As we ascended, the clouds closed in and the rocky countryside became white with snow. The car heater was cranked up as my fishing world gradually turned itself upside-down.
Nothing was making sense any more. Here I was in the back seat of a hired car, my 37kg big-game outfit lying across my shoulder, yet my bag in the boot was jam-packed with my warmest and most protective clothing, including wet-weather gear, Swanni, thermals, gloves and balaclava. Big game fishing – but in the South Island – and in the depths of winter?
This reason for this bizarre combination was the West Coast’s rather scary bluefin. These fish have exceeded 300kg when landed on recreational tackle, although much bigger specimens have reportedly been lost after battles lasting many hours.
Upon arriving at Greymouth’s commercial wharf, the Whakatane charter boat Cascade was waiting for us, along with local trawler skipper Tony Roach, second skipper Luke Nobilo and owner Andy Ryan, who welcomed me and fellow anglers Matt Quarterman, Allen Lindsay, Duncan McLay, and husband-and-wife team Barry and Judy Hanna on board.
After loading our gear, we set off for the hoki trawlers operating well offshore, the notorious Greymouth Bar in a particularly languid mood.
The first of the trawlers came into view shortly after dark; it was weird to see these massive craft all lit up and sliding along in the darkness like blocks of multi-storied flats.
However, they certainly attracted the tuna, as Tony was soon hauling back on the throttles in response to the bluefin tuna marks blazing across the fish-finder’s screen, and just a minute later Luke was throwing hoki frames and guts into the inky water.
It didn’t take long for the first streamlined shape to slip into our puddle of light, and although it proved to be a false alarm, the blue shark biting through the trace, the second shadowy visitor to arrive shortly after was obviously the real deal, the big fish effortlessly inhaling the half-hoki bait and then wrenching Barry’s rod down, the line pinging off in an unstoppable stream.
Fortunately Barry appeared up to the task, persuading the tuna to return into the cockpit’s light after just 30 minutes of see-saw battle, but when Luke traced it close enough to be tagged, we all let out gasps and expletives as its full size became apparent – this was a Fiat Bambina with fins!
Just how big? 180kg? 200kg? More? Who knows – we were all pretty inexperienced – but whatever its weight, this streamlined package of muscle reacted badly to being tagged, exploding free of Luke’s hands and then racing off 200 metres of line.
An hour passed before the tuna was brought to the boat once more, but again it proved too powerful and, shortly after, with the reel’s drag now set at ‘sunset’ and Barry’s fingers locking the spool, the line snapped with the sound of a gunshot. This display of stamina and power scared us all.
Then, since it was now 3am and the other tuna boats weren’t enjoying any luck, we quit for some much-needed rest.
The big day begins
Sloppy seas and a brain bursting with anglers wrestling big, intimidating fish meant sleep was almost impossible, so I was pleased to hear Cascade’s motors burst into life again at 6am – we were off chasing the trawlers once more.
An hour later saw us back in ‘the zone,’ where Tony spotted one of the trawlers retrieving its net – a dinner gong for any nearby bluefin.
A burst of speed had us tucked in alongside the dark mass, which towered above us, an assortment of lights burning, trawl-net wheels whirring and gears clanking, while thousands of birds wheeled and hovered everywhere in the early morning gloom. It seemed like a crazy dream.
However, the only boat to hook up alongside the net was Andy’s other charter boat, Oracle, which suddenly peeled away from its trolling line and then slowed, their reel still screaming.
“Bloody tin-arse!” was all Andy said.
Then, to further rub salt in the wound, they proceeded to hook and play two more fish in quick succession, making us wonder if we were doing something wrong.
“Better chuck another lure out,” said Andy.
I thought this unwise: one monster tuna is hard enough to handle, let alone two – but I did as I was told.
We were still some way off the trawler ahead when Oracle hooked number four for the morning, but just as we began cursing them and our bad luck, there was a massive, watery explosion on the long-set lure and the ratchet began to howl.
“Yes! Yes! You’re in, Alan!”
