Hi all as some of you know I'm recently back from a real once in a lifetime trip of adventure to a remote underwater volcano in the Mozambique channel called bassas da India. 6 of us ventured away to what can only be described as a Jurassic park! Me and a buddy are going to post some of the trip report for you guys to follow but be warned its a big tale to tell! Glynn will post shortly, I hope you all enjoy it as much as we did the trip!
Cheers Tomo
PLEASE NOTE: This is the Archived Sexyloops Board from years 2004-2013.
Our active community is here: https://www.sexyloops.co.uk/theboard/
Our active community is here: https://www.sexyloops.co.uk/theboard/
Bassas Da India - Uncharted Waters
Hey Guys,
As Tomo says, loads to tell so I'll get on with it. I have up till our first night done so I'll get that up and then share the rest as I finish the text and pictures. I hope you enjoy, we certainly did!
Here I was....
Sitting at the airport bar, consumed with excitement and anticipation. I was surrounded by mates and tucking into cold beers. Somehow I just couldn’t quite believe this day had finally come! It was three years ago when I told my closest friends Jon and Tommo about the legends of a remote wilderness almost out of reach. A place with such mystery and so little known of it that even the power of Google couldn’t provide answers. Word of mouth, extreme divers and round the world yachties gave some insight into this tiny spec in the middle of the ocean - Today the only shelter for sailors as they attempt the Mozambique Channel crossing. It was one of the worst maritime hazards for Vasco Da Gama and the Portuguese Armadas on their spice routes, claiming the very ship that gave its original name of Baixo da Judia - A place even now off its actual position on the charts. Ultimately though it was the subject of the most enticing fishing story I had ever been told!
I had returned back to South Africa to fish in our 25th year ski boat club competition. Our skipper, Russell, was on the engines keeping us straight in a terrible sea as we tried to get our 1kg weights to the depths. I made a comment about it being hectic which enticed the chap sitting next to me into his tale. This hard core Zimbabwean Game farmer and Rhodesian veteran retold to me of an experience when even he was overcome with fear. Not for one moment when a bullet passed his head but for 3 days solid. He told me about this place called Bassas and that even those 3 days were unquestionably worth it! I simply had to go! After 3 years of planning and a little over a year of execution, here we were, finally on our expedition to discover what rewards a Fly fisherman could reap.
The Team
On such an undertaking, you need a tight crew, a group who can tolerate each other, ignore the small things and give as much banter as they can take. In way of introduction...Jon Pratt(Pond321) and I have fished together for years - In Uk Rivers and salt, the seas of Africa, America and the Pacific. It was Jon who introduced me to Tommo(JAT) 3 years ago, the night I first raised the idea of Bassas. Recently he had taken a job in Oz and I’d really missed our usual fishing antics. It was great he could make it back to his mates, not that Jon usually turns down an adventure. Jon has been there since the begining of my journey in flyfishing. While he is truely a Jonah when it comes to packing the weather, having him with us on trip rained or blown out is better than any weather perfect trip without him. I can't comment on any trip with perfect weather and with him as this is simply a contradiction.
Jonathan Tomlinson or Tommo for short, like him, also managed to convince me to go to Belize that year. We had an awesome trip, both sharing an unreasonable infatuation with permit, we landed our first on the fly on the same day sharing a boat. That bonds never been broken and as best mates, living down the road from each other, it’s had a very positive effect on the local pubs and butchers bottom line. The run up to this trip and our recent boat building experience has lead to Thursdays being renamed Tommo Thursdays and the spare room Tommos cottage. It does worry me slightly that his shower gel seems to have taken permanant resedency in our bathroom but it isnt a toothbrush so Emma has no need to worry :rolleyes:
Brian(FlyBri), while a self confessed Blue Water Virgin, is no Jessie when it comes to a fly rod. He’s a passionate angler for all things wild and the four of us together have spent many a night chasing Sea Trout, many a day chasing salmon, brownies and bass. I'll add a few hours on the river banks enjoying a single malt, or happy henry juice as he calls it. If it’s wild and swims he’s after it. He’s also annoyingly one of those anglers that if it’s in a puddle he’ll catch it. Brian has a lovely family and doesn’t spend much time away from them. He’d always threatened to come on one of our trips but never been able to make it because of the time commitment. I nearly chocked when the phone rang and Brian eloquently told me he wanted in and couldn’t take listening to us babble on about the experiences. I think he was after some tame flats stuff but we had a very different plan! I couldn’t wait to finally justify the nights of enthusiastic tales about spooled reels and screaming drags.
I first met Steve Pengelly “Penagas” in Belize. He’s a real character who I affectionately refer to as the old man of the sea. He has a lot of traditional fishing experience in wild places like Guinea Bissau, Kenya, Tanzania to name a few. He’ always up for a craic and is simply one of the boys, often showing us a thing or two! He and my Father could cover the Jigging Popping and trolling angle in and out. I fondly remember pengas insisting in being involved in a Beliezian cocktail called the Lizzard Juice wearing a pink bowtie and being the only one up for repeating the experience the next day. A true asset to the crew.
Those that know me, know my father, Terry Henry. He introduced me to fishing when I was born and we now share the passion. I learnt everything I knew about fishing from my dad and it’s taken us around the world together making my best memories, those of our adventures. We’re best friends and I just can’t imagine having this experience without him.
As Tomo says, loads to tell so I'll get on with it. I have up till our first night done so I'll get that up and then share the rest as I finish the text and pictures. I hope you enjoy, we certainly did!
Here I was....
Sitting at the airport bar, consumed with excitement and anticipation. I was surrounded by mates and tucking into cold beers. Somehow I just couldn’t quite believe this day had finally come! It was three years ago when I told my closest friends Jon and Tommo about the legends of a remote wilderness almost out of reach. A place with such mystery and so little known of it that even the power of Google couldn’t provide answers. Word of mouth, extreme divers and round the world yachties gave some insight into this tiny spec in the middle of the ocean - Today the only shelter for sailors as they attempt the Mozambique Channel crossing. It was one of the worst maritime hazards for Vasco Da Gama and the Portuguese Armadas on their spice routes, claiming the very ship that gave its original name of Baixo da Judia - A place even now off its actual position on the charts. Ultimately though it was the subject of the most enticing fishing story I had ever been told!
I had returned back to South Africa to fish in our 25th year ski boat club competition. Our skipper, Russell, was on the engines keeping us straight in a terrible sea as we tried to get our 1kg weights to the depths. I made a comment about it being hectic which enticed the chap sitting next to me into his tale. This hard core Zimbabwean Game farmer and Rhodesian veteran retold to me of an experience when even he was overcome with fear. Not for one moment when a bullet passed his head but for 3 days solid. He told me about this place called Bassas and that even those 3 days were unquestionably worth it! I simply had to go! After 3 years of planning and a little over a year of execution, here we were, finally on our expedition to discover what rewards a Fly fisherman could reap.
The Team
On such an undertaking, you need a tight crew, a group who can tolerate each other, ignore the small things and give as much banter as they can take. In way of introduction...Jon Pratt(Pond321) and I have fished together for years - In Uk Rivers and salt, the seas of Africa, America and the Pacific. It was Jon who introduced me to Tommo(JAT) 3 years ago, the night I first raised the idea of Bassas. Recently he had taken a job in Oz and I’d really missed our usual fishing antics. It was great he could make it back to his mates, not that Jon usually turns down an adventure. Jon has been there since the begining of my journey in flyfishing. While he is truely a Jonah when it comes to packing the weather, having him with us on trip rained or blown out is better than any weather perfect trip without him. I can't comment on any trip with perfect weather and with him as this is simply a contradiction.
