Weather 
A 300-pound tuna fish doesn’t care how much your house costs. And on the ocean, there are no VIP tables or name-dropping.
As the offshore tuna season reaches its peak at Montauk, Long Island, a wave of Wall Street thrill-seekers, million-dollar sportfishing boats and first-time charter anglers are pouring into one of the East Coast’s oldest fishing communities.
For generations, the only people who chased tuna were the ones whose lives revolved around the water.
Now these veteran anglers are begrudgingly sharing the beloved recreational sport of deep-water fishing for hard-fighting, giant and prized tuna fish with city slickers who only recently learned about the big game pursuit thanks to social media and reality TV.
“A lot of these guys are millionaires, and they come out and catch fish,” Montauk-based commercial fish dealer Bryan Gosman, 53, told The Post.
Among longtime commercial fishermen, Gosman said there’s an unspoken understanding: the new sport-fishing boom has changed the culture.
“Commercial guys get irritated because it does affect the market of fish. They think sport fishing guys don’t take good care of the fish; it becomes performative,” he added. “The picture is more important.”
“They’re multi-millionaires; the $4,000 check they get for a fish doesn’t even matter.”
The New York fishing market as a whole is valued at around $42 million, and a single top quality 1,000 pound tuna can fetch fishermen up to $10,000. An influx of new era banker fishermen who aren’t interested in quality or profit could significant dent longtime family businesses, for whom this is their only income stream.
The Montauk native doesn’t blame people for wanting to fish. His concern is what happens when a working waterfront becomes another Hamptons attraction — and social media fodder.
Consequential boom
The influx of recreational anglers hasn’t just changed who shows up at the dock but also the economics of it.
The question of what happens to an insular community and who “gets to be a fisherman” stops being hypothetical when it is impacting the supply chain.
As more sport fishermen obtain permits allowing them to sell part of their catch, the market shifts. When dozens of recreational boats return with tuna on the same day, prices can fall, meaning profits fall for the hard working fishermen.
“Before you know it, a mob of them go out to Montauk,” Gosman said, adding that not all tuna is worth a lot of money.
Although the fish dealer says more people are fishing, which is great for visibility, he’s adamant that the extremely high barrier to entry siphons it into a sport for the wealthy to enjoy as an adrenaline rush.
When Gosman first started helping his family business over two decades ago, he told The Post nobody wanted to know anything about the fisheries — but now it’s all the rage.
“It’s become like ‘You’re a cool fish dealer,’ whereas a couple of years ago it wasn’t like that,” he said.
Tuna fishing is having a moment
Atlantic Bluefin tuna populations are healthier and swimming closer to the shore than they have in decades, transforming what fishermen say was once a multi-day 70- to 100-mile expedition into a far more attainable outing for many anglers.
Faster boats and onboard satellite internet like Starlink have only accelerated that shift, allowing charter captains to reach the grounds more quickly — and, in some cases, letting customers respond to emails and conduct business — making it extremely attractive to high-pressure executives.
But cultural visibility may be the biggest change.
For years, offshore tuna fishing largely lived in the pages of fishing magazines and among coastal communities.
Today, it’s showing up everywhere, from ESPN’s social media feeds to TikTok, where videos of giant bluefin and dockside fillets routinely rack up tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, of views.
Reality shows like Wicked Tuna introduced millions of viewers to the sport years ago, but social media has made it feel even more attainable.
“Tuna fishing is oddly addicting,” one Hampton Bays-based fisherman, told The Post. “That’s why some of these Wall Street guys get a taste for it, and they’re like, ‘This is so awesome’.”
“You get out there for like a banker guy who works in New York City, and you get offshore, and you see 40 whales feeding with their mouths open, it’s like National Geographic.”
Sources told The Post there is a competitive nature to tuna fishing, which could also play into the curiosity of Wall Street guys flocking to the sport.
Captains say that visibility is changing who shows up at the dock.
“The onset of social media, Instagram is helping the sport because people are seeing things that they didn’t see before,” Marc Martino, 63, of No Excuses Charter, told The Post.
Martino has been fishing in Hampton Bays since the early 90s and only began chartering in 2008.
Despite some of the naysayers, others don’t blame many for getting hooked on the sport.
“I’ve seen guys get hooked on this sport in one trip. They caught their first 150 lb tuna, and they were all in, even as far as going to buy a boat,” veteran offshore angler Nick Carro told The Post.
He added that a majority of the people he takes out have no idea how ripe fishing in the North Atlantic actually is, with peak season running from July to November.
“They automatically associate it with southern states,” he explained. “They’re amazed at the size, quality, and quantity that we catch out here and they have no idea that tuna, swordfish and marlin even exist in the Northeast.”
The old salts
Long before tuna fishing became mainstream, Montauk had already earned its reputation as the sportfishing capital of the Northeast.
For generations, commercial fishermen and charter captains built livelihoods on taking advantage of the East End’s unique aquatic geography.
That history helps explain a reputation outsiders sometimes mistake for elitism.
“Montauk has been one of the oldest fishing communities, and because of that there is that reputation that it’s the elite fishery, full of elite captains,” said Will Cornacchia of the Montauk Anglers Club, a family-owned marina and offshore charter.
“It’s always been a hotspot for fishing. It’s the sportfishing capital of the Northeast.”
Before transitioning full-time to the water, Cornacchia, who’s been fishing since he was six-years-old, worked in finance at Goldman Sachs before a medical cause a shift in priorities and career.
According to him, newcomers often interpret as gatekeeping is rooted in experience.
Although technology has transformed the sport, the best electronics still can’t replace decades spent learning the water.
“You can be the most technologically savvy person there is,” the Montauk resident said. “But without that local knowledge and local know-how, you’re behind the eight ball.”
That old-school mentality still runs deep.
Carro describes Montauk’s longtime captains as “old salts”—fishermen who spent years earning their reputations and weren’t always eager to share hard-won secrets.
“They consider themselves elite,” he said, contrasting that tradition with a younger generation that’s more willing to teach newcomers and grow the sport.
But some hardcore guys are open to the idea of new anglers, especially the tourists who come out, spend thousands of dollars on a charter, and support the local community, despite the changing demographic.
“They’re the ones who support our living; they’re the ones who are booking trips and hiring guides, basically helping people make a living out here,” Cornacchia added, saying that there are differing opinions but that local knowledge and respect for those who have been doing it for generations cannot be replaced.
Despite the social media buzz, million-dollar sportfishing boats and Wall Street newcomers, every fisherman agreed on one thing: once you’re offshore, none of it matters.
One can spend thousands on fuel chasing tuna across the Atlantic, and you can still come home empty-handed.
Maybe that’s why, in a Hamptons increasingly defined by access, exclusivity and carefully curated experiences, offshore fishing continues to feel more grounded.
“We try to create an environment where anyone passionate about fishing, regardless of where they’re from, regardless of their economic background, can create an environment that transcends all those barriers and allows people to share the passion,” said Cornacchia.
