Fly Fish with Mel: Return to Paradise (Maldives) Day 3

Day 3:

We were supposed to meet up with Mario, our italian friend who runs a fishing charter service out of Kanu Huraa Resort. 10 minutes after we set sail, Mario called and told us to go to Dhidhdhoo, which happened to be just couple of islands away from us. He would meet us there and fish with us for a couple of hours.

Dhidhdhoo is located northwest of Kurendhoo, just before Maavaafushi. Past trips to this island had yielded numerous bonefish and bluefin trevallies. However, we had never had to pay to go on the island to fish. This time though, we were told that we had to pay an 'entrance' fee of US$1. Ibrahim tried calling the owner of the island and after a few attempts, got the clearance for us to proceed.

A unique local dish, Mashuni, was served at breakfast. A flavourful blend of freshly dried tuna flakes, fragrant grated coconut, chopped spicy hot chilli, chopped onions and a splash of lime juice; it is eaten wrapped in a flour shell, not unlike our local chapatti. The nutty flavour of the coconut complimented the oily tuna while the acidic lime juice prevented the oils from overwhelming the tastebuds. The spicy chilli and sweet onion added more bite and rounded up the flavours of this very simple, yet delectable dish.

After breakfast, we began our usual ritual of gearing up while the crew launched the dinghy. “First five, get ready!” goes the call. Soon we’re back on the fine sands of Dhidhdhoo.

Michael, William, Lee, Andy and I spread out towards the left side of the island, while the rest of the team found their own niches on the right. Not long after landfall, over the horizon, we saw a sport-fishing boat heading towards Mashibaru.




It was Mario’s Keyolha. Wahab took the dinghy back out and brought Amin back to receive our guest. An exchange of greetings later, the pair was back on the beaches, rod in hand.










In the pristine waters, with only a slight ripple, we were able to spot a few bonefish but when presented with our flies, they merely turned away. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted some movement and there was Michael with rod bent and definitely onto a good fish.










Making my way across the hundred odd meters to him, Michael was just beginning to bring the fish in. Taking out my camera, I put it underwater and awaited opportunities to take a few underwater shots.








We were both guessing that it could be a bonefish from the way it was taking line but as it turned out, it was a fair-sized bluefin trevally. After the customary poses with our model, it was released safely back into the water. We relished the sight of it swimming strongly away, back into the depths.














Having covered the flats, Michael, William and I turned towards the surf on the other side of the island. There was a flat area of rock that offered us good footing. The line clip that I had hanging at my waist was giving me a hard time in the surf, with water pounding me every few seconds. I had my line pulled out so often that I hardly had any time to cast my line.



Michael, on the other hand had his line out beyond the breakers. Again, he was to be the one to latch on to a mother of a GT.





This time, he had his rod bending so hard that he was literally using only the butt section of the rod to apply pressure on the fish. Foot after foot of backing kept peeling off the whirring reel. All he could do was to hang on and slowly turned up his drag 2 clicks at a time. Then, with the last 2 clicks, the GT stopped pulling line off the reel.




Sensing it was his turn to throw punches, Michael switched to high gear. Alternating with steady pressure from his rod and reeling in line, Michael made up for lost line in a short time. As it came closer to shore, the GT must have sensed danger and went on a long run across the rocky surf. Somehow managing to avoid getting cut off, Michael turned the GT’s head and proceeded to drag the brute in. Again, with camera ready,


I started snapping picture after picture above and below the water. Removing the 15lbs Bogagrip from Michael’s backpack, I tried to grab the lip of the tired but still unyielding creature. The jaws of the Bogagrip was barely wide enough to grip the lip of the GT.






Only by forcing one jaw of the Bogagrip into the bottom of the fish’s jaw and then over the lip, was I able to finally to get a firm grip of the fish. Lifting it up proved difficult with one hand as the scale was way over the 15lbs it was rated for.















A few quick snaps and we let the gangster return to its wayward, bullying way.










I had my share of fun too, though it was only short–lived. The rampaging bluefin trevally made 3 dashes across inches of water and finally cut me off one of the numerous sharp rocks strewn generously across the lagoon. A familiar growl in our stomachs reminded us of the time and we made our way gingerly over the rocks and then, the sand, to the beach to our waiting ride.

Back on the boat we found out that Gerard and Mah had had a fantastic time over on the right side of the island. After walking the stretch of beach, Gerard spotted a whole school of darts, a tremendous school numbering in the hundreds. Both anglers let loose a cast at the school; Gerard with a crab pattern and Mah, a crazy Charlie. Letting the crab sink, Gerard employed a slow retrieve, dragging the fly on the bottom. Mah, on the other hand, used a fast retrieve.






