When we first arrived in Tobago, a local fisherman named Dave showed up wanting to sell some fish. He had caught a 4 pound black fin tuna and wanted to sell it for $48 TT ($8 US). It sounded like a good deal to us for sushi tuna, so we did the deal and feasted on sushi and sashimi for dinner that evening.
Dave also invited us to go on a fishing trip with him for King Fish, the local name for Wahoo. Phil and I accepted. In the morning, the weather was sunny and clear, a perfect day to catch the big one.
Fishing traditional Tobago-style is a unique proposition. Locals use 20-foot long fiberglass pirogues, with bamboo outriggers and 300 lbs test hand-lines. When a big one hits, the gloves go on and the fish is horsed into the boat by hand. Wads of fishing line lay in separate bilge compartments for each line. Dave fishes with four lines at a time. No rod and reels for these guys, no gaffs either.
Dave’s boat is meticulously maintained. Well painted, squeaky clean with a 40hp tiller Yamaha outboard that he polishes with baby oil to keep it shiny. When he catches a fish, bloodstains get washed down and wiped up immediately. I complemented him on his boat and it’s pristine condition. “It’s my livelihood” was his response. Our captain did not have a diplomatic bone in his body. Things came out gruff and direct. I guess 20 years of being out a sea alone takes its toll on your social skills.
Motoring through the bay, we dropped the lines in one at a time until our spread was laid out, three brightly colored squid lures on the surface and one down deep. As soon as we exited the sheltered waters of the bay, the sea floor dropped to 150 to 200 feet with a strong current cutting through the channel. The calm waters of our protected anchorage began to boil with large sea swells capped by current and wind-driven waves as our small pirogue rounded the point. We trolled on a plane at 10 to 12 knots. Heading into the waves was punishing and wet. Three miles later, we u-turned and headed back. Running with the wind and waves seamed almost serine after our upwind pounding. Three miles later and the loop started all over again. After four or five circuits, it became clear to me that this is hard work and shed light on Dave’s and the other fisherman’s tough demeanor.
A large silver streak cutting diagonal through the water behind us pulled me back into the here and now from my introspection. “King Fish” shouted Dave and the battle began. I took the tiller, Phil moved to the front of the boat. “Not so far” barked our captain. “He’ll lose control of the boat. Move back”. Phil moved half way back. “OK” commanded the captain. Then his attention turned to me. “Keep the boat going straight and speed up”. “Ok” I said. “Hand me that glove.” “Ok” I said.
Then it happened. The fishing line was running over my shoulder as Dave was wildly pulling in the monster fish. I decided to move on the other side of the tiller to give him more room. “What are you doing? Move back.” “Ok” I said again. The King Fish was just behind the boat. As I shifted my position back, the throttle slowed. Dave yanked the fish to the stern gunwale. “Speed up! That fish is going to hurt me if you don’t” he yelled.
As I throttled up, he horsed the crazed aqua-blue stripped monster into the bilge. “Aaarrgg” he hollered, as the battle was brought into the boat. The snapping fish had plenty of fight left in him. He was biting and thrashing violently. I glanced up at Phil to get a mental snap shot if his expression. It was excitement, joy and terror all in one.
Dave tackled the unruly snapping king fish with it’s head and razor sharp teeth inches away from his own jugular. Reaching down in the bilge, a thick burled stick emerged in Dave’s hand and began beating the fish in the top of the head. Two blows and the seaming uncontrollable flailing changed to tight seizure-like tremors.
Having subdued the fish, Dave turned to me and let me have it. “That fish could have hurt me. You have to keep the speed the same.” In my mind I knew that if the speed had remained constant, the bilge battle we had just witnessed would have remained the same. But why argue. Two minutes later, it was as if nothing had happened.
We continued our laps, up wind and waves, then back down. Over the course of the day, we landed two King Fish, four Black-fin Tuna and a Barracuda, a very good fishing day. As we entered back into our anchorage, the waters calmed and so did Dave’s excitable mood. He even cracked a smile as he leaned back on his tiller reflecting on the catch of the day.
