My First Observer Trip in Los Sueños, Costa Rica
January 21-24, 2026
Three days, thousands of sailfish, and a front-row seat to tournament fishing at its best. There are trips you plan for. There are trips you dream about. And then there are trips that hit you all at once—early alarms, salt spray, radios crackling nonstop, and sailfish lighting up the wake like fireworks. My first observer trip in Los Sueños, Costa Rica, was all of that and more. Before I even get into the fishing, I have to say this: if it wasn’t for Art McDonald (Arturo), this trip wouldn’t have happened. He helped make it possible, and I’m grateful for it.
From Classroom to Fly Bridge.
My path to this moment started years ago. When I was about 14, I took the observer course down in Stuart, Florida. I was eager and ready—but too young to actually observe in a tournament. So I waited. As time passed, I realized something important: tournament fishing isn’t something you just “remember.” The rules and regulations matter, and the details matter even more. So, about four years later, I took the course again to sharpen my knowledge—leader requirements, double line rules, hook sizes, lure regulations, and the long list of small things that separate a clean release from a disqualification. I kept the info guide like a cheat sheet, something I could always reference. When the time finally came to observe my first tournament, I’ll be honest: I was nervous.
The Night Before.
The first night, the captain's dinner set the tone. I met experienced observers who offered advice and small tips that only come from time on the water—where to position yourself, what to watch, what mistakes to avoid, and how to keep calm when the cockpit turns chaotic. The food was great, the drinks were flowing, and the energy was electric. Still, I made sure not to indulge too much. Because I knew what was coming.
Day 1 – G-Rod and the First “Release!”
At 0400, the alarm went off, and the tournament reality hit me immediately. We made our way to the marina and checked in with Ashley, who is—without exaggeration—the backbone of this tournament. Without her, the operation doesn’t run. Coffee was ready. Lunch bags were packed. Boat assignments were handed out. My first boat was G-Rod. We left the dock around 0515, heading southeast into the dark. The ride out felt like it lasted forever, and then finally—0800. Lines in. I was locked in. Every teaser, every rod tip, every line angle—I watched it all. At 0802, the first boat radioed in a fish. Then another. Then another. Within minutes, it felt like the entire ocean woke up at once. The radio was nonstop: release after release after release. Around 0915, G-Rod got tight. One of the anglers hooked up and my nerves spiked instantly. As an observer, you’re not just watching the fight—you’re watching the rules. I tracked the line carefully, eyes shifting from the water to the rod tip and back again. The fish jumped in the distance and there was no doubt:
Sailfish.
Identify fish—checked.
Now it was about the leader. The captain kept circling, looking for a second bite, and sure enough—another angler hooked up. Now I had two fish in play. I was nervous, but focused. I had to call the releases cleanly and make sure nobody touched the line early. The leader came up, closing in on the rod tip. The angler cranked. One… two… three… four… five.
The leader slid through the first rod eye.
Watch leader pass through first eye- checked
“RELEASE!” I yelled as loud as I could.
Yell release- checked
That fish was cut off immediately. Now all eyes were on fish number two. Same process. Track the line. Watch the leader. Wait for the first eye. The leader popped out of the water and slid through. “RELEASE!” Loud enough that nobody could pretend they didn’t hear it.
By the end of the day, G-Rod released 7 sailfish and 0 marlin. They also hooked up to what looked like a 40-50lb Bull dolphin but didn’t bother wasting their time with it. When I saw them cut that line not even 1 minute into the fight my heart shattered. I understood though that these tournaments are about billfish and money why waste time catching a fish that doesn’t count. My first day observing was officially in the books.
Day 2 – Juben and a Team That Fished Like a Machine.
Day 2 started the same way: 0400, up and moving. Same marina routine. Same coffee. Same anticipation. This time I drew the Juben, and from the moment I stepped aboard I knew it was going to be a good day. Beautiful boat, professional crew, and they treated me like family. We ran southeast again and when lines went in, the radio lit up within the first ten minutes. When Juben finally hooked up, I got a front-row seat to a crew that operated like a machine. The second the bite happened, they moved the angler to the correct side, pulled dredges, adjusted outriggers, and started circling. No wasted movement. No confusion. Just clean teamwork. At one point they had a triple hookup, and it was honestly impressive to watch. The anglers weaved around each other with precision, almost like they knew what the fish would do before the fish knew. Then came the heartbreak moment. In the last five minutes of fishing, Juben hooked up again. They circled the fish 3–4 times hoping for a double. They got it. But the second hookup happened at 1600 and 5 seconds—five seconds past lines out. To make it worse, about three seconds later, a third fish piled on too. Those last two didn’t count, but the initial hookup did. They released all three and headed back to the dock. Second day complete.
Juben released 13 sails 0 marlin.
Day 3 – Trophy Fly and Tournament Madness.
By Day 3, that 0400 alarm felt personal. We dragged ourselves to the dock, yawning and begging for coffee, grabbed breakfast, got our assignments, and headed out for the final day. My last boat was Trophy Fly, And I’ll say it straight: that captain earned the name. At 0800, lines in. It didn’t take long before the cockpit erupted:
“LEFT TEASER! LEFT TEASER!”
A sailfish came in hot, slapping at the teaser like it owed him lunch money. The left short bait was dropped back perfectly. Boom—hooked up. The angler was everything a fisherman wants to be. Calm. Sharp. Efficient. He didn’t miss. Every fish he saw, he caught. After 3–4 hours in the same area, the captain made a move, pushed in a bit, and started hunting birds. He found an area with life—and no boats around. That decision changed everything. For the rest of the day, it was chaos—in the best possible way. We couldn’t go five minutes without another bite. Release one, hook another. Reset, troll, bite again. It was madness.
By the end of Day 3, Trophy Fly finished with 27 fish.
And that angler I mentioned? He caught 18 of them! It was a performance I won’t forget.
Awards Night and the Numbers.
Back at the hotel, it was time to clean up and head to the awards ceremony. The drinks were flowing, the food was endless, and the stories started rolling in. Observers compared notes and laughed about moments from the water. Most of the anglers showed up even if they didn’t win, and I respected that. It showed something important: They view each other as opponents, not enemies. After the awards and an incredible video recap of the tournament, it was officially over. And the final numbers were nothing short of unbelievable:
2,268 sailfish released,
36 marlin released,
in just three eight-hour fishing days.
Hooked for Life
That was my first observer trip.
Three days. Three boats. Three completely different experiences—each one unforgettable. I learned a lot, gained a ton of respect for the teams competing at that level, and I’m already looking forward to the next one.
Tight lines,
Hayden Mulder