Gerard was first to connect. The fish made short work of the drag, taking Gerard into his backing in mere seconds.











Mah felt the Charlie stop in its tracks and then he too was into his backing.

"This has got to be a huge dart!" Mah thought. If it was a dart, it would have to have been on steroids?


Both anglers skillfully played their quarry and landed their respective fish only to discover, they had a double hookup on bonefish! The bonefish had been feeding beneath the school of dart. Now who said that you had to strip slowly for bonefish to take a fly?

Walking further, Gerard saw a whole area full of turtle grass. Turtle grass is synonymous with bonefish as they feed amongst the grass for crustaceans and shrimps. In the midst of changing his fly, Gerard caught glimpse of a sight that would make any grown angler cry. There, a mere few feet ahead, amidst the grass, the unmistakable shape of a bonefish feeding. However, instead of the urge to finish tying the fly and casting. He simply stopped whatever he was doing and lapped up the phenomenal sight before him.

After lunch, we all held the hope of coming across that school of dart and perhaps, a chance at hooking one of those feeding bonefish. However, it was not to be. Not only were the dart not in sight, there was hardly any sign of the other species as well. By the end of the day, the only silver lining was provided by William with his first fish on fly, a small Honeycomb Grouper (Epinephelus merra).

Fly Fish with Mel: Return to Paradise (Maldives) Day 2

Day 2:

Sleeping on the top deck, the roaring of the engine brought me back from dreamland. One by one we rolled our mattresses, pillows and blankets into one giant 'swiss-roll' and proceeded to descend back into our cabins to put away our stuff. Everyone was bright and chirpy, even Michael, who was still nursing his sore throat and cough. Coffee, tea and milo was served with sausages, omelettes and baked beans. There was also a choice of the local toasted bread or our very own Gardenia, which travelled with us over from Singapore.


While we tucked ourselves into a very hearty breakfast, Ibrahim plotted a course west-north-west to Maavaafushi. An hour later, we were all ready for our first full day of fishing. Five of us eagerly boarded the small boat and headed to shore. When we got to shore, Moses exclaimed: "Who took my rod?!" Everyone checked and found that we each had our own. Michael went to have a look at the rod Moses was holding and discovered that he had taken Michael's 9wt Winston XTR. This had us all bowling over in laughter. When we had composed ourselves, the first wave went in separate directions.

Walking with Gerard, we spread out to cover more water and soon enough we were on to something. Combing the flats to the left of the island, Gerard spotted a school of mullets. From experience, there was a possibility of bonefish following behind mullet schools. Through polarized glasses, Gerard scanned intensely and made out some dark forms behind the school. "Bonefish following the mullets", Gerard yelled and let go a cast. I was still trying to locate the school which was hard to spot in the glistening water surface. Even with my glasses on, the glare was still preventing me from seeing the fish.





"Fish on!" cried Gerard, as the purring of his reel grew louder, drowning his voice. It was like music to our ears. The individual clicks of the Abel Super 6 mixed into a single continuous melody.











The bonefish had seen his crab and turned from the school and in a flash, sucked it into its down-turned mouth. Feeling the crunching of the crab, Gerard pulled the line tight and the silver torpedo launched itself towards the open waters, effectively setting the hook itself.









The rod bucked but the 33lbs bite tippet held and the tug of war raged with each side gaining and losing line a few times. Winding my line up, I prepared to help Gerard with the photo session. Each time he put line back on the spool, in the blink on an eye, with line streaking through the water, his adversary had him into his backing again.




Wearing the fish out, Gerard finally had the leader within reach. It was a nice 2½lbs Bonefish (Albula vulpes). A few quick snaps above and underwater and the fish was released safely.

Then, came a call of nature and I had to scramble to find secluded spot to dump my load. Returning to the beach, there ahead of my by the shoreline were 3 long shadows. Quickly, stripping the belly out of rod, I took a few slow steps forward as far as I could without spooking the fish. With 2 back cast, I let fly the size 2 crab to the side of the school. With a "plop", the crab landed 2 feet to the right. Too close, I thought. Thankfully, not only did the fish not get spooked, one of the three turned towards my crab. One short strip and the fish turned tail and ran. The line ran through the loop made by my thumb and index finger and slapped onto the blank.

"Whrrrrrrrr..." the handle of the reel, lost in a blur. The first run took me into my backing. Seeing the line cut through the water throwing up a mini rooster tail like that of a F1 powerboat, I was sure it was a bonefish. My first bone! Or so I thought. A 20lbs bite tippet seemed overkill when fishing for peacock bass back home but here I was not sure if it was going to be enough to keep my fish on for long. Applying just enough pressure to turn the fish but not pop the tippet, I worked the fish towards me but it would be another two more runs before I’d get to see the fish up close. And close it was.





