15 Oct 1994 -
It was evening on the Bertram that good ol uncle
After some moving around, I had lost my bearings in the night. Razali had brought us to several spots where all I managed to do was get stuck in some rocks or something. I was sick and tired of bursting my line and re-tying the rigs. At that time, boatfishing at night to me meant my trusty Berkley GF 19 boat rod, and my Penn 320 GTi loaded with 20 lb line. Mind you, 20 lb line was tough to burst!
So we anchored over some rocky spot and I had gotten stuck and burst my line AGAIN! When I finally retied my hook and baited up with a small prawn. Not wanting to let the others on the boat know that I’d given up for the night, I let down the line and did not let it reach the bottom. In fact, I just dangled the prawn a few feet below the boat. I just didn’t want to get stuck anymore! Then I sat back and relaxed, fiddling with the star drag on the 320.
Brendon was sitting beside me, and his rod tip was just beside mine. I was off on another stoning run, staring at nothing in particular, safe and secure in the fact that my bait was so far off the bottom, I could never get snagged… then…. tap.
It was a light tap, like my prawn was jumping, then tap… tap… Two light taps. Some small surface swimming fish had decided to mess with my bait, I guessed. Maybe a baby barracuda, I guessed further. Tap… vibrate… tap… tap. It felt like I was fishing for Pasir Pasir, but I was out at sea, anchored over some crazy snaggy bottom… and midwater? Impossible, I thought. I didn’t strike just yet. Tap… tap… tap… this tapping was quite fun, at least there was some action. I didn’t think my hook was small enough for whatever was nibbling at my bait.
I told Brendon, ‘See, there’s a small fish disturbing my bait.’ Brendon looked, and saw the tapping. He found it amusing. The tapping went on for another five minutes or so, and I was wondering when my prawn would run out of legs for the small fish to nibble on. Both of us just stared at the tapping, which became rather regular. Then I ran out of patience and thought I could foul hook the small bugger disturbing my bait.
‘See, I’m going to strike and see if I can accidentally hook the bugger,’ I told Brendon.
‘OK.’
Then I wound down till the rod tip was touching the water surface, and STRUCK!
‘SHIT! I’m stuck!’ I said, surprised. I thought my line was just a few feet below the boat.
‘Huh?’ Brendon replied.
Then ‘zzzzzzzth..ggggthh…jjjjgggtshaazzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!’ Line started stripping off the 320 at amazing speed. ‘tthhhhtttthhhhgggggg… zzzzzzg….. zzzzzzggggthgthg!!!’ The ‘snag’ put its foot down on the accelerator and the turbocharger kicked in. I tried to put my thumb on the spool and it got burnt immediately.
‘Wah LAO!!!! What’s that?’ ‘BIG F
Everyone on the boat woke up from their slumber. Phrases like ‘all lines up’ and ‘he’s got a big one’ and ‘stingray’ floated in the air and got picked up by my ears as I struggled to hold on to my rod. I was losing line fast and I couldn’t do anything about it but hold on.
Razali came and stood beside me. So did my dad. They looked at my line and my rig and did not say a thing. Razali had seen this very same equipment handle a giant ray with a wingspan the width of a sampan (I had given up fighting that ray after about an hour and Razali had taken over to bring the ray to boatside during that episode, we released that monster ray)… he knew this rod and reel could handle monsters.
At one point, so much line had gone out that I could almost see the spool (but I must have imagined it)… and I thought I had lost. Then the fish slowed down, and the line cutting through the water at great speed from right to left made a high pitch whistling noise. It was changing direction! I took this chance to make about 4 or 5 turns of the handle when the line suddenly went slack.
‘Shucks! It’s gone!’ I mumbled. ‘What?’ ‘Burst.’ I said, as I reeled in slack line.
Then, POW! The line went taut again, and I realized that for a brief moment, the fish had swum towards the boat, and the good part was that I had managed to take in quite a bit of line.
“It’s still there!’ everybody said in unison.
But my glee soon turned to discouragement as the fish took off on another blistering (literally, for my thumb) run, showing me that it still had juice left. After a while, the fish slowed again and then began the tug of war. The battle of brute strength! My drag was set to the max during the fight and I started to fight what seemed like an impossible fight. For every turn of the handle I made, the fish pulled out more line than I took in. Even pumping and reeling seemed futile as the fish took drag even when I dropped the rod to turn the handle of the
‘It’s not coming in,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, slowly, take your time,’ Dad said.
After what seemed like ages, I started to take in line, slowly starting to count the number of winds I could make. The fish had a tough jerky pull, unlike any ray I had encountered, and it soon became obvious to all that this was NOT a smelly old ray. Adrenalin coursed through my veins and my heart started thumping faster knowing that this was probably a good fish.
‘…three, four,’ Then the fish took line again. ‘… one, two…’ Lost some line again. But this was progress.
About 20 metres of line, I estimated, had been retrieved, when the fish, beyond anyone’s expectations, took off on another run as though the last 20 minutes meant nothing to it.
‘What the hell?!’ ‘Still going strong.’ ‘Yeah, but not me.’
Then the whole cycle repeated itself about 3 or 4 times, before finally, the pumping became easier. The fish was clearly tiring now. And then, after further muscle powered pumping, we all saw it. The flash of silver below the boat was unmistakable. All lamps on the boat were on by now and we all saw a huge silver rectangle moving some distance just in and out of the shadows.
“Mamong,’ Razali said.
That’s the first time I’d heard that word. I turned to my dad.
‘Giant Trevally,’ dad said, even without me asking.
I had read about it in Australian fishing magazines but never in my
The landing net came out, and after some mini runs, and hurried discussions, the fish finally came close, and Razali guided the huge head of the fish into the landing net. But…
CCCGRAAAACK! The fish burst through the net, and I found myself fighting the fish though the loop of the net for a while before Razali put on some gloves and guided the fish into his waiting hands. He got a good grip on its tail and, after a brief pause, lifted the amazing Giant Trevally into the boat. We were all surprised to find my comparatively tiny O’Shaughnessy hook (size 1/0) embedded in a small corner of the fish’s lip. The hook slipped out easily, the fish was popped into the ice box, and I stumbled into the cabin for a rest. With the adrenalin rush over, my both arms were cramped from the fight, and I started to feel the pain in my ribs and stomach. We had no fighting belt on board cos no one expected such a fish. Anyway, I had the whole of the rest of my life to recover from the bruises around my stomach and ribs, caused by the butt of my rod, I thought…. as I lay down on the floor of the cabin, half asleep, the picture of this magnificent Giant Trevally would forever burn itself into my memory.
This was my most memorable
Here's another pic of the fish and a young Bryan.
