In 2007 I spent a day on the water with fishing fanatic Patrick Jenkinson and his son, Wyatt, then 9 years old (Chapter 12 in The Big One). As a fourth-grader, Wyatt’s entries went on the Vineyard derby’s junior leaderboard, but he took the competition as seriously as anyone. The day I met him, he had a 54-pound, first-place junior grand slam going — the heaviest combined weight of a striper, bluefish, bonito and false albacore. When he spotted a rival cruising the same waters nearby, he looked at me and said, “He’s our archenemy.”

Wyatt is still a junior, but the bonito he caught Monday morning is a major-leaguer. At 9.71 pounds, it launched him to the top of the main leaderboard, ahead of everybody — kids, flyrodders, grizzled veterans, rich charter-boat anglers.

For now at least, the 11-year-old is, in derby parlance, a Grand Leader.

At school Tuesday, Wyatt basked in the attention. “I told a lot of teachers,” he said. “They were amazed.”

Now comes the stomach-churning. If his fish holds on through Saturday night, he’ll have a one-in-four shot at the grand-prize Chevy Silverado. If lightning strikes (No Whammies!), he’d have to wait a little while longer to drive the truck, of course, but in the meantime he could get used to that cherished Martha’s Vineyard honorific, “Derby Champion.”

His superstitious dad — frankly, I’m shocked he picked up the phone to talk about the fish with me — isn’t doing much to help his nerves. Patrick is either preparing him for the worst sort of heartbreak, or else doing anything he can to keep from jinxing the kid. “I told him, ‘You’re going to get beat. It’s gonna happen. There are bigger fish out there. A nine pounder is not going to win this year,’” he said, wishing and hoping and dreaming that he’s completely and totally wrong. Working in their favor is the weather forecast. Big winds are called for as the derby heads into its final four days.

The Jenkinsons have been dialed in on the bonito this fall. Patrick led in the first week with an eight pounder, and he has two other daily winners to his name. One came on “Bonito Saturday” and got him a $500 jackpot.

On Monday school was out for Columbus Day, so they headed out at 7:30 a.m. in a stiff north wind. Nobody else was on the water as they got into position and cast their lines out. The way the Jenkinsons do it, Wyatt gets to fight the first fish, then they alternate. But the first one was a little bluefish, so father told son they would start taking turns after Wyatt caught a bonito, and the kid ended up with the rod when the next fish hit.

“It was a heck of a fight,” Patrick said. The first run sent the bonito right past the boat and they got a good look at it. “It was like, ‘Oh my god, I haven’t seen a big one like this in a long time.’ I says ‘This is a real one.’” He went for the net and it turned into a minor adventure. Patrick got the bonito halfway into the webbing but it shot back out and under the motor. A few hair-raising seconds later they had it on deck.

They marveled about the fish for a moment. Then, reflexively, they started talking about Wendy, Patrick’s wife and Wyatt’s mom, who died last year after a year-long fight with brain cancer. Fish like this inspire thoughts of the heavens.

“What else do we think about when something good happens, or something funny happens?” Patrick explained. “You know she was with us. It was an unbelievable moment. It was just a nice moment.”

Patrick has been fishing the derby forever. As a kid he won the junior ranks twice. As an adult he’s won enough daily pins to cover 10 hats, and he’s taken first place in the boat grand slam standings — a feat that earns lasting respect in hardcore fishing circles.

He knows better than to bank on Wyatt’s bonito. He knows how tough it is to finish a Grand Leader: He’s never even done it himself.

But juniors have been crashing the main leaderboard regularly in recent years. Molly Fischer, then 12 years old, finished atop the boat bass division with a 49-pounder in 2005. Two years later Chris Morris, an eighth-grader, caught the big bluefish, an 11-pounder, and went home with the grand-prize boat.

They ring the final bell on the derby Saturday night at 10. It can’t come soon enough for Wyatt.

“It’s probably going to be the longest week on my life.”

(In the meantime, he might consider reserving his derby badge number for the foreseeable future. Coop, the Edgartown tackle shop owner, set aside a special one for Wyatt this fall: 1234. Derby anglers are nothing if not superstitious, and that number may have mojo.)

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.