They looked so much alike and well, they fought so much alike that I’d thought I’d caught my bone. It turned out to be a Double-barred Goatfish (Parupeneus bifasciatus). Out came the camera for the customary mug-shot but this fish was destined to be on our table. Sorry mate.





Hanging around, I continued to scour the shallows for the tell-tale shadows of the bonefish on the bottom. The wind had died down leaving a mirror calm surface that was great for spotting fish but which also made them more easily spooked. Then Michael called out to me: "Mel, 10 o’clock." Turning round, there, lying not more than 60 feet away from me, the distinctive torpedo shape of a huge bonefish. Not wanting to spook the fish, I made a couple of false casts and dropped the fly to the side of the fish. It came up 10 feet short. The fish made no move to suggest it had been frightened. Another cast this time closer but ahead of the fish but still no response. Slowly, the fish cruised away. Was it not feeding or was it my crab fly?

Unconvinced, I continued to fish with the crab. Ahead of me down the length of the beach, the rest of the team had taken up stations about 40 – 50 feet apart. Next came William’s hail:" Mel, bonefish coming towards you!" Looking to my right down the beach, I couldn’t see anything and then there it was, as if magically materializing from thin air, a long bluish shape. Somehow the slightly deeper water and the blue sky had given the mirror-like scales a bluish tint that made it easily seen at close distances.

I made a quick cast when it was about 40 feet away and then waited for the crab to hit bottom. I gave it a quick, short strip to get the fish's attention and then slowly dragged the crab on the bottom. I saw it move over but it didn’t seem to have reached my fly when I felt the resistance. Just as I stripped to strike, the fish took off at the same instance. I was left with a broken piece of 20lbs tippet and one crab less.


After picking on a few small Bluefin Trevallies, it was time to head back to Mashibaru for lunch. With all accounted for, Gerard was the only one still out fishing. Hailing him on the radio got no response. So we waited for him onboard. Amidst our chattering, the little outboard coughed to life and left to pick-up our straggling Gerard. A few minutes later, we heard shouting from afar and got up to see Gerard waving frantically, a colossal GT hanging from his Boga Grip. We jumped up and headed to the stern to greet him. I grabbed my video cam and proceeded to the top deck to film his 'triumphant' return.



With the dinghy alongside, we saw a hand pass the Boga-grip to Ibrahim who struggled to pull its load aboard. Next we saw a silvery gray body, that didn’t seem to end, slowly slide aboard the boat. It was huge. When Gerard handed the rod to Ibrahim while he pulled himself up, I heard what should amount to be the quote of the trip. "You caught this fish on THIS rod", a look of utter disbelief on Ibrahim’s face. Smiles broke out on everyone’s face. The Boga-grip’s scale almost maxed out. 28 ½ lbs!!!




Gerard had spotted the fish cruising lazily along the flats. Changing from a crab to a 4-inch camo and bucktail white clouser, the grey giant turned the instant the fly hit the water and charged into it. There was no need to strike as the ferocity of the take and the subsequent take-off had the clouser firmly embedded in the top of its mouth just in front of its fearsome crusher plates. With the grey hulk going off at top gear, all Gerard could do was to hang on. Having just upgraded his reel with 250m of PE4 backing, Gerard was only too glad to let the 'gangster of the reef' bulldoze its way around the relatively flat ground before him.



Increasing the drag of his Abel Super 6 two clicks at a time, he started to turn the fish once he felt the fish unable to take line off his spool. The 7-wt Winston Boron IIx bent to its full flex, Gerard artfully used the butt power of the rod, coupled with the drag of his reel to muscle the monster back towards shore. Like a mismatch between a heavyweight champion against a flyweight boxer, the two opponents exchanged punches and dodged blows. The match lasted a full half hour before David overpowered Goliath.








Being alone and having been tired out by the long-drawn battle, Gerard could only muster the energy to lip-grip and drag the fish to landing point. Getting Wahab to be the photographer, he posed with the fish for a few shots before attempting to revive the fish. However, the long battle plus the photo session took its toll on the GT. So they hauled it aboard the dinghy and returned to the motherboat. His hands were still shaking as he shared the story over lunch.







Seemingly re-charged by the GT episode, Michael seemed even more ready to hit the surf, despite his cough. Taking down his 8wt Winston XTR and Abel Super 7, Michael was one of the first in the dinghy. Once on the beach, He made his way towards the surf while the rest of us continued our hunt for bonefish and whatever came our way. However, it was not to be that afternoon as most of us either managed only small fish or none at all.

