Sailfish - Kuala Rompin

NZFN Sales Manager Brett Patterson takes the opportunity to head for exciting Malaysian waters and hopefully realise a long-held dream. 

Sailfish had long been on the shortlist of species I seriously wanted to catch. I had caught a glimpse of one or two in places like Tonga and the Cook Islands, but for the most part these sleek and streamlined greyhounds of the billfish family seemed out of reach from here, deep in the sub-tropical South Pacific. It therefore seemed unlikely I would get the chance to target them any time soon. 

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That was until a fortuitous meeting with a mad-keen Malaysian fishing expert in New Zealand presenting a seminar on Malaysian sport fishing. Pok Muds’ business card says simply, ‘Your Fishing Buddy’ (and this certainly was to become the case for me and three friends). We ended up farewelling Muds with his exhortations to come to Malaysia and catch sailfish ringing in our ears. 

Due diligence on the sailfish fishery at Kuala Rompin, a small fishing port on Malaysia’s east coast, was completed by talking to Sam Mossman and reading his articles and the relevant chapter in his excellent book The Reel Life, detailing his experiences with this amazing fishery a few years ago. More amazing stories followed from another very good angler, Leanne Dixon, who raved about her experiences and the sheer numbers of fish in what sounded like the ‘sea of sailfish’. 

A flurry of emails between a couple of mates in Auckland and a friend living in WA (who I knew was at least as keen as I was to go sail-fishing), and we were set to go. Mike Ensor, Derek Lockwood and I flew in to Kuala Lumpur and were picked up by Muds for a four-hour drive overland to the quiet seaside town of Kuala Rompin, where we rendezvoused with Australian-based Kiwi Mark Thompson. Situated on the Rompin River entrance and facing the South China Sea, this sleepy port boasts a fleet of 30 or more fast, modern, fibreglass, twin-outboard-powered sportfishing boats catering to the hundreds of anglers visiting the region each season to pursue sailfish.

Next morning we met Raice – our skipper for the next two days – before loading the fishing gear on his well-maintained boat, along with what seemed a huge quantity of water and electrolyte drinks. It turned out every bottle was drained in a constant race to keep hydrated in the tropical humidity and mid-30s temperatures. 

Mark had come up a day earlier and already had a couple of sailfish under his belt, so the plan was for the rest of us sailfish virgins to land at least one each on baits if possible, then consider our options after that.

Standard operating procedure for the charter fleet is to run a few miles offshore to artificial reefs set in about 20 metres of water and load up on live baits before heading wider in search of sailfish. Sabiki rigs were deployed, and we had our tank of baits in half an hour or so with reasonable ease. Some of the better baits were similar to a jack mackerel. A ‘pink snapper’ species was also desirable, judging by the oohs and aahs coming from the Malaysian boys whenever one came aboard (it turned out they not only make great sailfish baits, they are also excellent on the plate).

The sea-floor is a shallow, featureless shelf running far offshore. Thirty kilometres off the coast, in only 20 metres of water, we encountered that universal signal of feeding fish below: good numbers of seabirds circling and dipping down to take small baitfish forced to the surface. Everywhere we looked, there seemed to be action – and we got our first good look at pods of sailfish, the culprits showing themselves as their erect sails briefly cut the surface, one, two or three at a time. 

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Raice set up a drift in the benign conditions. A couple of live baits under balloons were slipped over the side and we had a wait of 45 minutes before Mark’s balloon dipped under and then popped free. Seconds later a sailfish burst into the air somersaulting, then lit the afterburners and peeled away against a heavy drag on 24kg braid. After another series of extravagant aerials, Mark seemed to have the fish under control, but unfortunately the hook pulled soon after.

We barely had time to pick our jaws up from the ground after marveling at the spectacle produced by the fish before we were on again. It turned out that initial 45-minute wait would be the longest we would have over the next two days! 

After another all-action, 20-minute fight on a 24kg stick-bait rod, Mike had his first sailfish boat-side. There were high fives and whoops of delight as Raice slid the 30kg fish aboard to have its photo taken, then it was towed alongside until it recovered enough to swim away.

The next few hours were a blur of excitement – hook-up after hook-up, with sailfish performing acrobatics on all sides. They definitely hunted in packs and we experienced double hook-ups on two occasions that session. I had lost track, but in the wash-up we brought four sailfish to the boat from nine fish hooked, with all of us landing at least one. 

A few other boats were fishing in our vicinity and every time I scanned the horizon someone seemed to be leaning into a heavily-bent rod, with hooked sailfish churning the surface. 

That evening it was an exhilarated and satisfied group of anglers re-living personal highlights of the day over a fabulous seafood dinner at a local riverside restaurant. For those who experienced their first sailfish capture, the common theme was how explosive and willing these fish are once hooked, and the visual spectacle they turn on. 

Our experiences on day one saw us decide against trying light tackle, as the 25 to 35kg fish we encountered gave a good account of themselves on 15 and 24kg tackle and fought themselves to a standstill. We felt that prolonged fights on light gear would stress the fish too much, with the possibility they would not survive the release. However, we agreed these fish would be a serious challenge on a fly rod, so formulated a plan to try for one with a non-IGFA heavy tippet of 15-20kg. We would stick with the livies and conventional tackle for the first half of the day and, all going well, try for one on the fly in the afternoon. 

The morning was an action replay of the previous day, with bites aplenty, resulting in four more fighting sails subdued and released in good order boat-side, rather than being lifted aboard for another ‘grip and grin’ photo op. 

Our thoughts turned to attempting a catch on fly rod and reel. We decided to employ a ‘tease and switch’ technique involving a large popper with a daisy chain of small squid skirts slow-trolled off each corner on the heaviest rods we had on board. A pair of 12-weight fly rods armed with custom-tied Pat Swift sailfish flies were poised, ready to go in Mike and my hands as we stood in each corner. 

The theory requires a sailfish to be raised by the teasers, which are then wound back to the boat and lifted from the water, leaving the agitated fish looking for its quarry. At this point, in a symphony of polished teamwork, the skipper throws the boat into neutral as the angler casts the fly in front of the lit-up sail, which responds by grabbing the magically reappearing meal. But in practice none of us had any experience with this style of fishing and the learning curve loomed steeply.

We found ourselves pointing and yelling in excitement as sails came up and slapped at the poppers, while our uncoordinated efforts to extract the teasers and present the flies would have been hilarious for anyone watching. Our tardiness getting teasers out of the water, and our over-eagerness to get the flies in, meant that, mostly, the fish had long enough to inspect both offerings closely at the same time, and decide neither looked that appetizing after all! 

Eventually, though, it came together enough to elicit a bite on my fly. The exhilaration of the moment will stay with me forever, even though it only lasted about 30 seconds as the sail tail-walked diagonally across the transom and threw the fly moments later. That feeling of being in direct contact with a powerful predator, the fly line snapping taut in my palm while attempting to strip-strike the hook home, is a rare and amazing one. I was left open-mouthed with my hands shaking. 

Unfortunately, despite numerous further opportunities, we were not able to pull off catching a sailfish on fly. No worries though, because it’s a really good excuse to go back and experience that feeling another day!

   This article is reproduced with permission of   
New Zealand Fishing News

May 2015 - by Brett Patterson
Re-publishing elsewhere is prohibited

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