Liquid Horizon : Fly Fishing : Cape Town
One large chunk of fish
Written by Graeme Field
Photos by Chip and Tim Stringer
The islands of the Seychelles lie like a string of pearls across the Indian Ocean, a chain of granitic and coralline splendor that draws anglers from around the world. To the north, the lush and populated main islands; to the south, the harsh and remote outer islands. And right at the bottom, the most untamed of them all – Cosmoledo atoll, home of wild terrain and even wilder fish.
And the single fish that had drawn me there was the bruiser of the flats, the undisputed king of the reef – the tough, strong and ferocious Giant Trevally. Having fished and guided throughout the Seychelles islands for a number of years now, I have bumped heads with my fair share of these gladiators – sometimes with success, sometimes not. With the real big ones…mostly not. Whatever the result, there is always entertainment when GT's are involved. Those crazy fish have broken lines, leaders and rods and on more than one occasion have been solely responsible for a broken spirit. Hell, I've run after the things, I've jumped after them and I've swam after them. I've even been attacked by them. Such is the bold and brazen attitude of GT's and such is the terrain that they thrive in that requires such extreme measures to tackle them. They are hard fish, living in a harsh environment, and landing that once in a lifetime trophy is undoubtedly going to require some extraordinary actions on your part because the big one's don't come easy. In fact, even the little ones don't come easy.
South Island on Cosmoledo is a ragged and jagged island, a harsh environment for fish and angler. Just the way I like it. On the low tide, extensive flats and reefs appear as the water drains into the ocean, but on the high tide just the viciously sharp coral ledges of south island remain above the water level.
On a particularly windy April afternoon I had been fishing with father and son team, Chip and Tim Stringer, and on the high tide we had stopped for lunch in the lee of the island. Not one to sit around for too long, I wolfed down my lunch, grabbed my rod and strolled across the island to the windward side, where waves were splashing up against the side and I was facing right into the teeth of the wind. I stood for a moment, contemplating the adverse conditions, and then decided to head back to where the others were having lunch on the tender boat. I was standing on the edge of the coal ledges, and as I looked down to check my footing, my eyes nearly fell out of my head. Literally right below my feet, swimming tight up against the coral was a GT of outrageous proportions. The thing was HUGE – one of the biggest I have ever seen.
While every part of my body was screaming at me that this was a really bad idea, my arms took on a mind of their own and before I could give it too much thought, had unclipped the big needlefish pattern and roll cast it in front of this beast. And, cool as you like, that massive chunk of fish rose to the surface and just sucked in the fly. Bang! I was connected to a fish of a lifetime. Time to rock ‘n roll.
Now I was in trouble. I was standing on a continuous ledge of some of the sharpest and most dangerous coral you can imagine. The island stretched away on either side of me, numerous nasty undercut coral ledges forming bays, points and snags that would rip a fly line to pieces in seconds. The fish was in water about six feet deep and was swimming right against the side of the island, literally about half a meter from the edge. Then about 300 meters away, directly out to sea from me and straight into the wind and waves was the reef edge, beyond it the drop-off into unfathomable depths. The no go zone.
An instant after feeling the hook strike home, the fish tore away along the edge of the island, closely hugging every nook and cranny. When a 100lb GT first runs, you can do nothing more than hang on for dear life. Having encountered my fair share of these fish over the years, I have learnt that the harder you pull against a GT, the harder and faster it pulls back, so instinctively I kept only enough pressure to stay connected and keep my line tight enough to avoid the coral - and I sprinted after the fish! Doing the 100 yard dash over ankle twisting razor sharp coral whilst holding my rod above my head, alternatively reeling and yelling into the radio for back up must have been a sight to behold, but somehow I managed it and stayed connected to the fish throughout those first crazy minutes.
After finally getting the message through to the tender boat skipper that I he needed to get the boat around the island like yesterday, I concentrated on fighting the fish – which had by now decided that the distant reef was a good place to head for, and it turned and charged out towards the sea. At about this time I was joined by a breathless Tim and Chip who had run over to see what all the fuss was about.
I was lucky. After leaning into it for 10 minutes with maximum drag applied, I managed to turn that fish about 50 meters short of the surf, with very few turns of line left on my reel. I had regained a substantial amount of line by the time the tender boat finally burst into view around the point of the island, and for the first time in the fight I allowed myself to think that I might actually land this fish. But with the jagged coral and waves breaking against the island, the inflatable boat couldn't get near me. There was no other choice – it was time for another GT jump (I'm famous for these) and I launched myself off the ledge and into the neck deep water. As I let the fish pull me away from the rocks, I heard two more splashes behind me as Tim and Chip, not prepared to miss the grand finale, plunged in as well.
Eventually, after being towed around for a while, I felt hands grab my collar and under my arms, and I was hoisted backwards into the boat. I gradually managed to work the weary fish close to the boat, but in the wind and chop there was no way we could get a grip on the any part of the fish. Finally, completely out of options, the skipper Patrick jumped in and tailed the huge fish for me. The rest all happened so fast. The my trophy was hoisted onto my lap and cameras started firing. Well, not quite. My battery died almost immediately and we were suddenly down to Chip's new digital camera. Unfortunately this particular camera didn't have a view finder, and the LCD display was difficult to see in the bright sunlight, so he was just shooting randomly. In an effort to get the fish back in the water as quick as possible, we didn't check to see how the pics had come out until after I had revived and released the fish. By then we realized that Chip had his camera zoomed right in, effectively cropping out large parts of me and the fish and we were only able to salvage one or two half decent photos of the fish. The fish of a lifetime and I mostly only had photos of parts of it!
At well over 130cm fork length and just under a meter in girth the weight was estimated, using a couple of reliable formulas, at around 115lbs. Not one for records, I don't really care about the exact weight - all I know is that it was almost double the weight of my personal best and is probably the biggest I'll ever land. It was a memorable day, memorable fish and memorable experience – and is one fish that will live in my memory forever.