We'd be staying out that night so Ibrahim found us a parking spot just inside the lagoon on the leeward side of the island. All of us were worn out from a whole day of walking. Michael’s cough was acting up again and so after dinner, it was cough syrup and off to bed. William and I tried our hand at bottom fishing. Jigging turned up nothing so I switched to bait like William who had already pulled up 2 small Barracudas and a small Long-nosed emperor. Not long after, I had a hard pull and proceeded to haul up a 3lbs Long-nosed emperor, a great fish to end the day with.

Sitting in a deck chair on the top deck, I relished the solitude while enjoying the beauty of a sky full of stars, with the occasional shooting star. Very soon, I was nodding off to sleep, so out came the 'swiss roll' and so ended day 2.

Fly Fish with Mel: Return to Paradise (Maldives) Day 1

These next few postings will be a series of daily logs of my last fly fishing trip in the Maldives that I had the privilege of participating in last February. I hope that I'm able to adequately chronicle our adventure for your reading pleasure.

CAUTION: Long Post

Day 1:

To most of this Coho team, it would be a much anticipated return to our fishing paradise. However, for a few of us, this would be a first. William (Team Guide), Michael (Owner of Coho Fishing Tackle), Gerard, Amin, Lee and I, have made this 2102 mile (3382 km) journey quite a few times. However, for Andy, Mah, Gan and Moses, it was to be their virgin fishing safari to the Maldives.

With a recent trip report bearing less than positive news of strong winds and a mediocre result, the team nonetheless carried high hopes of trading blows with some of the '‘Gangsters of the Surf', the Giant Trevally (Caranx ignobilis,) and a chance to spot and, hopefully, land a few '‘Ghosts of the Flats'’, the Bonefish (Albula vulpes).

Armed to the teeth and toting rod tubes bearing a brand name like 'Bazooka'’, it was no wonder we were greeted with apprehensive stares from the airport personnel. With no real incidents, we arrived slightly before midnight to our awaiting host, Mohammed, who promptly led us to a Dhoni, or a boat taxi, that would send us to our Safari Dhoni, the Mashibaru.

Once aboard, the team went about arranging their gears and their quarters before settling down for the night.



The sun rises early in this part of the world; 5.30am to be precise. The crew, captained by Ibrahim, had the boat leaving the harbour even before the whole team had awoken. Roused from their slumber by the steady drone of the engine, one by one, the team members began preparing for what was to be a long 8 hour journey to our fishing ground, Faadhippolhu Atoll, formerly known as, Lhaviyani Atoll.


2 trolling rods, one paired with an Accurate; the other, a Penn International 30, trailed a Halco and a Rapala CD18 respectively. With the lures out, the team began to set up the fly arsenal that included rods from Sage and Winston to reels from Ross and Abel. Ranging from 6-weight to 10-weight rods, there were enough rods to arm our team three times over.

Over the din of jovial bantering came Ibrahim'’s voice: "On!" In a split second, everyone was at battle-stations at the stern of the boat. Both the Penn and the Accurate had line peeling in a blur. Gerard was on the 'fighting chair' while Mah took the rod standing. It seemed like a double hook up. Gerard started pumping the fish in an attempt to gain line. The boat was slowed and both rods started to put line back on the spool. However, the two lines had intertwined together. With one rod kept in tension, the other rod was passed over and under to clear the twist. When both lines were separated, it soon became clear that the rod Mah was holding that had the hookup. Wanting to return the rod back to its rightful owner, Mah handed it to Amin who proceeded to wind back the already rapidly tiring fish.




A white dot began to grow as it got closer and soon the form of a huge Great Barracuda (Sphyraena barracuda)materialized in the clear waters below us.












It was a monstrosity of a fish, tipping the scales at over 20kg.










Would this herald the beginning of a fantastic trip? No one dared to say but I believe that in everyone's heart, a little spark was starting to ignite a small fire that would burn harder and brighter as the days went by.

It was arranged that we would have a short session on the island of Maduvvari. As Ibrahim found us a good spot to weigh anchor, the team got to work gearing up with eager anticipation. It was a scene much akin to a squad preparing for a mission, with the battle-hardened squad leaders going about their tasks with a certain nonchalant proficiency. While the new recruits fumbled with unfamiliar gear and displaying expressions of hope, apprehension and excitement. Mind you that these are not inexperienced fly-fishermen. But with the immense array of equipment and gear, we were spoilt for choice as to what was needed and what was good to have. Vests, Camelbak water packs, Stripping baskets, Boga-grips, rods and reels. We had to balance mobility with functionality.