Jonathan Tomlinson or Tommo for short, like him, also managed to convince me to go to Belize that year. We had an awesome trip, both sharing an unreasonable infatuation with permit, we landed our first on the fly on the same day sharing a boat. That bonds never been broken and as best mates, living down the road from each other, it’s had a very positive effect on the local pubs and butchers bottom line. The run up to this trip and our recent boat building experience has lead to Thursdays being renamed Tommo Thursdays and the spare room Tommos cottage. It does worry me slightly that his shower gel seems to have taken permanant resedency in our bathroom but it isnt a toothbrush so Emma has no need to worry :rolleyes:
Brian(FlyBri), while a self confessed Blue Water Virgin, is no Jessie when it comes to a fly rod. He’s a passionate angler for all things wild and the four of us together have spent many a night chasing Sea Trout, many a day chasing salmon, brownies and bass. I'll add a few hours on the river banks enjoying a single malt, or happy henry juice as he calls it. If it’s wild and swims he’s after it. He’s also annoyingly one of those anglers that if it’s in a puddle he’ll catch it. Brian has a lovely family and doesn’t spend much time away from them. He’d always threatened to come on one of our trips but never been able to make it because of the time commitment. I nearly chocked when the phone rang and Brian eloquently told me he wanted in and couldn’t take listening to us babble on about the experiences. I think he was after some tame flats stuff but we had a very different plan! I couldn’t wait to finally justify the nights of enthusiastic tales about spooled reels and screaming drags.
I first met Steve Pengelly “Penagas” in Belize. He’s a real character who I affectionately refer to as the old man of the sea. He has a lot of traditional fishing experience in wild places like Guinea Bissau, Kenya, Tanzania to name a few. He’ always up for a craic and is simply one of the boys, often showing us a thing or two! He and my Father could cover the Jigging Popping and trolling angle in and out. I fondly remember pengas insisting in being involved in a Beliezian cocktail called the Lizzard Juice wearing a pink bowtie and being the only one up for repeating the experience the next day. A true asset to the crew.
Those that know me, know my father, Terry Henry. He introduced me to fishing when I was born and we now share the passion. I learnt everything I knew about fishing from my dad and it’s taken us around the world together making my best memories, those of our adventures. We’re best friends and I just can’t imagine having this experience without him.
We boarded our plane and our takeoff signalled the start of our journey, a 10hour flight to Johannesburg, where we boarded a small plane with Federal Air. We landed in the Kruger Game Park and then our final touchdown in Vilanculos Mozambique. I have to say I was really impressed with the service, professionalism and can do attitude of the airline. It must have been a daunting task to have been faced with a group of over enthusiastic anglers each carrying up to 60kg of excess baggage and specialist equipment. They just smiled and got us on the plane. We arrived, on time and with all our bags. Its wonderful to see the development of Mozambique not long out of civil war. The airport new and polished complete since January! It’s such a modern greeting and completely unexpected as your flight approach takes you over just traditional mud huts and local settlement. It's true to say the excitement was effecting us in strange ways but the number one rule was never be the first to fall asleep.
At arrival we were greeted by Brent Craig, our skipper and fearless leader for the next 12 days. A smiling man with presence and exuding confidence, it was easy to pick him from a crowd! I think Brian described him best as an extra in a surfing film...
He piled our stuff into two pickups and we bundled ourselves into the safari truck and headed off to the harbour. The setting was just special. The tide was out showing off its white sand flats and azure channels across the archipelago. The small bay in front of us was dominated by the Pelagic II, a lovely 45ft catamaran and our home for the next 12days. All the local children surrounded us, all wanting to help, hoisting our 25kg+ bags up on their shoulders and off down the beach to the tender, laughing joking and wishing us well.
We were given our safety briefing and signed away our indemnities and made clear that this was an open boat and we all shared the responsibilities equally. What we were about to undertake was serious and even minor issues could have severe consequences. We were to respect each others space and work together as a team. We split into pairs and all chose our rooms. Well I say rooms but really they were comfortable sleeping quarters, a double bed to share top and tails. Of course this was immediately the subject of amusing antics from the “team”. I shall leave out the finer details of welsh love spoons and secret love letters strategically placed under pillows.
After a quick dip to wash out that stale travel feeling we secured the tender, hoisted the anchor and set sail. 250 miles away an underwater volcano, rising from 3000meters below the sea level 10km in diameter, its crater holding secrets and stories none could have imagined, was waiting for us.
Not wanting to waste a minute of fishing time the lures, teasers and marlin smokers were in the water. It wasn’t long; minutes actually till the first ratchet went. The rod was handed to Brian and a small Spanish mackerel of a couple of KG’s would be the first fish and it was safely returned. While we all had Catch and Release as our priority, logistics, space and the nature of our trip meant that we would need to selectively take fish for the table. I must say as we left the islands that its a hard concept leaving a fishing Mecca like Bazaruto to fish somewhere apparently even better.
The countdown had begun and as the miles ticked away on the GPS, the skipper and his first mate Lucky, prepared the prawn curry while the auto pilot steered us into our first night. What a first night it was! We met a weather front and the first wave hit us on my watch sometime after midnight. We had not expected this and we were faced with wind and sea that was just not on the forecast. It was a frantic few moments to close portholes and skylights and mop up the water in the kitchen and below decks. Quite amusing as I look back now. Our skipper and lucky were all hands on deck but obviously hardened by many conditions far worse. He reassured us and smiled. A few checks of bearing and equipment he returned for his much needed shuteye. I did catch a muttering of something about ***** weather forecasts. I felt a bit guilty when I had to wake him again for the lights on the horizon. He adjusted the course to avoid the massive trawlers and again returned to his bunk. The need for the night watch shifts was now clear and unquestionable. Each person on the boat had the responsibility to do a shift. One night on, one night off and a rotation on time slot 9-12pm; 12-3; 3-6am... 12-3 being the hot potato.
We got battered by the sea that night and out progress had slowed to 3knots/h. In those last hours of dark it all just hit me. The daunting reality of exposure, the risks, sleep deprivation and the reality of just how far and long another 30 hours would be! Had I made a mistake, had we just bitten off more than we could chew? I dealt privately with many negative thoughts and I admit it was tough. They were very challenging hours for me and I was struggling with my mind. The beauty of the sunrise, the ocean around, coffee and my friends all played a role in overcoming that experience. I’m a confident person who thrives on adventure, the wild side and the outdoors so I will never understand why I felt that way but it was a first for me. I retell it to hopefully illustrate the gravity of where we were and that I, who had had the longest to prepare and felt I understood the scale of the journey best, had simply underestimated it.
Brent was up early and prepared a full breakfast. I was mighty impressed as we were struggling to keep our coffee cups in one place. The weather calmed a bit and out came the iPods and general antics of blokes confined to a small space. We all began to settle and enjoy the journey. Tomorrow morning just after sunrise we would finally arrive at Bassas!
We woke to a different day, the sea had calmed and we were almost there. Fly rods and reels were everywhere and the rigging antics were crazy. We lashed up cable ties to get the rods up out the way and the anticipation filled the air. The fish finder clearly illustrated just how incredible this structure actually was. We may as well have been looking at an OS map of Everest.
I was torn between staying at the back with the lures or heading to the bow which eventually won. The flying fish leaped and glided from our path and in the distance I could see what looked like a ship at sea. Brent pointed it out and confirmed that it was the famous shipwreck. The tremendous waves filled the horizon and the call was given... We had arrived, Bassas Da India was upon us.... and that’s when the pandemonium began!
At arrival we were greeted by Brent Craig, our skipper and fearless leader for the next 12 days. A smiling man with presence and exuding confidence, it was easy to pick him from a crowd! I think Brian described him best as an extra in a surfing film...
