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Fish Have a Way
By CAPTAIN DAN KIPNIS
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Sometimes NOT getting a Grand Slam is what makes you smile.
When you direct billfish tournaments for a
living you watch other people in beautiful
locations catch beautiful fish all day. So
when you get a chance to do some fun
fishing of your own you jump on it. Joan
Vernon, Russ Nelson and I had two days
to enjoy ourselves before we went to
work running the Presidential Caribbean
Cup off the north coast of Venezuela.
The On Line, a 63-foot enclosed flybridge
Ocean Yacht, captained by Capt.
Carlos “Pichi” Contreras, was our ride.
The famed La Guaira Bank, lying just
12 miles offshore, makes Venezuela a renowned
billfish hotspot. It stretches about
four miles, paralleling the northern coast,
and rises steeply from depths of 6,000 feet
up to 180 feet.
When you direct billfish tournaments for a
living you watch other people in beautiful
locations catch beautiful fish all day. So
when you get a chance to do some fun
fishing of your own you jump on it. Joan
Vernon, Russ Nelson and I had two days
to enjoy ourselves before we went to
work running the Presidential Caribbean
Cup off the north coast of Venezuela.
The On Line, a 63-foot enclosed flybridge
Ocean Yacht, captained by Capt.
Carlos “Pichi” Contreras, was our ride.
The famed La Guaira Bank, lying just
12 miles offshore, makes Venezuela a renowned
billfish hotspot. It stretches about
four miles, paralleling the northern coast,
and rises steeply from depths of 6,000 feet
up to 180 feet. Trade currents and coldwater
upwellings along the bank attract bait and
thus an array of billfish. While trolling the
edge, it’s possible to release a dozen marlin
and sailfish in a day. Grand slams and super
(four species) and royal slams (five species)
are not uncommon. Sailfish like the top of
the bank and the inshore boundaries, white
marlin and tuna roam the entire area and
blue marlin normally hunt the outside. In
addition, there’s swordfish off the western
end. Fishing holds up all year and moon
and tide phases don’t dramatically affect
the bite. Local captains talk about the noon
bite and usually fish until five in the afternoon.
They’d stay later but floating debris
makes running at night too dangerous.
PIRATING RODS
Our spread consisted of four 20-pound
conventional outfits, two longer lines in the
outriggers and two flat lines set in outrigger
pins on the transom. We fished four teasers
consisting of a ballyhoo dredge and plastic
squid daisy-chain off the right rigger and
a daisy-chain of various trolling lures on
the left rigger. Mate Luis “Speedy” Larez’s
secret weapon, a two-foot dolphin-shaped
teaser trailed by a string of pink squid,
flashed off the left corner. We figured with
five of us in the cockpit, clearing the spread
wouldn’t be too bad. The day started in my
favor. Twenty minutes after the spread hit
the water, Russ’ long rod snapped free of
the rigger with a ping. Line stripped off the
20-pound outfit, then ripped to the right. As
luck would have it, Russ was inside changing
the battery in his camera, so I immediately
grabbed the rod. It would have been
irresponsible not to (wink). I watched the
top of the fish’s tail cut through 50 yards of
water at what I guessed was 50-miles-anhour.
It then peeled through the top shot and
100-yards of spectra backing. This could
only be one type of fish. “Wahoo!” I yelled.
The crew cleared the spread and I fought
the fish without the boat backing down. At
first I gained line quickly, but as the fish
got closer it went deep and expressed its
true weight. Capt. Contreras backed down
slowly now. As I looked down to spot the
fish and apply pressure, the crew screamed.
A 135-pound blue marlin vaulted from the
water and put on a three-minute aerial display.
This got me excited to say the least.
We wanted to get to the fish for release
while it was still up on the surface. Pichi
backed down with purpose, drenching me
in Venezuela’s tropical waters. We almost
got there but the hot little blue took a dive.
Five or six minutes later we had him back
on top. This time our other mate, Randy
Rodriguez, got the leader. We scored the
release in just 20 minutes and cut the hook
close to the mouth. The fish, flush with
color, swam smartly away. I mustered my
acting skills and apologized “earnestly” to
Russ about pirating his rod, but couldn’t
contain the smile I get when the day starts
my way. Wouldn’t you know it; I didn’t get
another bite until 20 minutes before lines
out.
That doesn’t mean the boat didn’t get
hit. We raised fifteen or more fish – singles,
doubles and triples, but none to my
line. We might have achieved a boat grand
slam with the morning blue marlin, but the
moods of the fishing gods wouldn’t let us
get a hook into any of those active white
marlin and sailfish.
TUNA THERAPY
Having missed a number of billfish
hookups, Joan was getting frustrated. She
wanted to take out her frustration on “something
big.” Pichi took the challenge. We’d
been shadowing porpoise, bait and birds
all day, and figured tuna schools might be
doing the same thing. We rigged a ballyhoo
with a simple pink plastic skirt, lobbed it
behind the moving boat and waited. It took
all of 60 seconds before a big tuna erupted
on the bait. The drag sounded as 150 yards
of line shot off the reel. Joan, with line still
peeling off the reel, wrestled the bent-butt
80-outfit over to the chair gimble. She
crossed the bucket harness straps, shortening
the distance between her and the reel,
giving herself better pumping leverage.
By now the tuna had settled down and
Pichi started to back down. As we got
closer, the fish tried running at the boat but
a push forward and a turn or two allowed
Joan to gain line. After ten minutes the tuna
hunkered into a “Venezuelan” standoff. As
the tuna swam large circles, I turned the
chair and Pichi angled the stern of the boat.
This allowed Joan to gain line as the fish
arced repeatedly toward the boat. Twenty
minutes later, Speedy had the fish on the
leader. As Randy struck with the gaff, the
tuna cut to the side and the flyer went in
by the tail - it’s not good to piss-off a tuna
of this size! I quickly cut around the chair,
grabbed the second flyer gaff and placed
a shot with the big hook right in the gills.
That was that. We lead her to the transom
door and slid her up on the deck. There
were high-fives and hoots by all as we realized
this fish was well over 200 pounds.
I COULDN’T RESIST
That afternoon we trolled another
hour, but raised no fish. Change was
in order if I was going to get my grand
slam. “I’ll show you how it’s done,”
I chimed. There was only 20 minutes
of fishing time left. I replaced the right
teaser with a black and red double chugger
rig that had earned me four white marlin
releases the day before, then moved it
down the rigger and closer to the boat. I
switched my lightly weighted ballyhoo
out of the transom rigger pin and shot out
a naked ballyhoo, holding it two feet behind
the second chugger teaser. I couldn’t
resist being braggadocios with my friends.
“This shouldn’t take long,” I said. Not
three minutes later, here came “whitey”
straight to the teaser. Pichi pulled the teaser
away, leaving my bally all alone. Just as I
couldn’t resist bragging, the white couldn’t
resist the bally. I pointed the tip straight at
the fish, counted a short four on the drop
back (just as circle hook pioneer Capt. Ron
Hamlin taught me) and locked the reel. The
rest was history. Four minutes later I had
two thirds of my grand slam.
With 12 minutes now left to achieve the
goal, all the rods were mine, but even after
adding 20 more minutes to our trolling
time, it was not to be. Only the fishing gods
know why. As Pichi started the run home
a sailfish began free jumping along side
of the boat and around the transom. I love
how fish have a way of letting you know
where you really stand.
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;)