The small, green dinghy was powered by a 4hp Yamaha outboard. The first wave brought 4 to the beach with the other 4 coming in the second wave. As Michael was down with fever, William had volunteered to stay onboard to accompany him. My Motorola Talkabout squawked and I heard Michael asking us to bring some fish back for dinner. Gerard, Mah and I, headed to the right of the island while the rest of the group either hung around the landing point or proceeded left.

Maduvvari is a small island that you can fish round in about 45 mins. The leeward side of the island has vegetation right to the edge of the beach with pockets of flats with good back cast space.

Treading lightly in the water with Mah about 20m ahead of me, I made blind casts into the brown coral patches with my new nameless fly, a recipe I had concocted on the boat while on the way here. With a very slow strip, I worked my fly back towards me, bouncing it over the corals beneath. With the leader hanging out and the fly still in the water, I turned to make my way after Mah. Just as the fly started to move, I felt the fly line tug at my fingers and my rod started to flex a little. I raised the rod and slowly pulled the line in and "“Zzzzzziiiiiiiip!…"” I guided the remaining fly line back to the rod and then let the reel take over. Palming lightly, I tried to turn the fish and managed to disorient it enough to make it swim back towards me.

With less than 10m, the fish took one look at me and went ballistic, peeling line off my spool at a mind boggling speed. I was beginning to worry about my line getting cut off amidst the corals beneath so I applied as much pressure as I dared and once again turned the fish shore-wards.



Reeling in as fast as the fish was swimming in, I was soon to my leader again and I caught my first glimpse of my piscatorial adversary; a nice table-size Yellowlip Emperor (Lethrinus xanthochilus).








Barely 15mins after making landfall, and I already had the fish for dinner. The only problem was how to lug the fish around. I had only a small Camelbak backpack with hardly any space for anything else. So, I lipped the fish with my Boga-grip and hung it off my belt. I had to be extra alert, in case, an over-zealous shark tried to cash in on a free lunch and my bum, of course.




Meanwhile, Mah, while watching my tussle with the emperor got a hit and started his own little skirmish. However, it was to be a short affair as he suddenly felt the line go limp. The fish had thrown the hook.

About 5pm, we radioed the boat to pick us up and we made way for Kurendhoo, where we would be spending the night. Ibrahim, the captain and, Hussain and Wahab, the deckhands are natives of Kurendhoo while Susantha, the cook, is a Sri Lankan. There we would have dinner and have our freshwater topped up for the next day'’s excursion.

On board, we had the first of many updates; Gerard had hooked a humongous Titan Triggerfish (Balistoides viridescens) on a crab pattern. Gan scored a honeycomb grouper (Epinephelus merra) and a Banded Needlefish (Strongylura leiura) on a Crazy Charlie. William and Michael had been busy themselves, accounting for a few groupers and triggerfishes from bottom fishing.

Exchanging fly rods for some light tackle trolling; William and Gan began trolling from the stern of the Mashibaru.


Over at the bow of the boat, Mah and Gerard had a go at popping. On the approach to the coral reef on the edge of Kurendhoo , Mah's popper was engulfed in a wild splash and line started to pull off the spool. Using only a light popping rod and a small popper, Mah had a real fight in his hand.



Making his way gingerly to the stern while trying to maintain pressure on the fish, slowly but surely, he recovered line. Not giving in easily, the fish made a few more dashes back towards the coral heads. With slow and steady strokes, Mah finally coaxes a beautiful Green Jobfish (Aprion virescens) back to the waiting gaff.

When we got going again, the trolling duo turned up the heat with a double hookup. Gan wrestled a nice Black Grouper while William easily bullied a Yellowledge Lyretail (Variola louti,)


Along the outer walls of Kurendhoo harbour, were reminders of the power of the recent tsunami. Although spared largely due to the almost vertical nature of its geography, Maldives, nonetheless, felt Nature's fury. The 2 concrete walls, that was the entrance to the harbour, were all but washed away.




The outer wall had caved-in in a few areas and there was a deep undercut where the wall met the rocks. It was told to us that funding will be given to help rebuild the harbour walls.




Guiding her gently through the harbour mouth, Ibrahim found Mashibaru her berth and brought her to a stop.

At sunset, baitfish congregation in the harbour was at its greatest. A blanket of brown beneath the water surface, it would suddenly come to life in a magical dance as predators rounded them up from below. What sounded like sizzling oil was actually baitfish in the millions jumping out of the water, trying to escape from the jaws of death. From above, this struggle of life and death seemed like a magnificently choreographed musical fountain, swaying right one moment and then, left the next. And so, with the last light fading into the horizon, the enthralling performance ended as the school made their way out of the harbour. This amazing scene was to repeat itself over the next couple of nights we were anchored here.

