Snapper and Blue Moki From a Kayak

Blair Whiting discusses kayak fishing at Kapiti Island for snapper and blue moki...

For whatever reason, 2023 was a shocking year for weather along my home coast of Hawkes Bay. Weather gaps were non-existent right through winter, so I figured it was about time I cut my losses and got on the road to find somewhere to scratch my kayak fishing itch.

The lower North Island is somewhere that I hadn’t explored a whole lot, so I decided to base myself in Palmerston North and make use of a week of good weather on the West Coast. I talked to a couple of mates who reckoned Kāpiti looked to be lining up some great weather at the end of the week.

Act One

The night before, I prepared all my gear and by 5am the following morning I was on the road down to Kāpiti. I met my mates on the beach, which looked to be a very popular location for boaties. How spoiled they are on this stretch of coast! Kāpiti has a hard, sandy beach with plenty of parking for all kinds of watercraft, swell that is blocked by the island, and some helpful hills that ease the omnipresent easterly winds. We set up our kayaks while trying to keep our fingers warm in the morning air, but by launch time they were almost falling off from the cold. We boarded our 'yaks and easily hopped over the tiny waves that were lapping at the beach.

Kāpiti is a place that features very strong currents when the tide is turning and care is needed when fishing in this area, especially when the wind comes up. I had never fished such strong currents, so it was sure to be a bit of a learning curve for me.

The local kayakers fish in this area with heavy lures on the drift as the current becomes too strong to anchor in. The depth of the water also drops away so quickly that lures are a perfect way to get hooks in front of a fish’s face fast.

100-150g kabura jigs and slow-pitch jigs are the perfect choice in the deep, current-heavy waters along the Kāpiti coast, so I set up with a couple of 130g jigs and a sneaky flasher rig to drag out behind the yak.

It wasn’t a long paddle to get into 40 metres. Our fishing began immediately with Jason hooking up to something massive, and while the rest of us jigged around we kept in contact on the radio. After about 25 minutes of struggle, Jason eventually got the mystery fish to the surface. The call on the radio came through, “It’s a big thresher, hooked in the tail!” Naturally, as I love to see new things (especially sharks) I was straight over to Jason to have a look at this fantastic critter.

It was quite a decent-sized fish, its tail stretching out close to two metres, with Jason’s jig only lassoed around the tail without a hook in the fish. After some discussion, I decided that we should get the shark up for a photo. Jason understandably wasn’t too keen to go near the thing. But I managed to convince him to let me have a go at putting it on my lap. With a tired shark, this was probably the best shot I’d ever have to get a photo with a thresher.

I pulled the shark tail first up onto my lap and got a grip on the dorsal fin to sit the thresher’s head nicely on my thigh (ready to drop it in the water at any moment if it decided to throw a tantrum). Thankfully, the shark behaved, and we got some beautiful shots of how iridescent purple these sharks can be while they are younger. We sent the little female on her way, and she glided off back to the deep. What a start to the trip!

Moving out a little further I began to come across a few small marks on the bottom. Sure enough, the guys around me began to hook the odd fish, with a couple of solid snapper around 4kg being quickly landed off to my left.

I tracked my jig closely on the bottom and saw that a fish had risen to follow it up. I let the kabura free-fall and came up tight after the first wind, it ended up being a modest snapper around 40 centimetres, but I was stoked all the same. It was the first snapper I had caught in over six months. I continued along the contour line and produced another identical fish – perfect for dinner – and suddenly the pressure was off. The boys around me were catching the odd fish but it seemed to be slow fishing on this day with the fish not really on the chew.

Just as I was thinking that would be it for the day, the flasher rig in the holder got annihilated and line was soon screaming off the reel. I radioed the boys to let them know I was going on a sleigh ride. The fish tore off upcurrent, dragging me along behind it. It felt like a very serious fish the way it was towing me with such ease. I kept the drag low and let the fish burn off its steam, but I just couldn’t get this thing to budge off the bottom. Every time I lifted its head it would take the line back. After around 10 minutes of tug-of-war, I finally made a dent in the fish and got it ten metres off the bottom.