He piled our stuff into two pickups and we bundled ourselves into the safari truck and headed off to the harbour. The setting was just special. The tide was out showing off its white sand flats and azure channels across the archipelago. The small bay in front of us was dominated by the Pelagic II, a lovely 45ft catamaran and our home for the next 12days. All the local children surrounded us, all wanting to help, hoisting our 25kg+ bags up on their shoulders and off down the beach to the tender, laughing joking and wishing us well.
We were given our safety briefing and signed away our indemnities and made clear that this was an open boat and we all shared the responsibilities equally. What we were about to undertake was serious and even minor issues could have severe consequences. We were to respect each others space and work together as a team. We split into pairs and all chose our rooms. Well I say rooms but really they were comfortable sleeping quarters, a double bed to share top and tails. Of course this was immediately the subject of amusing antics from the “team”. I shall leave out the finer details of welsh love spoons and secret love letters strategically placed under pillows.
After a quick dip to wash out that stale travel feeling we secured the tender, hoisted the anchor and set sail. 250 miles away an underwater volcano, rising from 3000meters below the sea level 10km in diameter, its crater holding secrets and stories none could have imagined, was waiting for us.
Not wanting to waste a minute of fishing time the lures, teasers and marlin smokers were in the water. It wasn’t long; minutes actually till the first ratchet went. The rod was handed to Brian and a small Spanish mackerel of a couple of KG’s would be the first fish and it was safely returned. While we all had Catch and Release as our priority, logistics, space and the nature of our trip meant that we would need to selectively take fish for the table. I must say as we left the islands that its a hard concept leaving a fishing Mecca like Bazaruto to fish somewhere apparently even better.
The countdown had begun and as the miles ticked away on the GPS, the skipper and his first mate Lucky, prepared the prawn curry while the auto pilot steered us into our first night. What a first night it was! We met a weather front and the first wave hit us on my watch sometime after midnight. We had not expected this and we were faced with wind and sea that was just not on the forecast. It was a frantic few moments to close portholes and skylights and mop up the water in the kitchen and below decks. Quite amusing as I look back now. Our skipper and lucky were all hands on deck but obviously hardened by many conditions far worse. He reassured us and smiled. A few checks of bearing and equipment he returned for his much needed shuteye. I did catch a muttering of something about ***** weather forecasts. I felt a bit guilty when I had to wake him again for the lights on the horizon. He adjusted the course to avoid the massive trawlers and again returned to his bunk. The need for the night watch shifts was now clear and unquestionable. Each person on the boat had the responsibility to do a shift. One night on, one night off and a rotation on time slot 9-12pm; 12-3; 3-6am... 12-3 being the hot potato.
We got battered by the sea that night and out progress had slowed to 3knots/h. In those last hours of dark it all just hit me. The daunting reality of exposure, the risks, sleep deprivation and the reality of just how far and long another 30 hours would be! Had I made a mistake, had we just bitten off more than we could chew? I dealt privately with many negative thoughts and I admit it was tough. They were very challenging hours for me and I was struggling with my mind. The beauty of the sunrise, the ocean around, coffee and my friends all played a role in overcoming that experience. I’m a confident person who thrives on adventure, the wild side and the outdoors so I will never understand why I felt that way but it was a first for me. I retell it to hopefully illustrate the gravity of where we were and that I, who had had the longest to prepare and felt I understood the scale of the journey best, had simply underestimated it.
Brent was up early and prepared a full breakfast. I was mighty impressed as we were struggling to keep our coffee cups in one place. The weather calmed a bit and out came the iPods and general antics of blokes confined to a small space. We all began to settle and enjoy the journey. Tomorrow morning just after sunrise we would finally arrive at Bassas!
We woke to a different day, the sea had calmed and we were almost there. Fly rods and reels were everywhere and the rigging antics were crazy. We lashed up cable ties to get the rods up out the way and the anticipation filled the air. The fish finder clearly illustrated just how incredible this structure actually was. We may as well have been looking at an OS map of Everest.
I was torn between staying at the back with the lures or heading to the bow which eventually won. The flying fish leaped and glided from our path and in the distance I could see what looked like a ship at sea. Brent pointed it out and confirmed that it was the famous shipwreck. The tremendous waves filled the horizon and the call was given... We had arrived, Bassas Da India was upon us.... and that’s when the pandemonium began!
What happened next was simply insane! Many of the lines and memories are crossed and confused with the unimaginable excitement, action and chaos. I can only do my best to recount those memories that are clear and will just enjoy the others as they pop up in my mind over the years to come. First of all, as we hit the atoll, all the reels started screaming. I don’t remember what order went where or who grabbed which rods or who they tripped over to get to them but one after the other the lures were hit, the lures would tear off to the horizon and then after a few seconds be gone. At that time I didn’t understand what was happening as it was strange to be losing fish after fish. It didn’t matter as the boat hadn’t stopped and as one would come off another ratchet would sound. The culprit would however reveal itself. I grabbed a rod and struck hard and finally after a good little fight the first fish from the atoll was on the boat, a lovely yellow fin tuna.
Minutes later, as we reset the lures the horizon was broken by a huge splash, then another and another and another. A huge sailfish was leaping high into the sky, over and over like a dolphin. I stared at the reels confused why one wasn’t smoking, “it must have hit one, surely!” but it quickly became clear that the saily was jumping towards us and not away! This was insane; the sailfish was coming like a truck – “is this real?” I thought to myself. It smashed a lure and the ratchet kicked off, then the rod next to it went too. Someone grabbed one and I the other. Immediately I could tell I had the saily on. The other was coming quick and turned out to be another tuna. I was holding tight and pulling hard but getting nowhere. My eyes picked up a bright blue flash behind the transom, then another and another. There were sailies all over the back of the boat and I could clearly make out 5 fish as I shouted to get the lines in the water. Brian was on the washboard fly rod in hand and made a cast. The fish were on fire and immediately pounced engulfing the fly. Brian was now standing there astounded, hooked into a sailfish on the fly. Welcome to blue water fly-fishing my man!
We sadly both came unstuck and my frustration got the better of me, I was now ******! My hand ran down the leader and I felt the small kinks in the line. Workmen and there tools and all that... I blurted out profanities at the mono and inadvertently Brent. This amused the crew no end. Don’t make the mistake of thinking fishing is just a hobby for me! The fact was that we were all being taken back to school here! It was time for a massive tactical rethink. Brent laid down the facts, Boys, you aren’t in Kansas anymore! Tackle up the big sticks and “pull something scary!” Off went the engines, away went the 12# and out came the 14’s and 16 weights. Brent then casually picks up his popping rod and wondered off to the bow of the boat while we are tying on 150lb leaders. The corner of my eye picks up the popper as it flies through the air, landed, popped once, twice and the water just erupted as a tuna of over 60b smashed into its target. Brent was wrenched over the side holding on like a jackrussel on a rabbit. That only lasted seconds and he turned and muttered the word we would get to know very well.... CONVERTED!
This was too much for the boys. My father and Steve were practically tripping over each other to get to the bow with popping rods. Out flew the poppers and queue the single most amusing moment of the trip. My dad had geared up with the new Torque reel, 80lb braid and 150lb mono. Brent told him to stick the thing of full drag, so he did. He hadn’t realised that the torque put down 50lb of drag. He had barely moved the popper when the tuna train hit. It was a bloody big train too! Terry went flying; thankfully Pratty was in his path and caught him round the waist. Then the 2 of them go stumbling along after the fish but a shark hits the tuna like the tuna was a popper ... CONVERTED! Another Tactical rethink was required... Back to the tackle box and out with the 100lb wire.