Merry Chirstmas and a Happy New Year!

A very big thank you for all who have visited my blog. I take this opportunity to wish each of you a very Blessed and Merry Chirstmas. May the peace of Christmas reside in you and your families. And may you all enjoy a Happy New Year. May there be more joy and plenty more fish in the coming year.


English: Merry Christmas and a happy new year!

Danish: Glædelig Jul og godt nytår!

Dutch: Vrolijk Kerstfeest en een Gelukkig Nieuwjaar!

Brazilian: Boas Festas!

Finnish: Hyvää Joulua or Hauskaa Joulua - 0nnellista uutta vuotta!

French: Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année!

German: Fröhliche Weihnachten und ein glückliches Neues Jahr!

Italian: Buon Natale e Felice Anno Nuovo!

Polish: Wesolych Swiat i Szczesliwego Nowego Roku!

Portuguese: Boas Festas e um feliz Ano Novo!

Slovakian: Vesele Vianoce a stastny novy rok!

Maltese: IL-Milied It-tajjeb!

Slovene: Vesele bozicne praznike in srecno novo leto!

Sorbian: Wjesole hody a strowe Nowe leto!

Spanish: Feliz Navidad y Próspero Año Nuevo!

Swedish: God Jul och Gott Nytt År!

Swiss (French): Joyeux Noel!

Philippine: Maligayang Pasko!

Chinese: 圣诞快乐与新年快乐!

Afrikaans: Geseende Kerfees en 'n gelukkige!

Bahasa/Malaysia: Selamat Hari Natal dan Tahun Baru!

Bohemian/Czech: Prejeme Vam Vesele Vanoce a Stastny novy rok!

Greek: Kala Christougenna Ki'eftihismenos O Kenourios Chronos!

Divehi: Ufaaveri aa ahareh!

Indonesian: Selamat Hari Natal & Selamat Tahun Baru!

Japanese: Shinnen omedeto. Kurisumasu Omedeto!

Korean: Sung Tan Chuk Ha!

Russian: Pozdrevlyayu s prazdnikom Rozhdestva i s Novim Godom!

Latin: Pax hominibus bonae voluntatis!

Mongolian: Zul saryn bolon shine ony mend devshuulye!

Norweigan/Nynorsk: Eg ynskjer hermed Dykk alle ein God Jul og Godt Nyttår!

Norweigan/Bokmål: God Jul og Godt Nyttår!

Romanian: Craciun fericit si un An Nou fericit!

Fly Fish with Mel: Cirque Du Soleil

Quidam - He who is annonymous

He was annonymous. Well, to me, in the beginning; he was. He was the one who offered Michael four tickets to watch his performance. Of which, one was for Huiru, Michael's daughter, and one was so kindly offered to me by Michael; denying himself a chance to watch. The other two tickets were also selflessly offered to a couple.

Even after a fanastic performance, He was still annonymous to me. QUIDAM was indeed a splendid blend of sights and sounds. A true feast for the senses and also, the intellect.

Annonymous, he remained. Until finally, he came by the shop when I happened to be there. From that moment a name replaced the annonymity. Tristan. The Guitarist; and fly angler.



From that day, it was to become a ritual. Michael and I would practice casting in the open field by the tentages. And without fail, Tristan would be attracted to us or rather, to the opportunity to practice casting. He would come by and greet us, shared a joke or two and then proceeded to have a hand at casting. "Don't you need to prepare for the show?", we'd ask. "I'm done with my sound check", he'd reply. "I've still got some time left."


Day after day, with helpful tips from Michael, Tristan's casting developed into a beautiful display of curves scything through the air. He'd learnt to slow his strokes down to the point where the energy transfer from arm to rod to line become one continuous flow. No jerks, no voilent movements. Just a rythmic wave of the magical wand that brought the inanimate line to life in an ethereal dance.

Soon, casting was just not enough for Tristan. And after hearing numerous stories of epic battles with monster Peacock Basses; and coming so frustratingly close to catching one, He was ready to for another try.

It was still dark when I rode my carriage up to his apartment. A warm smile greeted me as I shook hands with this tall New Yorker, holding his mug of coffee and eager to do his spot of fishing. During the short drive to my homewaters, White House, we chatted a bit about everything. He shared with me his life as a travelling performer and of his beautiful family; his wife, his daughter and his newborn son. While I told him about my hopes to become a fishing guide. Well, little did I know, that I was about to get my first taste of what it was like to be a guide.