But even as I ran over, cheering, to wind in the other lure, a second foaming detonation engulfed it, and this outfit began to scream, too. (I knew I should have organized that second Black Magic harness system beforehand!)
Although the tuna were initially well behaved, we later ended up ducking and weaving around each other across Cascade’s large swim-step – a tricky manoeuvre with both of us straining and clipped to well-loaded 37kg rods with crackling lines.
Fortunately we emerged from the situation unscathed, and I was relieved to see my tuna’s large gleaming form trundle into view shortly afterwards, its big tail still steadily pumping, but more slowly now.
With at least two tuna needed for food, I called for the gaffs – and once the frenzied splashing and shouting died down, I helped haul my first bluefin up onto the cockpit floor.
Weighing around 135kg, it was only ‘small’ as far as these giants go, but I didn’t care – this was my first bluefin!
Now Tony could concentrate on Alan’s fish, manoeuvring the boat to make life easier for him. Even so, Al still got a hiding, the grimace on his face reflecting the effort and pain as one hour turned to two, and then three. A tough fish.
When the fish was finally brought to the stern, Andy and Luke both hung onto the trace so it could be gaffed, the tuna’s great tail thrashing the water to froth. About then everything got pretty chaotic, with the second gaff-hook ripping out and the guys getting dragged around as the tuna charged across the surface, white water going everywhere.
But finally our collective adrenalin prevailed, and when the hulking form was dragged up onto the deck, we suddenly appreciated Al’s effort – this was an absolute pig! No, not a pig – too small – more like a hippo! And, even better, it completed Cascade’s first ever giant bluefin double!
Double trouble
As a concession to our good fortune (and Tony’s competent boat handling), just the usual, single lure went back into the wake again, and upon moving into position alongside the trawler once more, three successive surface detonations burped the reel’s ratchet for a few seconds, but didn’t stick.
This prompted Andy to come back out on deck, a chilly bottle of celebratory Heineken clutched in one hand, a lure in the other, and despite my predictions of dire consequences, he cheerily told me not to worry while dropping it well back. I would need to react more quickly if we got another strike.
No such luck. Just minutes later the close-in lure disappeared in a burst of white water, and, a split second later, so did the back one. “Woo-hooo! Another double! Another double!” (Oh, nooo!)
This time, our only woman member, Judy, picked up one of the outfits, despite being rather apprehensive after seeing her husband and Al put through the wringer earlier.
However, she settled down quickly and was away, working the big outfit smoothly and efficiently – as did Matt, the second angler, who displayed surprisingly good stance and technique. Like the rest of the crew, it was hard to believe they’d never caught anything bigger than a modest kingfish or snapper before.
It took just 20 minutes for Judy’s well-behaved 100-plus-kilo fish to be brought boatside, and although the Zuker 5.5 lure was lost in the ensuing watery wrestle, the fish escaped with just the hook – and the prerequisite tag. Judy had just caught her first giant bluefin!
Meanwhile, Matt stuck to his sweaty task, keeping my short and extremely grunty Kilwell Livefibre rod well loaded throughout, and after ninety minutes of torrid effort, there it was, crashing around next to the boat on the end of the leader. In went the tag, snip went the cutters, and the 150kg fish was free.
High fives all around – we’d just completed a ‘double double’ of giant bluefin!
“Told ya not to worry, Mark!” said a jubilant Andy.
Even so, I couldn’t help shaking my head as the two lures were dropped back into the foaming wake once more.
That’s how we managed a third tuna double alongside a particularly large trawler with hundreds, maybe thousands, of assorted seabirds looking like swirling confetti behind it.
This time, however, one of the tuna busted off when the drag-lever was enthusiastically slid to ‘sunset’ amidst the initial steaming run, leaving just one outfit unloading line at a zillion miles an hour.
This left Luke hauling back gleefully on my rod, which, despite being very stiff and built like a crowbar, was buckled hard over, the reel’s drag set at tortuous levels and the line cracking and popping like a beachside fire. That outfit was humming – and the 120kg tuna soon felt it, coming to the boat for release in under 30 minutes!
