Good fishing on a rather wild day



Big seas battered Rarotonga on Friday

A massive storm roared across Rarotonga overnight. I half-hoped my deep sea fishing trip would be cancelled, allowing me to sleep past 4:30 a.m. But the call-off never came. So we slipped out of Avarua harbor before the dawn, hearing the bellow of big waves beyond the reef.

If it wasn't for the coral reefs, this would've been good surfing weather

Another thing that struck me was that our deckie, an amiable young Cook Islands Maori, was baiting the lines before we were even beyond the breakwater. The water drops off sharply beyond the reef, he explained, meaning we would not have the long haul into open seas I'd been accustomed to on my other outings for Marlin and sailfish.

Sure enough, not five minutes into the trip, one of the lines began to scream in protest as something made off with it. By the luck of the draw it was my turn in the fighting chair. The little seat at the back of the boat was quite a precarious spot in the bucking seas. I began to make calculations as to how long it would take me to swim back to shore if I were ingloriously dumped overboard. Whatever it was took a lot of line, and the anticipation rose in the seven of us on board. It was not to be, however. "My fish" wasn't having any of it. "He's spat the dummy, mate," said our deckie as I brought a slightly chewed bait fish back to the stern. And with that it was gone. I had to focus again on the huge waves pouring in from the darkness.


Rarotonga at sunrise

The sun rose and the Aussies on board, as is their wont, began talking about sharks. The little island of Rarotonga, just 36 kilometers in circumference, gave a wild and pretty view of herself.

There wasn't too much time for idle chat or for a rivalry between the Aussies and the Kiwis on the boat to get too heated. Our skipper had taken us around to the south of the island and out of the worst of the waves, if not a large swell.

It proved a good move. Three rods were hit at once and the screaming reels sent everyone scrambling. Having had my futile turn, I sat this one out and watched as one Skipjack Tuna jumped out of the water about 100 feet behind the boat. "Something big is chasing him," the deckie said. Everyone manned their stations as the three hooked fish continued to race away with line.

Pretty soon a Kiwi bloke landed the first Skipjack, a big one weighing in at about 30 pounds. Two of the other lines were still being taken out. All hell had broken loose, as the crew shouted instructions to the novice fishermen and made sure the lines didn't cross. "Don't give it any slack. Reel it in going down." Within minutes the second decent-sized "Skippy" had been brought to the boat. But the third one was still heading for Tonga.

A wearying angler kept up the good fight, but after 20 minutes the fish would still take out more line than was being drawn in. There was talk about what it might be, that one of the boats had landed a Marlin the day before, that there were sailfish to be had out here. But it turned out to be just so much wishful thinking; it was another Skipjack.

You can see a short video of the strikes here: <iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_Z333YXhmU0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

When it was safely aboard, there was much high-fiving and choice language not tempered by the presence of a lady. The morning had got off to a hell of a good start.

A Skipjack Tuna

And that was pretty much that. For the rest of the morning all was quiet, except the churning sea. We had a chance to see the rugged splendor of Rarotonga as the first explorers had: from the extraordinarily blue ocean. The flying fish that shot across the surface of the water like tiny guided missiles provided good viewing too.

In the end, I'm glad the boys didn't join me, though I'd have loved their company. I was feeling a tad green around the gills by the time we returned to harbor. While I may not have landed the big one, any day fishing is a good day, as the saying goes. It was also reasonably priced. One of the Kiwis on board said it was cheaper for him to fly to Rarotonga for a spot of Marlin fishing than it would be to do it at home. That, of course, pleased my Scottish genes immensely.