Evrything else was as it would be like any normal day that I'd fish at White House. Only today, I'd be fishing with a 'clown'. Rigging up my '0' wt, I watched Tristan piece his '5' wt together, with the antipication oozing from every pore in his body. I asked if he had any flies and he showed me the few Clousers and Crazy Charlies he'd bought from Coho. He'd sent most of his flies home after performing and fishing in New Zealand. Knowing that he'd been longing to catch a PB, I knew I had to offer him my best performer. Just the night before, while preparing for this outing, I'd realised that my stock of 'Scintillator' flies were used up. Too late to do any tying, I was almost in a state of panic. Then I remembered my 'Sample' box. The one box where I kept the best tied of all my flies and also, those that have so kindly been offered to me by friends. True enough, there in it's irridescent glory, sat one solitary scintillator. That was for Tristan.

Standing a couple of feet from the water, Tristan pondered what to tie onto the business end of his line. I could see the coffee working hard to stimulate the brains to make the decision. So out came the Scintillator and it was Hobson's choice. Not really. That's because a friend of Tristan's had tied a 'Cirque Du Soleil' fly. A small streamer tied in yellow and blue, the Circus's distinctive colour. But it was to be the guide's recommendation that got the chance to start the day.


Nestled against the weed on the left of the grass patch was a nice little spot where I used to pull a couple of PBs every trip. So there it was the Tristan made his first cast. Explaining to him how to lay the line with a slight mend and how to work the fly, I let him enjoy working up his rythmn. The first dozen or so cast didn't even draw a follow.



Seeing this, I quickly led Tristan along the edge to the right. Acting as a spotter, I walked along the bank, a few feet back from the water's edge. In the ever brightening light, I had to put on my polarised lenses to see the fish more clearly and two rod-lengths down, a vague outline suddenly emerged as the slow waving tail of a Peacock Bass.


Half whispering, I called out to Tristan to drop his fly a few feet beyond where the fish was.

The first cast went sailing past the fish but was too far out. The fish was hugging close to shore. But not to waste the cast, I got Tristan to work the fly back in erratic retrieves. This was the time to test the mood of the fish. If it was in a feeding or aggitated mood, it would leave cover and bludgeon the fly. But the fish showed no signs of interest. On the next cast, Tristan laid the line directly over the fish. Fortunately, the fish was not spooked.





This time, as the Scintillator drew over the top of the fish, A huge swirl erupted from beneath, yet the it was a negative hook up. However, this sort of woke Tristan up from whatever state of consciousness he was in.






With renewed vigour, he ploughed the fly over the fish a half dozen more times before a huge bow wake homed in on the fly and Tristan was onto his first Singapore Peacock Bass.





Beneath that slight grimace on his face, a radiance beamed from within. No amount of fish that I would have caught that morning could give me the same joy that I felt watching Tristan relish each headshake, each run, each turn of the spool. When the fish was landed 5 minutes later and safely cradled in his hands, I took that all important photo of the beaming clown and his equally colourful adversary.

With the release of his fish, Tristan came over and said to me:"You have all the qualities to become a fantastic guide." Praise that was music to my ears but did I really deserve it?


Along that bank, we walked, spotted and cast to a few more fish. They weren't very co-operative that morning but Tristan still managed to pull another PB from it's sanctuary.

As I led him to the small outlet, I eplained to Tristan that it would be a different ballgame compared to the banks. The water was deeper in most areas but rocky bottom would ensure a one-way ticket for most flies. However, if you did not work your fly doen near the bottom, the fish may not be interested. And true enough, a couple of white Wooly Buggers were lost without a take from a fish. Then, Tristan tried a red and white Clouser and that too was lost.



Remembering his friend's 'Cirque du Soleil' fly, he tied it one and gave it a shot. No one was willing to rise to the occasion to hit the fly. Then with a loud 'Clink', the fly disappeared off the end of the line. The fly had hit a railing and the loop snapped. And the fly was never to be seen again.

This final setback signalled the end of a rather interesting morning of fishing. Though the fish were not really co-operative, Tristan still managed to tussel with and land two great fish. If only there had been more but my friend, the clown, was already laughing within; with only a hint of a smile on his lips.

Off to breakfast, a feast of 'Roti Prata' and fish curry, and a strong cup of 'Kopi-C' or coffee with evaporated milk. A perfect way to end a perfect session.

Till next we fish together, my friend.

Fly Fish with Mel: Bass of Three - Part 3

Dessert

Heading off together in two cars, we flowed with the current along separate winding asphalt streams as we crossed the island from the West and took a turn up North. A little less than twenty minutes later, we were staring at the reflection of the evening sun, glistening on the surface of one of our favourite playgrounds, 7 Tree.