Now Brians screaming lie a Jessie and the fly rod is bending over double. The bright Yellow part of the nautilus is shrinking in a hurry and the reel is just flying. At this point I’m just randomly laughing my tits off but admit to being a little scared. You don’t have to tell Brian twice, clearly determined not to show any inexperience he’s laying into this thing like a school fight behind the bicycle shed – thank god too because he was rewarded with a stunning 30lb Wahoo on the deck. Proudly sporting a face, as long as I live, I will never forget! Brian’s bleeping about a 15lb salmon or something and I look at my watch... It was 9:30am on our first morning!
“Ok Glynn, Get a hold of yourself!” I’m thinking. I Turn around and my dad's just standing over his tackle bag shaking his head saying “ We didn’t bring enough tackle, we just didn’t bring enough tackle” No time for rest now as Pratty is on the other washboard hollering out another cheerleading anthem. He too is clutching his 14# weight for dear life. He fights it hard and beaches the shark onto the washboard. I had assumed the fish handling and unhooking duties so approached this new situation with vigour. I’m used to unhooking sharks in the water not on a level playing field. Man0-amano and the shark definitely won! Thankfully Brent pushed passed the giggling rent a crowd and made easy work out of the epic battle I had just attempted... everyday’s a school day.
Minutes later, as we reset the lures the horizon was broken by a huge splash, then another and another and another. A huge sailfish was leaping high into the sky, over and over like a dolphin. I stared at the reels confused why one wasn’t smoking, “it must have hit one, surely!” but it quickly became clear that the saily was jumping towards us and not away! This was insane; the sailfish was coming like a truck – “is this real?” I thought to myself. It smashed a lure and the ratchet kicked off, then the rod next to it went too. Someone grabbed one and I the other. Immediately I could tell I had the saily on. The other was coming quick and turned out to be another tuna. I was holding tight and pulling hard but getting nowhere. My eyes picked up a bright blue flash behind the transom, then another and another. There were sailies all over the back of the boat and I could clearly make out 5 fish as I shouted to get the lines in the water. Brian was on the washboard fly rod in hand and made a cast. The fish were on fire and immediately pounced engulfing the fly. Brian was now standing there astounded, hooked into a sailfish on the fly. Welcome to blue water fly-fishing my man!
We sadly both came unstuck and my frustration got the better of me, I was now ******! My hand ran down the leader and I felt the small kinks in the line. Workmen and there tools and all that... I blurted out profanities at the mono and inadvertently Brent. This amused the crew no end. Don’t make the mistake of thinking fishing is just a hobby for me! The fact was that we were all being taken back to school here! It was time for a massive tactical rethink. Brent laid down the facts, Boys, you aren’t in Kansas anymore! Tackle up the big sticks and “pull something scary!” Off went the engines, away went the 12# and out came the 14’s and 16 weights. Brent then casually picks up his popping rod and wondered off to the bow of the boat while we are tying on 150lb leaders. The corner of my eye picks up the popper as it flies through the air, landed, popped once, twice and the water just erupted as a tuna of over 60b smashed into its target. Brent was wrenched over the side holding on like a jackrussel on a rabbit. That only lasted seconds and he turned and muttered the word we would get to know very well.... CONVERTED!
This was too much for the boys. My father and Steve were practically tripping over each other to get to the bow with popping rods. Out flew the poppers and queue the single most amusing moment of the trip. My dad had geared up with the new Torque reel, 80lb braid and 150lb mono. Brent told him to stick the thing of full drag, so he did. He hadn’t realised that the torque put down 50lb of drag. He had barely moved the popper when the tuna train hit. It was a bloody big train too! Terry went flying; thankfully Pratty was in his path and caught him round the waist. Then the 2 of them go stumbling along after the fish but a shark hits the tuna like the tuna was a popper ... CONVERTED! Another Tactical rethink was required... Back to the tackle box and out with the 100lb wire.
Now Brians screaming lie a Jessie and the fly rod is bending over double. The bright Yellow part of the nautilus is shrinking in a hurry and the reel is just flying. At this point I’m just randomly laughing my tits off but admit to being a little scared. You don’t have to tell Brian twice, clearly determined not to show any inexperience he’s laying into this thing like a school fight behind the bicycle shed – thank god too because he was rewarded with a stunning 30lb Wahoo on the deck. Proudly sporting a face, as long as I live, I will never forget! Brian’s bleeping about a 15lb salmon or something and I look at my watch... It was 9:30am on our first morning!
“Ok Glynn, Get a hold of yourself!” I’m thinking. I Turn around and my dad's just standing over his tackle bag shaking his head saying “ We didn’t bring enough tackle, we just didn’t bring enough tackle” No time for rest now as Pratty is on the other washboard hollering out another cheerleading anthem. He too is clutching his 14# weight for dear life. He fights it hard and beaches the shark onto the washboard. I had assumed the fish handling and unhooking duties so approached this new situation with vigour. I’m used to unhooking sharks in the water not on a level playing field. Man0-amano and the shark definitely won! Thankfully Brent pushed passed the giggling rent a crowd and made easy work out of the epic battle I had just attempted... everyday’s a school day.
As the white tip swam away it was replaced by a monster. Brian saw it first and went white - Closely followed by me. A blooming Tiger shark! Next came the Oceanic White tip which wasn’t that much smaller and they were followed by the 8 Galapagos sharks and the smaller white and black tips. We all just stopped for a while and stared at this spectacle of sharks all around the boat. Brian opens his mouth and comes out with the slogan of the trip “It’s a foaming Maelstrom of death!”
Thankfully it was time for lunch or maybe it wasn’t and Brent just thought we needed a break. While the food disappeared Brent laid out a few more facts. “You guys can hook as many fish as you want this trip but if you want to see it then you have 3 – 4 minutes, max, to put it on the boat!” Now I’m not exactly known for fannying around with my fish, I’m quite proud of my horseman nickname, but 3 – 4 minutes to land a 30lb tuna! This was a very new concept to me! So after lunch it was time to move because we weren’t going to stay here and feed lambs, with our fast depleting tackle stocks, to the foaming maelstrom of death.
Ah hell, another Sailfish explodes out the back. Another massive fish but this time attached to the “big Sticks” and unfortunately for it, my father with a score to settle. He hit it hard and really tucked into the gears. I got my gloves on and jumped down to the washboard, the sharks not far from my mind. I went over the landing process over and over in my mind. You just can’t afford to go overboard out here. Terry showed us how it was done and the wind on leader arrived. I grabbed it with both hands, timing the swell and hoisting the bill. I missed the dam bill and fumbled for a second but recovered and found my grip. Dad jumped down for a quick photo and we got the beautiful fish back in the wash within seconds. I held the bill and we towed her for a while. It was a real tussle and she needed the oxygenated water desperately. Finally came the kicking and she was ready. There is just nothing as satisfying as watching a fish of that scale swim off majestically to the depths.
Tomo was next, fly at the ready and out into the chaos behind the teaser, the reel is singing sweet home Alabama! Tomo then proceeds to show us he was listening at lunch!. He straight sticks this poor thing and puts it on the deck in a time even Roger Banister would be proud of... 3 minutes flat. Tommos first yellow fin on the fly, leaving him shaking with adrenalin.... Sushi tonight! But not yet, as it’s still the bloody afternoon! Steve and someone else is now tucking into another tuna on the stand-up gear and we literally have them under the boat. My fly is engulfed and we are all playing hop scotch around the transom and each other. Steve boats a lovely yellow fin followed by mine, this is just Day1, ENOUGH!
