Striper Steve Pietruska’s iced-down bluefish is generating some chatter (see here and here), though nothing like the uproar over the leadbellied 57-pounder two years ago.

Meanwhile, as Wyatt Jenkinson bites his nails over his first-place boat bonito, I’m reminded of a story I heard this summer about the 2007 boat bonito race. Islander Geoff Codding won his second consecutive derby that year with a 9.14-pound bonito caught from his friend Lev Wlodyka’s boat in September. It was a smallish first-place fish, and Geoff never felt entirely secure that it would hold up. He knew better: He’d finished in second place six times over the past few years.

As it turned out, it could’ve happened again. Somebody did get a bigger fish. If only she’d registered for the derby.

Krista Martinko violated the cardinal rule of fishing Martha’s Vineyard in the fall. If you’re going to wet a line, get a derby button. The 64-year history of the tournament is choked with would-be winners who didn’t shell out a few bucks just in case they caught a big one. (See page 253 of The Big One for the ultimate beatdown: Harry Beach and his couldabeen derby record striper.)

Krista and her husband David, who are from Maryland, have been coming up for the derby most of this decade. In 2007, they were out with charter captain Kurt Freund when Krista brought in a nice bonito that topped 10 pounds on the Boga Grip.

“Kurt’s mouth dropped,” Krista recalled, “and he said ‘Please, PLEASE say you have a pin!’”

Her husband had one; she didn’t. It wasn’t until she went to Edgartown that night to weigh in her husband’s fish that she realized how big a mistake she’d made. She overheard a couple of islanders talking. “You hear about some girl who landed a 10.5-pound bone today? She’s not even entered in the derby!”

“I had to smile,” she said. “I had made the local chatter.”

Small consolation, if you ask me.

8/26 UPDATE: Buddy’s reeling in the press. See today’s Names column in the Boston Globe.

Buddy is famous Menemsha fishing charter captain William “Buddy” Vanderhoop, the star of Chapter 10 in The Big One (I Fish, Therefore I Lie). Tree is Charles Ogletree, the Harvard Law School professor and advisor to President Obama. Ogletree is a passionate fisherman, and for months he has been talking about how much he wants to get the president out on the water with his friend Buddy.

Will it happen? Buddy was cagey when he spoke to the Vineyard Gazette about the possibility this week:

Mr. Vanderhoop of course cannot confirm or deny the existence of any plans for any charter fishing trips with presidents. But he did say that anyone who goes fishing with him next week can be assured of two things: a good time and lots of fish, and not necessarily in that order.

“We would go out at 7 a.m., head south and start catching striped bass,” the seasoned charter captain said. “We would have some snacks on the boat and we would take in some great views … Gay Head, Noman’s Land, maybe get over to the Elizabeth Islands. Some of those views, like the cliffs [at Gay Head] and Squibnocket, are epic. We have to show those off.” He paused and continued:

“And we would get some fish … we always get some fish,” he said.

Last month, Ogletree told Plum TV reporter (and obsessive tuna fisherman) Alex Friedman that he had some reservations about fishing in the Obama bubble. “I don’t know how the fish will bite with 30 Secret Service agents with AK-47s,” the professor joked. “The bass will say, ‘Oh my god they’re bringing guns now! I thought it was just hooks and bait!”

Buddy has taken out some famous people, including Keith Richards, Spike Lee and Taj Mahal. But Ogletree fishes with him more than anybody else. They have history, and being fishermen, they can tell some stories. They told me a good one a couple of years ago when I went out on Buddy’s boat with them during the Vineyard’s fishing derby.

In August 1999 — 10 years ago next week — they were tuna fishing far off the coast of the Vineyard when the boat battery went dead. As night fell, they had no engine, no radio, no lights and no bilge pump. The seas got rough and a couple of waves nearly capsized the wooden boat. Buddy told everybody to prepare for the worst. Fortunately, the crew of a nearby lobster boat spotted Buddy’s emergency flares and they set about towing the crippled vessel back to harbor. After the lines parted several times, they called in the Coast Guard to finish the job.

A few weeks later, as the anglers reconnected with the lobstermen over lunch and Red Stripes and thanked them for saving their lives, Ogletree considered their good fortune. “I believe that if not for them,” he said, “they’d have been picking dead bodies out of the water.”

Hence the email I sent Buddy this week:

“Good luck if you get Obama out on the boat with you this week. (Don’t let the battery go dead!)”

“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.

His stepfather lived a colorful life of his own. Luther Madison worked as an arborist, scalloper and school bus driver. He baked the pies for the Aquinnah Shop, the family restaurant. And for 36 years he served as chief medicine man for the island’s Wampanoag tribe. He passed away last week at 84, and according to the story in today’s Vineyard Gazette, his final words were befitting a sachem: “My beautiful sunset is coming.”

A few months later, I learned that his wife, Wendy, had been diagnosed with brain cancer and faced months of intensive treatment. Obviously, I thought, this was not the year to talk to them about something as insignificant as a fishing tournament. But I discovered that in between Wendy’s treatments, Patrick was taking his son, Wyatt, out to fish the derby, and to my surprise, when I ran into him on the dock in Menemsha one day, he generously invited me to go along. The chapter I wrote about fishing with the Jenkinsons illustrates how integral the derby is in some islanders’ lives: During their months of turmoil, fishing made everything seem normal for Patrick, Wyatt and Wendy, if only for a few hours.

Wendy died nine months later. A few days later, I noticed that her husband had just caught a 41-pound striped bass, one of the biggest of his life. I knew the story of that fish would have to be special to Patrick, and when I came calling again, he graciously shared it with me. The piece appears today in the Boston Globe Sunday Magazine.