Even with a near-blinding glare from the water, the tell-tale signs of a weed overgrowth were evident from where we stood. Walking over to the water's edge revealed the true scale of the weed problem. A carpet of Hydrilla and a moss-like weed stretched along the shore; a carpet so thick you could literally walk on it. Following the green blanket, we walked towards a drain outlet and there found a little glimmer of hope. A small stretch of water, not more than 40 feet; with only pockets of weed.

Fanning out, we gave each other the choice of real estate and then, "Flies Away!".

Back in the shop a couple of days before, out of sheer boredom, I started meddling with the box of fly materials and found a hen cape with lots of unused Semi-plume. Having seen an article on a 'Mrs Simpson' fly recently, I proceeded to modify the design using the Semi-plume; topping it off with a strip of Burnt-Orange Zonker.

Having used the White Woolly Bugger so often today and having caught so many Peacock Bass on it, I toyed with the idea of testing my Ugly Fly. Taking it out, I tied it on with the Orvis Knot. With a steady wind blowing against me, I was just able to place the fly beyond the furthest edge of the weed bed. As the fly dove and fluttered through the tangle of weeds, I waited; ready to strike.

The soft fibers of the Semi-plume pulsated hypnotically, like a belly dancer's writhing body.


Unable to resist such an alluring tease, I had not long to wait to set the point of my barbless hook home. As if awoken from a hypnotic spell, the PB suddenly sprang to life and lunged back into the weeds. My 4X tippet held at the first dash and I was then able to manoeuvre and lead the fish through the narrow paths between the hydrilla forest. The fight over, I lipped a beautiful golden-green body that glowed brilliantly in the evening sun.


Walking a little further on, I made probing casts in-between the thick mats of weeds. Mending my line to fall along the narrow straits of water, I worked my fly back through what was probably a canyon of weeds. However, from somewhere, in one of the many dark crevices, came a colossal mouth that engulfed my fly.


With one easy flick of it's wide tail, it powered through the columns of weed. My efforts to keep clear of the weed only made it worse as the fish, feeling the pressure from my rod, pulled all the harder. Not just having to deal with fish, now I had a tangled mess of weed in tow. However, applying steady pressure and giving line at the right time, I managed to ensure that my tippet held. Emerging like a 'Swamp Thing', this peacock bass wore a wig of green moss.




Removing the weed, a beauty appeared and I called Michael over to help with a quick shot before I released the fish back safely into the water. A moment's rest and then off it shot, back into the weeds.







A great day of fishing for three fishing buddies.

Fly Fish with Mel: Bass of Three - Part 2

Entrée

After Mass, our conversation over lunch led Lenny to suggest a visit to the 'Cake-shop'. It so happened that I was to be attending a friend's baby shower just next to it and added to that, Michael had called me up to ask me to go fishing as well. So it was that the three of us met for a short session.






By the time we arrived, we could already see Michael's 3-wt bent over as he calmly played whatever he had attached to the end of his line.













A quick glance over his left shoulder acknowledged our arrival as he continued to work the fish left and right until he had it right by his feet.














Up came the fish, out came the hook and back, the fish went into the water.








Flanking Michael on his left and right respectively, Leonard and I found ourselves, each a cozy little niche and settled into a lazy afternoon of fishing.




Using the White Woolly Bugger that had caught me the biggy in the morning, I was out-fished by Michael 7:3, or perhaps more. We'll just leave it as this.








Poor O'l Lenny was worse as he struggled to find fish. Calling out to Leonard, Mike offered him his hot seat. Standing next to Leonard, Mike acted as a guide calling out the fish to which Leonard casted to. Try as he might, he couldn't get the Peacock Bass to take his fly. The fish were out to tease him.






This had to be the turning point in Leonard's 'fishing career'. For it was on this very day that he was able to see so many huge fish just beneath him, blatantly ignoring his fly and totally frustrating him. It was also because of this that the 'poison' struck deep at his heart. The 'Call of the Fish' now beckons him every opportunity that presents itself. This, from a guy who used to work tirelessly, 6 days a week and countless hours a day. I suppose that there is that little magic in fishing that makes us appreciate more, the time we have on earth. Life shouldn't be just all about work. What good is there to gain the whole world but to lose ourself?

Anyway, back to the fishing.

Mike and I continued to rack up our scores while Lenny drew a complete blank.





There had been a request for photos of fish being released for some promotional brochures.













So Michael and I took our reluctant models and coaxed them to pose for us while we clicked away with our dainty Canon Ixus I5, encased in a waterproof housing.






Then to our left and right, we saw a bunch of lure-casters converging in our area and so we decided to head off to another of our sanctuary...