Pre Fathers Day Gift
Thought I’d share my pre-Father’s Day gift, which turned out to be the catch of a lifetime—something truly special. I smashed my previous personal best (PB) by a whopping six kilos, eclipsing the fish I’d caught off the surf in Mozambique way back in 2005.
The Saturday started with the usual camaraderie—the guys bantering about the chilly winter morning as we launched around 6 a.m. We knew bait would be scarce with the sardines around, but we still headed to our usual marks, hoping to snag some live bait for trawling later for the bigger winter couta. Most of the crew had already switched to targeting snoek, as predicted—bait was tough to come by. Dolphins were everywhere, likely keeping the bait fish away. I managed three mozzies, two of them mackerel-sized. By 7:30, I gave up on live bait fishing and decided to search for Snoek, planning to go deeper for Couta later. I pinned a mozzie on a Couta trace on my left rod and a sardine fillet on a Snoek trace for my right. Heading south, I started with a slow trawl in shallow water (10–12m), intending to move to my 20m mark for Couta later. Sardine shoals were everywhere—I threw a spoon into them, but no luck. By now, the netting boats were gathering on the beach as some of the sard shoals had moved within their reach. About a kilometre away from my launch site, I settled into a steady paddle, watching dolphins glide past. Impatience got the better of me—nothing had taken my baits—so I turned left, away from the beach, and headed deeper into my favourite 20–23m zone, still paddling south. The area was packed with boats, but us kayakers carried on silently seated close to the ocean’s surface. Then all of a sudden a double-up strike! Both rods bent hard, as my kayak came to an abrupt halt. Being right-handed, I instinctively grabbed that rod first—my snoek setup. The other rod, with the mozzie, had gone quiet after a blistering 10 second run. I knew a Couta had snipped that livey. Chaos ensued. I was holding one rod in my right hand, line screaming off the reel in a monster run, while trying to reel in the other to clear it. When I finally retrieved it, all that remained was a tiny piece of mozzie tail dangling from the lower treble. How the hell did that fish not hook up?!No time to dwell on a lost fish, I focused on the fish still on. By now, I had at least 150m of line out, stressing over the possibility of a boat crossing and cutting me off. After what felt like an eternity of reeling, the fish went deep, sounding right beneath me. Slowly, after a few tense circles, I caught a flash of silver, thankfully confirming that it was not a shark. I worked it closer, easing on the drag as it made a few more runs, swinging my ski in circles. I needed this fish completely spent—no fireworks when the gaff went in. And of course, I prayed I wouldn’t get taxed with the hundreds of sharks chasing the sards. On its last circle, it came up on my left side, rolling onto its side in defeat. I gaffed it cleanly in the head, surprisingly no thrashing. By its sheer girth, this was a serious fish. Catching my breath, I tried lifting it but no chance. The gaff was too far forward, near its head. Second attempt with the thought that maybe if I get her onto my lap, I can manoeuvre her into the hatch. Being extra mindful of those set of jaws, her head was thicker than my thigh. Well, that was almost a disaster. After a brief microsecond, she slid back into the water right across my lap, over my right thigh. I toppled backward, legs in the air, cursing as I narrowly avoided capsizing—heart pounding at the thought of losing everything. Thankfully, the fish was spent, and I kept hold of the gaff. I went for the second gaff, securing her near the tail. I rotated her, aligning her head with the front of my ski, and using both gaffs and my right knee, muscled her in headfirst. Victory. A quick pause to say a prayer of thanks, and I slid her into the hatch. Check out the ASMR clips—yes, I’m wheezing like an asthmatic accordion. Worn out from the fight and from lifting what is heavier than the kayak itself, I’d finally landed my 30 kilo unicorn on a simple 4/0 Mustad Red Tarpon snoek duster trace. My campfire story for life
