“What Kinney uncovers in documenting this event,” he writes, “is the deep cultural underbelly of a fishing society that few people on the outside will understand. … [U]ltimately, the book does what a good book should do — it tells a great tale and like most great nonfiction, it reveals characters fiction writers would be hard-pressed to duplicate. If you fish, or love the Vineyard, or — best case — both, The Big One is well worth the time, the firewood, and the scotch.”

Check out the Fish Head blog today for a post about my favorite fishing books.

It’s a scene worthy of a multimedia presentation, so here goes.

First, the video:

Fun, right? But just as the real derby has been known to prompt major disputes among hardcore competitors as they vie for prizes and fame, one year a fight actually broke out on Kids Day. As usual, Nelson Sigelman from The Martha’s Vineyard Times had the story.

Finally, here’s a little of what I wrote about the 2007 Kids Derby in The Big One:

Late one Saturday night during the derby, I climbed into Cooper Gilkes’s truck and rode with him and his brother in-law into Edgartown. They had spent all day out on a boat, and he walked into the crowded weigh station holding a 33-pound bass by its bloodied gill plate. Cooper is a legend in the island’s outdoor community, a guy who has caught his fish and made a life of passing on what he knows. I had heard story after story about the man’s sporting prowess. “He’s like God as far as stripers go,” one fisherman told me. As we approached the weighmaster, it felt like walking with a star athlete through a mass of fans onto the playing field. People seemed to take special notice when Coop arrived with a fish.

“Look at that one,” a woman said.

“Nice fish, Coop,” somebody called out from behind the rope line.

Like a ballplayer grown accustomed to fan appreciation, he didn’t acknowledge the comment. Instead, he went straight back to the truck. He was exhausted but he had more work to do. Every year in the middle of September, Coop runs the derby’s one-day fishing contest for kids. Though it takes place in the midst of the main tournament, it’s a stand-alone event. At six the next morning, a few hundred kids would show up with their parents on the steamship wharf in Oak Bluffs for two hours of fishing before the boats started to run. The kid’s day rules are simple: longest fish wins. It can be a little baitfish, like a scup, or an eel, or a sea bass, or even a bonito. Coop supplies the bait, so after we left the weigh station we went out to a pond and seined enough silversides to fill a cooler four inches deep. The next morning, the kids caught a mess of scup. Donald O’Shaughnessy Jr., eight years old, caught the winner—it measured a bit over fourteen inches—and went home with a trophy scup mounted by Janet Messineo. “He’s been fishing hard since he was four,” said his dad, Donald Sr. “He’s nuts. He’ll have a charter boat by the time he’s eighteen.” Nelson Sigelman asked the boy if he’d share his secret of success. “Never,” came the reply. Everybody laughed as the O’Shaughnessys made their way back to their car. “Okay,” father said to son, “let’s go win the other derby.”

As I thought more about those weeks I spent on the island, it struck me that the derby could never be transported to a different place. Only on the Vineyard could a fishing contest become something more than a bunch of fishermen flogging the water, another time slot on ESPN2’s weekend schedule. Its people are clinging to their island’s history and its status as a place apart, even if they can’t help but worry that their grasp is slipping. Six decades is a long time, though, and the derby has a momentum that’s not likely to be slowed anytime soon. For some people, it’s one of the few things that haven’t changed about the island. Gazette writer Mark Alan Lovewell says the tournament has grown into something akin to a historic building, like the Tabernacle in Oak Bluffs or Edgartown’s Old Whaling Church. It is an institution not to be trifled with. It connects past and present on an island where the new is relentlessly erasing the old. “I just think we’re really lucky that the fish are still in the ocean,” he says, “that the stories still get told, that the memories of what this island is about is still getting told. That makes the derby even more important.”

It’s one long Vineyard tale that stretches as far as the mind can see in both directions, from the first Wampanoag bone-hook anglers of antiquity to the kids who tried their luck on the Oak Bluffs wharf and who, in a few years, will no doubt stride into the weigh station gripping winners by the gills—that next generation of ordinary islanders mainlining the sea and taking their measure by it.

(Thanks again to the derby committee and Mike Laptew for sharing this video.)

Lev and Leadbelly, 2007.

Lev Wlodyka, the islander whose trials and tribulations drive the central storyline in my book, had a better derby in 2008. Exactly one year after he caught a 57-pound striped bass that brought him so much grief (see Chapter 5: Leadbelly), Lev went out on the water with a couple of buddies who are talented anglers in their own right, stonemasons Nick Warburton and Morgan Child. The trio tracked down a school of hungry stripers, and turned up at the weigh station with one big fish apiece.

Lev’s friends say he’s touched with luck when it comes to the derby, and that was true this night. Nick’s fish came in at 41 pounds, while Morgan’s weighed 46.74. Lev’s fish? 46.82. He slid into first place by eight hundredths of a pound, and in a year of otherwise slow fishing, he held on to win the derby for the sixth time in a decade.

Check out the photographs here, courtesy of The Martha’s Vineyard Times and Louisa Gould.