Dave also invited us to go on a fishing trip with him for King Fish, the local name for Wahoo. Phil and I accepted. In the morning, the weather was sunny and clear, a perfect day to catch the big one.
Fishing traditional Tobago-style is a unique proposition. Locals use 20-foot long fiberglass pirogues, with bamboo outriggers and 300 lbs test hand-lines. When a big one hits, the gloves go on and the fish is horsed into the boat by hand. Wads of fishing line lay in separate bilge compartments for each line. Dave fishes with four lines at a time. No rod and reels for these guys, no gaffs either.
Dave’s boat is meticulously maintained. Well painted, squeaky clean with a 40hp tiller Yamaha outboard that he polishes with baby oil to keep it shiny. When he catches a fish, bloodstains get washed down and wiped up immediately. I complemented him on his boat and it’s pristine condition. “It’s my livelihood” was his response. Our captain did not have a diplomatic bone in his body. Things came out gruff and direct. I guess 20 years of being out a sea alone takes its toll on your social skills.
Motoring through the bay, we dropped the lines in one at a time until our spread was laid out, three brightly colored squid lures on the surface and one down deep. As soon as we exited the sheltered waters of the bay, the sea floor dropped to 150 to 200 feet with a strong current cutting through the channel. The calm waters of our protected anchorage began to boil with large sea swells capped by current and wind-driven waves as our small pirogue rounded the point. We trolled on a plane at 10 to 12 knots. Heading into the waves was punishing and wet. Three miles later, we u-turned and headed back. Running with the wind and waves seamed almost serine after our upwind pounding. Three miles later and the loop started all over again. After four or five circuits, it became clear to me that this is hard work and shed light on Dave’s and the other fisherman’s tough demeanor.
A large silver streak cutting diagonal through the water behind us pulled me back into the here and now from my introspection. “King Fish” shouted Dave and the battle began. I took the tiller, Phil moved to the front of the boat. “Not so far” barked our captain. “He’ll lose control of the boat. Move back”. Phil moved half way back. “OK” commanded the captain. Then his attention turned to me. “Keep the boat going straight and speed up”. “Ok” I said. “Hand me that glove.” “Ok” I said.
Then it happened. The fishing line was running over my shoulder as Dave was wildly pulling in the monster fish. I decided to move on the other side of the tiller to give him more room. “What are you doing? Move back.” “Ok” I said again. The King Fish was just behind the boat. As I shifted my position back, the throttle slowed. Dave yanked the fish to the stern gunwale. “Speed up! That fish is going to hurt me if you don’t” he yelled.
As I throttled up, he horsed the crazed aqua-blue stripped monster into the bilge. “Aaarrgg” he hollered, as the battle was brought into the boat. The snapping fish had plenty of fight left in him. He was biting and thrashing violently. I glanced up at Phil to get a mental snap shot if his expression. It was excitement, joy and terror all in one.
Dave tackled the unruly snapping king fish with it’s head and razor sharp teeth inches away from his own jugular. Reaching down in the bilge, a thick burled stick emerged in Dave’s hand and began beating the fish in the top of the head. Two blows and the seaming uncontrollable flailing changed to tight seizure-like tremors.
Having subdued the fish, Dave turned to me and let me have it. “That fish could have hurt me. You have to keep the speed the same.” In my mind I knew that if the speed had remained constant, the bilge battle we had just witnessed would have remained the same. But why argue. Two minutes later, it was as if nothing had happened.
We continued our laps, up wind and waves, then back down. Over the course of the day, we landed two King Fish, four Black-fin Tuna and a Barracuda, a very good fishing day. As we entered back into our anchorage, the waters calmed and so did Dave’s excitable mood. He even cracked a smile as he leaned back on his tiller reflecting on the catch of the day.