Broken we headed to our anchorage point and 5 seconds to pick up the pieces. I have never in my life been beaten up by fish that badly. I have simply no idea how many fish we landed or lost that day, many over 100lb. This place was definitely a piscatorial Jurassic park. Our expectations for this trip were extremely high and they had just been completely and utterly blown out of the park. The journey was long forgotten, the beers satisfying and cold, the sushi fresh as it gets all playing their part in repairing our beaten bodies and then the rum. As tired as we were, did we hit the bunks? Hell No! The rum started a chain of events and the Midnight Rum Snapper Club was born!....
Some pictures to give you an incite into the atmosphere of the club
Thankfully it was time for lunch or maybe it wasn’t and Brent just thought we needed a break. While the food disappeared Brent laid out a few more facts. “You guys can hook as many fish as you want this trip but if you want to see it then you have 3 – 4 minutes, max, to put it on the boat!” Now I’m not exactly known for fannying around with my fish, I’m quite proud of my horseman nickname, but 3 – 4 minutes to land a 30lb tuna! This was a very new concept to me! So after lunch it was time to move because we weren’t going to stay here and feed lambs, with our fast depleting tackle stocks, to the foaming maelstrom of death.
Ah hell, another Sailfish explodes out the back. Another massive fish but this time attached to the “big Sticks” and unfortunately for it, my father with a score to settle. He hit it hard and really tucked into the gears. I got my gloves on and jumped down to the washboard, the sharks not far from my mind. I went over the landing process over and over in my mind. You just can’t afford to go overboard out here. Terry showed us how it was done and the wind on leader arrived. I grabbed it with both hands, timing the swell and hoisting the bill. I missed the dam bill and fumbled for a second but recovered and found my grip. Dad jumped down for a quick photo and we got the beautiful fish back in the wash within seconds. I held the bill and we towed her for a while. It was a real tussle and she needed the oxygenated water desperately. Finally came the kicking and she was ready. There is just nothing as satisfying as watching a fish of that scale swim off majestically to the depths.
Tomo was next, fly at the ready and out into the chaos behind the teaser, the reel is singing sweet home Alabama! Tomo then proceeds to show us he was listening at lunch!. He straight sticks this poor thing and puts it on the deck in a time even Roger Banister would be proud of... 3 minutes flat. Tommos first yellow fin on the fly, leaving him shaking with adrenalin.... Sushi tonight! But not yet, as it’s still the bloody afternoon! Steve and someone else is now tucking into another tuna on the stand-up gear and we literally have them under the boat. My fly is engulfed and we are all playing hop scotch around the transom and each other. Steve boats a lovely yellow fin followed by mine, this is just Day1, ENOUGH!
Broken we headed to our anchorage point and 5 seconds to pick up the pieces. I have never in my life been beaten up by fish that badly. I have simply no idea how many fish we landed or lost that day, many over 100lb. This place was definitely a piscatorial Jurassic park. Our expectations for this trip were extremely high and they had just been completely and utterly blown out of the park. The journey was long forgotten, the beers satisfying and cold, the sushi fresh as it gets all playing their part in repairing our beaten bodies and then the rum. As tired as we were, did we hit the bunks? Hell No! The rum started a chain of events and the Midnight Rum Snapper Club was born!....
Some pictures to give you an incite into the atmosphere of the club
Our first night...
The dark arts possesion.
A piece of tuna found its way onto a 12/0 hook and lead weight. Head torches scoured the water around the boat and anywhere the beam hit revealed 1 of 2 things, a big black jack or a big grey shark. The gauntlet hit the ground at midnight – “let’s see if we can get the bait to the bottom!” We hadn’t really thought past that because honestly we didn’t think we could get past that.
For whatever reason though the bait plummeted to the bottom and the sharks stayed at the surface. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with the last 12 hours as a benchmark and Brent had gone to bed so we hadn’t sanity checked our idea. A magnificent silence for all of 2 seconds fell over us. Then came the tell tale....THUD, THUD !
I held as tight as I could, except the THUD, THUD was a rather large THUD, THUD.
My youth of bait fishing took over and I struck hard straight into what might as well have been a DHL delivery truck. Thank god for the bucket round the waist! That would be the last time the torque reel would be set on anything less than its 50lb drag maximum.
Tightening the drag to full had the desired effect but I had tightened it too late. The few seconds of going backwards had caught the attention of the resident death squad. It was eerie to look into the water and suddenly see no sharks. The conversion was quick and painless and the return of the 6lb head wasn’t all bad. Apart from the extra bait, we now knew a few more things. There were a lot of big fish below us, very willing to feed. We also knew that with only a few hooks and sinkers we would just have to approach this in the only manner that would be acceptable to the Midnight Rum Snapper Club’s standards. Buckets, gloves, big baits, the drag set to full and someone holding onto your belt and the boat. This reel pulled in 1.2 meters of line per turn and with the incredible drag it was quite literally a physical tug of war. It was 20 meters deep at the front of the boat and 100meters at the back so options were simple -any giving up from the man at the plate and you’d be reefed in seconds or converted almost as fast!
Gonig into the darkness and getting stuck in.
Those hours flew by as fantastic entertainment. Every time the bait went down you’d hook-up in seconds. We just took turns.... Fish, Rest, Rum, Hold. The smallest fish we caught that night was 6lb and the average over 10lb with some crackers in the over 20 crowd! We were just playing around with what would have been, before Bassas, a fish of the trip for most. On a number of occasions we were simply unable to stop massive GT’s in the 50kg mark and even bigger Potato bass from the inevitable caves and overhangs of the incredible structure. It’s quite something to get the privilege of feeling this immense strength. Holding on to something with all of your strength and experience and simply having no impact at all. Ultimately though an addiction to winching up the 10lb fish from the depths, holding light rods, as they flew past the snapping jaws of the surface which defined the experience. There were moments when the sharks would actually have a go at the washboard, which was interesting while you were having a wee. You’d wait for the sharks to swim past and drop the snappers in head first and watch them swim the gauntlet and reach the safety of the holes in the wall seconds away. What was amazing though was that if the bait got bitten off they’d eat the bare hook, some would bite it off and then they’d bite the sinkers off too anything that went down would get eaten. It was certainly good practice because over the days that were to come we would really have to get a grip with this hit and hold technique.
My favourite fish that night was the smallest one which we worked this whole playground bully technique on. Remember the 1.2 meters per turn? Well a 6lb fish coming up from around 20 meters at around two meters per second from the pitch black is hard to judge it’s exit strategy. It didnt really announce itself and came flying out of the dark and into the boat over our heads. It’s amusing because even though I’d stopped reeling as it hit the surface, the momentum carried it. I wish we could get that sort of power from a fly reel ;D
The club was rudely interupted by a flying fish gliding out of the darkness and crashing head on into the metal BBQ on the transom. Completely knocking itself out, landing on the deck and bouncing down onto the washboard and finally into the sea. We found the events rather amusing but stopped laughing about 2 seconds later. A truely monstrous shark exploded on the poor thing and that was that! We all held each others belts a little tighter on the next downs.
One of the crew emerged from the bunks below deck cradling another flying fish... “What’s up mate, I don’t remember you going to bed with that?” “Yeah, bloody thing somehow managed to fly straight through the tea cup porthole and into the bedroom, scared the **** out of me!” He launched it out into the darkness but I didn’t have much hope for it.
Considering landing each fish was like a bench pressing session in the gym we reached a point at some stage before sunrise where we just couldn’t do it anymore. With the exception of the last watch, we made our way to our corners of the boat for a couple of hours of kip.
Tomorrow would bring with it the real exploration, the reason we came, probably the most unfished, uncharted water on the planet.... the flats, which we knew nothing about.