And there it sat for the next part of the fight until gradually I got it higher and higher to just under the kayak. Expecting a decent snapper, I readied the net only to have my jaw drop as the largest blue moki I had ever seen popped up from under the kayak’s bow. With utter shock on my face, I barely managed to get the fish into the net, and from there it was all celebrations. Over the past five years I have struggled to catch moki while targeting them, with many blank days. Looking down into the net I had caught my dream fish, and I could not believe how big it was. The moki was thick from head to tail and was beautifully marked on its flanks.

I grabbed the measuring tape, and the length came out to an astonishing 74cm! Fish of a lifetime size. I quickly got some photos of the behemoth before sliding it gently back into the water where it happily gave a few kicks and headed back down to the bottom. Checking a length-to-weight chart of moki, a 74cm fish comes out to around 16lb based on how fat this fish was. I will never know the true weight, but what matters is that he’s still out there swimming.

The moki took an orange flasher tipped with orange sand flea Fishbites – a synthetic stripbait. Moki have been particularly susceptible to this new, convenient, option on the market. No longer do I have to get messy fingers or have the soft shellfish baits fall off the hook. Win-win in my book.

The rest of the day went by quickly, with a small gurnard joining my couple of snapper for dinner; a tasty treat sure to make the big trip just a little more worth it.

As the wind steadily rose from the south the white caps began to stand up and it was time to get moving back to shore. With the tide running directly towards the wind, the caps were much larger than they would normally be. Once close to shore the current slowed and the water calmed off. One by one our group navigated the small surf (you can’t trust the waves even if they are small) but on this day, it was a win for the kayakers.

On the beach, we welcomed the warm afternoon sun, compared fish and packed up while having a catchup. It’s this part of kayak fishing that makes it so great to fish with others, where a lift to get a kayak on the car roof is more than appreciated after a long day of paddling on the water.

With the weather holding steady over the next few days, I thought it would be a good idea to come back for round two soon.

Act Two

With a brilliant start to the trip behind me earlier in the week, yet again the alarm went off at a stupidly early hour of the morning and I was on the road back to Kāpiti with my trusty Viking Reload in tow. Motivation levels were at an all-time high as I arrived in pitch black on the beach.

I geared up under lights and headed out offshore into the dark to see if I could produce any fish while the sun was still below the horizon. The first drop in the shallows got an immediate hook-up and after a short tussle I had a gleaming trevally reflecting light from my head torch. Perfect fish to start. Smoked fish was already sorted in less than five minutes of fishing!

I let the light wind carry my kayak offshore towards the drop-off I had found on the previous trip that had been holding good sign. It’s a steep bank that descends from 35-50 metres and would be the perfect place to drift across with a kabura.

This day, the bank had a scattering of fish on the bottom around 43 metres. My jig got picked up as it touched the bottom, the rod buckled over and line tore off my little baitcaster. My rod was bent in half, and I smiled with glee as the fish stormed away from my kayak.

This went on for a while until eventually, the fish began to rise in the water column and then surfaced, followed by some bubbles. It was a stunningly conditioned snapper with broad golden flanks that shone in the sun that had just risen above the horizon. I dispatched it quickly and it was added to the bag at the rear of the kayak, joining the trevally.

When selecting my kabura components, rather than keeping it a uniform colour I prefer to combine multiple colours into the lure. My favourite head is black with a shattered lumo green paint job. I like to combine this with an orange curly tail skirt and, depending on the size of the fish I expect, 2/0 or 1/0 assist hooks. In the deeper current heavy water of Kāpiti, I chose 2/0 as there is a good chance of tangling with large fish. The next snapper to join the kayak was a step down from the first but a perfect-eating fish of 50 centimetres that surely enjoyed the action from the curly tail skirt.