Then, with five fish under our belt for the day so far and darkness creeping upon us, we had a dinner break – in this case a delicious spaghetti bolognese whipped up by Al, who was still moving rather tenderly following his earlier encounter.
The tail wags
Afterwards, still belching contentedly and licking the last of the rich sauce from our lips and chins, we wandered out onto the well-lit deck, just in time to see the massive and streamlined shape of a northern bluefin tuna slowly swimming around the drifting boat. It was so big I couldn’t believe my eyes; this was what we’d come here for! Action stations! Action stations!
“Quick! Get the chum in the water,” Tony said, even as Luke was jumping from the hold with a bin of chopped hoki in his hands.
The pieces had only been drifting down for a couple of minutes before large shapes and broad flashes could be seen deep down, and shortly afterwards Andy’s half-gemfish bait was inhaled.
Whacking the reel up to a serious amount of drag pressure, Andy leaned back and whooped as the weight came on, the line sizzling out into the darkness.
Throughout the ensuing fight Andy worked the fish really hard, hoping for a quicker resolution than the five-hour disappointment experienced on his previous trip, but after 40 minutes the tortured line gave up and Andy tasted defeat once more.
Fortunately, tuna marks were still fizzing across the fish-finder’s screen pretty regularly, so Duncan put his hand up for a wrestle – and in no time he’d found a willing opponent. However, I was surprised by the style that the powerfully-built Duncan adopted; instead of brute force, he kept everything smooth and steady – the same technique he’d seen Judy employ so successfully earlier on. Clever thinking!
And for a while it seemed to be working, the bluefin coming in like a lamb to within a few metres, but slowly, almost inevitably, the big beast’s tiny brain realised something wasn’t right and that the boat was evil. It had to be avoided. This resulted in steadily increasing pressure and determination at both ends of the line, till eventually Duncan had the rod deep-bent, while the rollers seesawed endlessly back and forth over the same 100 metres of line.
With two hours approaching and neither fish nor angler looking like giving up any time soon, it appeared a good time to visit the ‘little room’. But no sooner was I locked inside than the shouting began, and while trying to unlock the stiff latch, I heard someone yelling: “It’s a massive shark!”
But no, it wasn’t. Instead, it was the biggest tuna of the day – around 230kg of blue-finned muscle – and upon reaching the rail with my camera in hand, there was just swirling foam on the water and ‘high fives’ and handshakes going on. I’d missed the trip’s climax.
A chance for redemption
However, I played a bigger role in the day’s finale. By now it was midnight and we were all very weary, but with a bunch of gigantic tuna swimming around the boat and sipping down hoki bits, we weren’t quitting just yet.
Interestingly, these fish were surprisingly fussy; even the 200kg-plus specimens were only taking the smaller chum pieces – as well as a 5-inch (13cm) squid jig Andy dropped down on 10kg tackle – twice!
Then, finally, I hooked up on a chunk. Exerting as much steady pressure as I could muster, I cranked and hauled and wound and strained. The next moment, there it was, just 20 minutes after hook-up! Justin managed to grab the leader, take a good wrap, then another – at which point we saw just how big it was – my own 200kg-plus monster!
But when Justin was dragged half over the side, he had to let go, and I could only rue what might have been during the following ninety minutes of stalemate, as my body started to hurt.
Finally, we saw a chance as the fish cruised up just a few metres behind Cascade’s stern. Tony quickly reversed, I wound the trace to my rod tip, Luke grabbed a couple of handfuls – and was promptly dragged along the railing at high speed. I could then only watch helplessly as the tuna thrashed the water to whiteness before powering under the boat, breaking the trace at the hook’s crimp.
No more pain, no more frustration, no more hope and absolutely no glory. Wearily I shook the commiserating hands and made my way slowly down to bed. Bluefin tuna fishing’s like that.
For those interested in chasing bluefin tuna in the future, phone Andy on 021 430 465 or email andy.ryan@xtra.co.nz.
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This article is reproduced with permission of
New Zealand Fishing News
Sep 2007 - by Mark Kitteridge
RE-PUBLISHING ELSEWHERE IS PROHIBITED |