How would we get on them?
What would we find when we did?
What lived on them?
How would we fish them?
What were the risks?
What were the answers?
How would we get off them?
Dreaming was easy and I simply drifted off in minutes.
The dark arts possesion.
A piece of tuna found its way onto a 12/0 hook and lead weight. Head torches scoured the water around the boat and anywhere the beam hit revealed 1 of 2 things, a big black jack or a big grey shark. The gauntlet hit the ground at midnight – “let’s see if we can get the bait to the bottom!” We hadn’t really thought past that because honestly we didn’t think we could get past that.
For whatever reason though the bait plummeted to the bottom and the sharks stayed at the surface. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with the last 12 hours as a benchmark and Brent had gone to bed so we hadn’t sanity checked our idea. A magnificent silence for all of 2 seconds fell over us. Then came the tell tale....THUD, THUD !
I held as tight as I could, except the THUD, THUD was a rather large THUD, THUD.
My youth of bait fishing took over and I struck hard straight into what might as well have been a DHL delivery truck. Thank god for the bucket round the waist! That would be the last time the torque reel would be set on anything less than its 50lb drag maximum.
Tightening the drag to full had the desired effect but I had tightened it too late. The few seconds of going backwards had caught the attention of the resident death squad. It was eerie to look into the water and suddenly see no sharks. The conversion was quick and painless and the return of the 6lb head wasn’t all bad. Apart from the extra bait, we now knew a few more things. There were a lot of big fish below us, very willing to feed. We also knew that with only a few hooks and sinkers we would just have to approach this in the only manner that would be acceptable to the Midnight Rum Snapper Club’s standards. Buckets, gloves, big baits, the drag set to full and someone holding onto your belt and the boat. This reel pulled in 1.2 meters of line per turn and with the incredible drag it was quite literally a physical tug of war. It was 20 meters deep at the front of the boat and 100meters at the back so options were simple -any giving up from the man at the plate and you’d be reefed in seconds or converted almost as fast!
Gonig into the darkness and getting stuck in.
Those hours flew by as fantastic entertainment. Every time the bait went down you’d hook-up in seconds. We just took turns.... Fish, Rest, Rum, Hold. The smallest fish we caught that night was 6lb and the average over 10lb with some crackers in the over 20 crowd! We were just playing around with what would have been, before Bassas, a fish of the trip for most. On a number of occasions we were simply unable to stop massive GT’s in the 50kg mark and even bigger Potato bass from the inevitable caves and overhangs of the incredible structure. It’s quite something to get the privilege of feeling this immense strength. Holding on to something with all of your strength and experience and simply having no impact at all. Ultimately though an addiction to winching up the 10lb fish from the depths, holding light rods, as they flew past the snapping jaws of the surface which defined the experience. There were moments when the sharks would actually have a go at the washboard, which was interesting while you were having a wee. You’d wait for the sharks to swim past and drop the snappers in head first and watch them swim the gauntlet and reach the safety of the holes in the wall seconds away. What was amazing though was that if the bait got bitten off they’d eat the bare hook, some would bite it off and then they’d bite the sinkers off too anything that went down would get eaten. It was certainly good practice because over the days that were to come we would really have to get a grip with this hit and hold technique.
My favourite fish that night was the smallest one which we worked this whole playground bully technique on. Remember the 1.2 meters per turn? Well a 6lb fish coming up from around 20 meters at around two meters per second from the pitch black is hard to judge it’s exit strategy. It didnt really announce itself and came flying out of the dark and into the boat over our heads. It’s amusing because even though I’d stopped reeling as it hit the surface, the momentum carried it. I wish we could get that sort of power from a fly reel ;D
The club was rudely interupted by a flying fish gliding out of the darkness and crashing head on into the metal BBQ on the transom. Completely knocking itself out, landing on the deck and bouncing down onto the washboard and finally into the sea. We found the events rather amusing but stopped laughing about 2 seconds later. A truely monstrous shark exploded on the poor thing and that was that! We all held each others belts a little tighter on the next downs.
One of the crew emerged from the bunks below deck cradling another flying fish... “What’s up mate, I don’t remember you going to bed with that?” “Yeah, bloody thing somehow managed to fly straight through the tea cup porthole and into the bedroom, scared the **** out of me!” He launched it out into the darkness but I didn’t have much hope for it.
Considering landing each fish was like a bench pressing session in the gym we reached a point at some stage before sunrise where we just couldn’t do it anymore. With the exception of the last watch, we made our way to our corners of the boat for a couple of hours of kip.
Tomorrow would bring with it the real exploration, the reason we came, probably the most unfished, uncharted water on the planet.... the flats, which we knew nothing about.
How would we get on them?
What would we find when we did?
What lived on them?
How would we fish them?
What were the risks?
What were the answers?
How would we get off them?
Dreaming was easy and I simply drifted off in minutes.
-
Paul Arden
- Fly God 2010
- Posts: 23925
- Joined: Sat Jul 26, 2003 10:35 am
- Location: Travelling
- Contact:
-
Will
- IB3 Member Level 1
- Posts: 1334
- Joined: Wed Sep 15, 2004 12:59 pm
- Location: Edinburgh, UK
- Contact:
Gulp! :O
W.
W.
Lineslinger
Barrio Pro-team
SGAIC
AAPGAI
"The only advice it is necessary to give the angler… is to avoid any approach to foppery, as trout have the most thorough contempt for a fop…”
WC Stewart
Barrio Pro-team
SGAIC
AAPGAI
"The only advice it is necessary to give the angler… is to avoid any approach to foppery, as trout have the most thorough contempt for a fop…”
WC Stewart
Thanks for the comments guys, really pleased you're enjoying it - Hope you had a really good Christmas.
The sun rose and with it the boat became alive with action. Each one of us heavily focused on our own routines of preparation. 10#’s were being rigged with 20lb leader and crab patterns and 12#s with 70lb core flylines and 150lb straight through leaders and 6/0 tan clousers for a committed GT rig. Some were lacing up flats boots while others checked walkie talkies and handed them out. Backpacks were getting stuffed with fly boxes drinks and whatever else as Brent and lucky were lowering the tender into the water. Then the moment came..."Let's go find out whats on there" Brent called us and we all boarded the inflatable. The air was filled of anticipation like a plane full of first time skydivers waiting for the green light. We had all the gear and we headed off leaving our new found home and straight for the rim of bassas.
As we approached, the scene we were faced with was impossible to describe. The clarity of the water was unique. There were caves and ravines all around us as we crossed over the menacing ledge that dropped off to the unknown. What a structure. Fish darted everywhere and there were more colours than I could count, nothing was hidden from us through the crystal glass water. In front of us the water cascaded off the step up to the rim, as the tide pulled it from its bowl. I jumped from the pontoon and finally my feet fell secure on the ground I had dreamed of. I held the bow as everyone cleared the tender and helped hold it in the mammoth current. We all turned our devoted attention to the marine wilderness that engulfed us. It is the wildest place I have ever stood and undeniably we were so completely out of place. We stood on the coral surrounded by pools and channels brimming with Starfish, clams, sea cucumbers and anenamies. A world reserved only for the privileged who scuba dive, here expanses around us inches from the surface, clear as day through the Polaroid’s.
The place was alive! Enormous schools of beautiful blue, pink and green parrot fish tailing like bones in every pool and channel. They jumped and danced over the coral out the water from pool to pool as we disturbed them. We saw huge triggers and many other species flee hundreds of feet from us. I use no inch of exaggeration to say we were standing on the very definition of paradise. 6 intrepid anglers realising their biggest dream fell silent for minutes as we soaked up the reward of all our months of effort. Side by side not one of us missing the significance of one of the remotest places left on the planet. Not a single fish I caught on this trip or any other or even a single experience I have ever had could match that feeling. Here we were - a true piece of uncharted water!
