and black marlin with fly and conventional gear, Chittum heard Bell telling stories about a place called the Willis Islets, some 300 miles east of Cairns, Australia, in the Coral Sea.

It's the stuff of legend: a group of deserted islands seldom — if ever — fished by recreational anglers. After two or three years of planning, Chittum decided to put a group of fishermen together to explore these uncharted waters. Of course when the invitation was extended to me, I had two questions: "When and where do I show up?"

And so it was that I found myself reclining in business class on an Air New Zealand 747, sipping a delightful Kiwi sauvignon blanc and contemplating what was ahead of me as part of a 10-angler group heading out to fish one of angling's last, unexplored frontiers.

"This whole concept can only be likened to a three-month tent safari in Africa, a la Robert Ruark," says Chittum. "The chance to fish someplace that has never been fished before is becoming rarer and rarer."

And more expensive. The going rate on this trip was $37,000 per angler.

We arrived in Cairns in mid-November. Because of production deadlines, I was only able to stay for 10 days. My friend and angling partner, Beverly Hills art dealer Michael Schwartz, would be returning with me to Cairns from Willis via seaplane. The rest of the group, including Chittum, Keys guides John Donnell, John Kipp and RT Trosset, along with anglers Mike Monier and Buddy, Casey and Christian Sowers would spend a total of three weeks exploring virgin territory.

Our base of operations would be The Boss, an opulently appointed 78-foot mothership armed with two small skiffs, one fiberglass and one rigid-hull inflatable. We'd also have three game boats: Bell's Don't Ask Me; the Wild Turkey with Capt. Ben Bright and owner/mate Greg Simms; and the Pirate, skippered by Neil Marchant.

Slow Start — Not!
The last time I visited Australia nearly 15 years ago, I was greeted by the worst weather along the tropical Queensland coast in more than 40 years. It's only fitting that upon my arrival — and the day we were supposed to begin the 300-mile trek to the Willis Group — an unseasonably early typhoon was threatening the region. Even at Cairns, the storm was kicking up a nasty swell and winds were gusting to more than 30 knots. Although it delayed our departure for the Willis Group, we decided to head to Flinder's Reef. We left the dock mid-morning after loading more than 800 pounds of fishing tackle aboard. We arrived at the reef by mid-afternoon, leaving us just enough time to get a brief afternoon on the water. Trosset, Sowers, Schwartz and I boarded the Pirate.

Flinder's, for those unfamiliar with the area, is one of the Great Barrier Reef's legendary black marlin haunts. Although we tried traditional bait-and-switch techniques to see if we could tempt anything to the fly, it proved so rough that our fellow anglers wanted to go back to the mothership. After dropping the others off, I turned to Trosset.

"Here we are, best friends, in Australia on the Great Barrier Reef during the heart of the black marlin bite," I said. "I am not going to sit on that mothership — we might never get here ever again. Let's go catch a black on heavy tackle."

With that, our crew got out the 130-pound outfits, several baits in the 15-pound range that would have put up quite a fight on a 10-weight, and away we went. The next hour and a half saw an epic marlin bite unfold; I pulled the hook on a 300-pounder and released a 350-pounder, and Trosset dropped a fish estimated by the crew at nearly 800 pounds after 20 minutes. Although many fly anglers might eschew heavy tackle, let me just say this: Catching one of these magnificent creatures on a 130-pound outfit that you can barely lift out of the rod holder while the fish is ripping off line faster than a red-lined Corvette is an experience every diehard angler should enjoy.

And I did. Immensely.