Dropping the jig back down 40m on my light set was becoming a case of when the next fish would hit rather than if. A light tap followed by a huge whack sent the rod tip straight down with the reel beginning to lose line at a concerning rate. I scrambled to get the cameras rolling as I knew this fish was in a different league than anything I had caught so far. The braid continued to dump from the reel and I started to get worried that I would run out. The line angle was heading straight out to sea as I battled to get the fish under control.

I made my first wind and gradually removed the danger of getting spooled, much to the fish’s dismay. Fishing with such a light rod is quite the challenge when attempting to turn a big fish, but the Shimano Blackout took it all in its stride, slowly steering me away from disaster. The battle to raise the fish off the bottom continued for another five minutes until finally I began to raise it higher and higher off the bottom.

The unknown fish began to float and had me hoping for a shallow water hāpuku, but when I saw the colour of a solid snapper I couldn’t complain! It was a spectacular fish for the middle of winter. After all that chaos, the fish floated gently towards my net and went in with ease. It gave a few kicks as I struggled to lift it aboard the kayak.

Although not a monster, the snapper was 74cm and thick through the body. There wasn’t a mark on it. Its bronze back gave way to cobalt blue fins underneath its belly and huge crushing teeth. Since the fish was pulled out of over 40m, a release was unlikely. I gave it a chance anyway, but the barotrauma had done its work, and the fish couldn’t swim down. This fish wouldn’t be wasted and plenty of family and friends would not complain about fresh snapper steaks, not to mention the delicious head and wings, smoked.

Somehow this day just couldn’t slow down and the very next drop produced another massive hookup. As I settled into another fight on light gear, I was thinking I was going to have to pack it in before lunchtime! It was a spectacular windless day and I hoped I didn’t have to head home due to this next fish filling the rear well up completely.

The fish fought hard, but not quite as fast as the previous snapper and seemed to be pacing itself through the fight, which was really tough on the gear. Many short runs right on the bottom prevented me from raising this fish more than a few metres off the bottom at a time. It seemed this fish had its head buried in the mud for the majority of this fight.

Slowly I gained line back, and 15 minutes later I had it off the bottom. The fish certainly was fighting differently from the snapper, but what else could it be? Up the fish came but it was showing no sign of slowing (or floating either, for that matter). Right under the yak it was still charging away before I finally got my first look at what had been tearing around below me for the last 20 minutes. “Holy smokes it’s another blue moki!” I shouted aloud to no one. With the fish still kicking strongly I put the net under its broad head, ending a massive battle with one of the largest moki I had ever seen. To catch such monster moki back-to-back, let alone do it on such light gear, is something I won’t forget for a long time. I measured out the fish and it was around that same mid-70cm mark, comfortably over 6.5kg and had my arms struggling to lift it for a photo. It’s not often I get the chance to bear hug a moki!

Thankfully, since moki are a tougher fish than snapper, they seem unbothered by depth changes whatsoever like trevally or kahawai. I cradled the monster in the water and it didn’t take the fish long to regain its strength and kick out of my hands back down to the bottom to resume feeding. But somehow this wasn’t even the end of it.

No matter what I did with the jig, fish continued to pounce on it while I was drifting along this 40-metre contour line. Well into the afternoon I had racked up snapper after snapper, with most fish averaging well over three kilograms and putting up great scraps in their own right. The final fish was another perfectly built snapper of 5kg, this time beaten on a heavier set-up with a black curly tail skirt doing the damage.

That was it, I was all done just after lunch and with a bag of solid snapper weighing down the rear well of the kayak. The fishing had finally eased, allowing me to catch my breath and reflect on what was to this day my best-ever snapper session. There were so many quality fish throughout the day. I look back to this day fondly remembering how sometimes you can do no wrong in fishing.

For all those tough, fishless days, I can always look forward to one of these dream days where it all comes together. It’s why I always strive to get back out there, because really who knows what could happen on the next trip!

November 2023 - Blair Whiting
New Zealand Fishing News Magazine.
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