We split in pairs, Terry and Pengas headed off to the drop offs of the outer edge with their popping rods. It didn't tak long for them to get takes and in minutes my father had a gorgeous peacock rock cod.
On fly gear, Brian and Pratty to the inside edge of the bowl and tommo and I along the centre of the coral rim. The expectation was of Bones and GT’s, maybe some triggers and bump heads if we found time but here we were completely surrounded by parrots. They were everywhere and all generally 15-25lb’s. You could see some tailing all around and others moving along between the channels. The big question... “How the hell do you catch these things?”
Tommo and I stepped along slowly stalking like a cheetah, desperate not to send the whole flat into a domino panic. If one went the entire reef would bolt. We strapped up the 12#’s and looked around us, Landing a fish here was going to require a lot of skill and as much luck! These channels and coral heads took careful stepping. While we were assessing our situation all was forgotten as a massive school of parrots came straight for us moving left to right. We both instinctively went into our false casts and launched our tan Creole crabs, out to lead the pack. Tommo made a crucial decision in the seconds before he cast. He grabbed the fly and snapped off the dumbbell eyes. This held the fly up preventing it from sticking in the coral as the water washed it along. Standing on my left his fly reached the school first and the lead fish tailed on it. Well... Tommo stripped into the most chaotic minutes of his life.
The moons aligned and the hook found the scissors missing the razor sharp beak. The flat exploded as if grenades were going off all around us. It tore off through the channel with blistering speed and power, it’s next direction anyone’s guess! “RUN TOMMO, RUN!” Desperately he tried to keep up with the fish and keep the line at a high angle to prevent it touching the maze of coral. The fish leaped from pool to pool and scampered over inches of water at immense pace. This is a lot harder than i can describe it, especially with the drag on full and leaning into it trying to pull the fish from the worst of the obstacles. The next amusing stage was when the fish turned straight at him and went through his legs. Thankfully it found a deeper pool and settled. I was there and ready having chased after him all along. This was no pelagic with a v tail to grab. I stared at it with not a clue but only for a brief second. The job to get hold of this fish was mine, a responsibility I would have gladly given to anyone else. I did the only thing I could think of, I rugby tackled it and held on like Joost van der Westhuizen did to Jonah Lomo in the 1995 world cup. I lifted and presented Tommo with his fish... What a fish, what a moment......
The sun rose and with it the boat became alive with action. Each one of us heavily focused on our own routines of preparation. 10#’s were being rigged with 20lb leader and crab patterns and 12#s with 70lb core flylines and 150lb straight through leaders and 6/0 tan clousers for a committed GT rig. Some were lacing up flats boots while others checked walkie talkies and handed them out. Backpacks were getting stuffed with fly boxes drinks and whatever else as Brent and lucky were lowering the tender into the water. Then the moment came..."Let's go find out whats on there" Brent called us and we all boarded the inflatable. The air was filled of anticipation like a plane full of first time skydivers waiting for the green light. We had all the gear and we headed off leaving our new found home and straight for the rim of bassas.
As we approached, the scene we were faced with was impossible to describe. The clarity of the water was unique. There were caves and ravines all around us as we crossed over the menacing ledge that dropped off to the unknown. What a structure. Fish darted everywhere and there were more colours than I could count, nothing was hidden from us through the crystal glass water. In front of us the water cascaded off the step up to the rim, as the tide pulled it from its bowl. I jumped from the pontoon and finally my feet fell secure on the ground I had dreamed of. I held the bow as everyone cleared the tender and helped hold it in the mammoth current. We all turned our devoted attention to the marine wilderness that engulfed us. It is the wildest place I have ever stood and undeniably we were so completely out of place. We stood on the coral surrounded by pools and channels brimming with Starfish, clams, sea cucumbers and anenamies. A world reserved only for the privileged who scuba dive, here expanses around us inches from the surface, clear as day through the Polaroid’s.
The place was alive! Enormous schools of beautiful blue, pink and green parrot fish tailing like bones in every pool and channel. They jumped and danced over the coral out the water from pool to pool as we disturbed them. We saw huge triggers and many other species flee hundreds of feet from us. I use no inch of exaggeration to say we were standing on the very definition of paradise. 6 intrepid anglers realising their biggest dream fell silent for minutes as we soaked up the reward of all our months of effort. Side by side not one of us missing the significance of one of the remotest places left on the planet. Not a single fish I caught on this trip or any other or even a single experience I have ever had could match that feeling. Here we were - a true piece of uncharted water!
We split in pairs, Terry and Pengas headed off to the drop offs of the outer edge with their popping rods. It didn't tak long for them to get takes and in minutes my father had a gorgeous peacock rock cod.
On fly gear, Brian and Pratty to the inside edge of the bowl and tommo and I along the centre of the coral rim. The expectation was of Bones and GT’s, maybe some triggers and bump heads if we found time but here we were completely surrounded by parrots. They were everywhere and all generally 15-25lb’s. You could see some tailing all around and others moving along between the channels. The big question... “How the hell do you catch these things?”
Tommo and I stepped along slowly stalking like a cheetah, desperate not to send the whole flat into a domino panic. If one went the entire reef would bolt. We strapped up the 12#’s and looked around us, Landing a fish here was going to require a lot of skill and as much luck! These channels and coral heads took careful stepping. While we were assessing our situation all was forgotten as a massive school of parrots came straight for us moving left to right. We both instinctively went into our false casts and launched our tan Creole crabs, out to lead the pack. Tommo made a crucial decision in the seconds before he cast. He grabbed the fly and snapped off the dumbbell eyes. This held the fly up preventing it from sticking in the coral as the water washed it along. Standing on my left his fly reached the school first and the lead fish tailed on it. Well... Tommo stripped into the most chaotic minutes of his life.
The moons aligned and the hook found the scissors missing the razor sharp beak. The flat exploded as if grenades were going off all around us. It tore off through the channel with blistering speed and power, it’s next direction anyone’s guess! “RUN TOMMO, RUN!” Desperately he tried to keep up with the fish and keep the line at a high angle to prevent it touching the maze of coral. The fish leaped from pool to pool and scampered over inches of water at immense pace. This is a lot harder than i can describe it, especially with the drag on full and leaning into it trying to pull the fish from the worst of the obstacles. The next amusing stage was when the fish turned straight at him and went through his legs. Thankfully it found a deeper pool and settled. I was there and ready having chased after him all along. This was no pelagic with a v tail to grab. I stared at it with not a clue but only for a brief second. The job to get hold of this fish was mine, a responsibility I would have gladly given to anyone else. I did the only thing I could think of, I rugby tackled it and held on like Joost van der Westhuizen did to Jonah Lomo in the 1995 world cup. I lifted and presented Tommo with his fish... What a fish, what a moment......
I look forward to that !
The next few hours, before the tide would push us off for the day, would reveal just how lucky we were to land that fish. The fickle eating habits, immense explosive power and the hectic coral would stop us from landing any further parrots. That said I was grateful for the 6 I did hook and lose just for those seconds of insanity. This area was overrun by parrots so we saw little else but it didn’t matter. This was as challenging as chasing permit and we were all consumed by cracking the code of getting them to look at, never mind eat the fly. Which we did crack in the end through watching, learning and trial and error. It’s a pity we had so little time, you could spend months on that area and never get bored! The tide said leave and we did, a little too late which would not be repeated. All finally safe on the tender we headed for the mother ship and another blue water session.
For those that are interested the notes are as follows on the parrot fish and I’m sure if you are visiting the Seychelles or other flats with parrots you could have a ball. I think there is fantastic potential in this species as a genuine target. My advice would be don’t pass up the opportunity for a great tussle. We found moving fish were not really worth targeting. Tailing fish were. They were feeding by breaking coral and hunting down the crustaceans etc that darted out from the pieces. Clearly eye focus was specific to this immediate area. White crab patterns spooked them while Tan worked best. We got takes by casting upstream and letting it drift through the feeding zone and broken coral. Any drag and the pattern would be ignored. My best fish followed the drifting fly right to 2 inches from my boot where it did a comical headstand on the fly pinning it down while staring at me with one eye. Slow solid strip into a fish after you felt the tension would result in the hook finding the scissors and avoiding the beak. Any jumping the gun with a strike would end in a hook less fly or cut leader from the coral cutting beak. The coral issue we didn’t master.
We boarded the mother ship and just before lunch I grabbed my heavy fly gear and went to the washboard. The others were all around the boat sorting gear etc. I tied on my hammerhead fly – It’s a scaled up mega clouser I’ve been working on for the last few years while deep water flyfishing in Mozambique. It's a lot heavier than the standard mega from the home made eyes thanks to Steve Binks. It’s a common practice there to fish around the 25meter deep mark. A lot of the reefs are off shore and it’s an extremely effective way of coaxing some of the reef dwelling leviathans into a take.
Stripped off my full line and sent the fly up tide. The 750grain 70lb core line went straight down to around 25 meters and once it was vertical to my position on the boat I spread my stance and started stripping making certain to manage line placement. Now I don’t mean a fast strip, I mean a strip so fast that even with months of practice it’s still hard to get enough pace in the fly. I got about 10 meters into the process and that’s when it hit me, it nearly wrenched the line and rod from my grip. I held tight on the line, sending the hook home and feeling the line burn into my hand through the glove... This was big.
The line cleared in a second and the reel did its thing. A brand new Nautilus Monster drag on full and I was palming the reel but simply could not slow it down never mind turn it. He headed straight off the back for the deep water and horizon and kept going for a long way. Finally it stopped for a brief second when I took my chance. Knowing the sharks were around I was giving it everything and pushing the tackle to its edge. I angled the rod as low as I could, trying to turn the fish, finally it did but then it hit the gas again. It headed straight back in a circular way to my right and towards the atoll. A decision that I believe saved that fish from the beckoning jaws! He did another blistering run and I managed to turn him again but this time it came straight at me! Desperately trying to keep up with it, my forearm and hand were screaming, any slack and I could lose my prize. The big game handle and huge arbour of the Monster were a godsend but even still it was tough. This has got to be the biggest fish on fly I have managed any sort of control on. I was beginning to win the battle but this was no dogged wait it out fight it was fantastically dynamic, the fish was going nuts. I was feeling so tired I was nauseas like back in my school fitness drills running trams. I don’t know how but I did win, the fish came past the washboard and in the swell with a lift and heave my king landed at my feet.
I grabbed his tail and my god did I hold it tight. I stared with disbelief at my fish. There was a few high fives and back patting but I was humbled at the fact that this beautiful specimen was most probably the first ever fly caught King Mackerel at Bassas Da India. Certainly no baby at 1.4 meters and my best battle on a long rod! Truly grateful, I will take that memory with me everywhere. Those that know me will get tired of hearing this story but I will never get tired of telling it. I am unashamedly Proud of that fish!
The next few hours, before the tide would push us off for the day, would reveal just how lucky we were to land that fish. The fickle eating habits, immense explosive power and the hectic coral would stop us from landing any further parrots. That said I was grateful for the 6 I did hook and lose just for those seconds of insanity. This area was overrun by parrots so we saw little else but it didn’t matter. This was as challenging as chasing permit and we were all consumed by cracking the code of getting them to look at, never mind eat the fly. Which we did crack in the end through watching, learning and trial and error. It’s a pity we had so little time, you could spend months on that area and never get bored! The tide said leave and we did, a little too late which would not be repeated. All finally safe on the tender we headed for the mother ship and another blue water session.
For those that are interested the notes are as follows on the parrot fish and I’m sure if you are visiting the Seychelles or other flats with parrots you could have a ball. I think there is fantastic potential in this species as a genuine target. My advice would be don’t pass up the opportunity for a great tussle. We found moving fish were not really worth targeting. Tailing fish were. They were feeding by breaking coral and hunting down the crustaceans etc that darted out from the pieces. Clearly eye focus was specific to this immediate area. White crab patterns spooked them while Tan worked best. We got takes by casting upstream and letting it drift through the feeding zone and broken coral. Any drag and the pattern would be ignored. My best fish followed the drifting fly right to 2 inches from my boot where it did a comical headstand on the fly pinning it down while staring at me with one eye. Slow solid strip into a fish after you felt the tension would result in the hook finding the scissors and avoiding the beak. Any jumping the gun with a strike would end in a hook less fly or cut leader from the coral cutting beak. The coral issue we didn’t master.
We boarded the mother ship and just before lunch I grabbed my heavy fly gear and went to the washboard. The others were all around the boat sorting gear etc. I tied on my hammerhead fly – It’s a scaled up mega clouser I’ve been working on for the last few years while deep water flyfishing in Mozambique. It's a lot heavier than the standard mega from the home made eyes thanks to Steve Binks. It’s a common practice there to fish around the 25meter deep mark. A lot of the reefs are off shore and it’s an extremely effective way of coaxing some of the reef dwelling leviathans into a take.
Stripped off my full line and sent the fly up tide. The 750grain 70lb core line went straight down to around 25 meters and once it was vertical to my position on the boat I spread my stance and started stripping making certain to manage line placement. Now I don’t mean a fast strip, I mean a strip so fast that even with months of practice it’s still hard to get enough pace in the fly. I got about 10 meters into the process and that’s when it hit me, it nearly wrenched the line and rod from my grip. I held tight on the line, sending the hook home and feeling the line burn into my hand through the glove... This was big.
The line cleared in a second and the reel did its thing. A brand new Nautilus Monster drag on full and I was palming the reel but simply could not slow it down never mind turn it. He headed straight off the back for the deep water and horizon and kept going for a long way. Finally it stopped for a brief second when I took my chance. Knowing the sharks were around I was giving it everything and pushing the tackle to its edge. I angled the rod as low as I could, trying to turn the fish, finally it did but then it hit the gas again. It headed straight back in a circular way to my right and towards the atoll. A decision that I believe saved that fish from the beckoning jaws! He did another blistering run and I managed to turn him again but this time it came straight at me! Desperately trying to keep up with it, my forearm and hand were screaming, any slack and I could lose my prize. The big game handle and huge arbour of the Monster were a godsend but even still it was tough. This has got to be the biggest fish on fly I have managed any sort of control on. I was beginning to win the battle but this was no dogged wait it out fight it was fantastically dynamic, the fish was going nuts. I was feeling so tired I was nauseas like back in my school fitness drills running trams. I don’t know how but I did win, the fish came past the washboard and in the swell with a lift and heave my king landed at my feet.
I grabbed his tail and my god did I hold it tight. I stared with disbelief at my fish. There was a few high fives and back patting but I was humbled at the fact that this beautiful specimen was most probably the first ever fly caught King Mackerel at Bassas Da India. Certainly no baby at 1.4 meters and my best battle on a long rod! Truly grateful, I will take that memory with me everywhere. Those that know me will get tired of hearing this story but I will never get tired of telling it. I am unashamedly Proud of that fish!
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: Ahrefs [Bot] and 0 guests