By Jan Derks
The forecast for the next few days was favourable, so here was our opportunity – a chance to try for those exceptional pelagic fish – the southern Bluefin Tuna that travel off the West Coast and provide an exceptional recreational fishing experience and challenge here each season. Our trip was with the experienced crew of the charter vessel Mistral, operated out of Greymouth by Leigh and Michelle Kelly of Wildcat Charters.
Our mid-afternoon departure from Greymouth port via the Grey River bar was made on a day typical of the best the West Coast can display – only a slight onshore breeze, good sea conditions, and with Southern Alps, Paparoa Range and Victoria Range in sharp, clear contrast against a near-cloudless sky. The narrow coastal plain appeared as a multi-coloured ribbon reflecting various land use activities, positions of towns/settlements and extensive forest zones. This view was new to me as a first-time offshore traveller in this area and one I enjoyed even as the distance from the coast increased and the land diminished in proportion to the sea.
The opaque sea water within the zone of coastal influence gave way to the clear, blue of the deep sea as we headed west, and the sun dipped and eventually dropped below the horizon. About five hours out from Greymouth, and in lowering darkness, Leigh sighted the lights of a group of commercial trawlers and was soon in a position to fish. Mistral’s deck lighting extended six to eight metres beyond the sides and stern, depending on the position of the boat in relation to the mild Tasman Sea swell on this night. The sea surface was inky-black beyond the deck-light arc but within its zone objects on or a metre or two beneath the surface were clearly discernible. Two sets of sixty kilogram big-game gear were rigged with barracuda baits, these being slowly paid out by hand in a drift situation, as Mistral lay a safe distance astern of the large commercial trawling vessel retrieving its trawl. A host of seabird species wheeled in the darkness and about the fringes of Mistral’s lighting arc – though they made no noise, their number and degree of nocturnal activity was not something I had anticipated this far from shore.
e had been in position and fishing for some time, alert for a strike on either rod and all the while engrossed in the darkness-enhanced atmosphere of fishing activities and expectation. Suddenly there was a take on a bait. Cold fingers fumbled with urgency to attach the two shoulder harness clips to the lugs on the big game reel as line streamed inexorably from the spool under a sustained and violent run by the hooked fish. Reel and rod secured to body and seated in the fighting chair, there was a moment to wonder what the fish was that was so effortlessly stripping the 60 kg line away into the inky-black sea. There were no signs of broaching or leaping as perhaps the big Mako, mercurial, swift, searching, that had been circling the boat earlier in the evening might have done – simply a powerful, sustained run away from the boat, fish staying deep. The indications were that we had a hook-up with the target species of our trip, and Russell, Craig and I keenly anticipated first sight of a Blue-fin tuna, although it would be at least an hour before our hopes might be fulfilled.
The August night had cooled to the point of donning balaclavas and additional layers of warm clothing – while that had been necessary prior to the fish taking the bait, I was soon at a stage of wishing to shed some clothing, as far from being cold, the effort of turning the fish and gaining line metre by metre with reel in low gear had rapidly abolished any coolness the night had held for me – fighting the fish had transformed the situation to excitement-infused labour.
Applying full weight to the rod and reel via the shoulder harness with chair back fully reclined and the reel drag left constantly on 25 kg, the first long run was finally ended. The next thirty minutes or so involved constant working of the heavy rod – drop and wind, lean back to gain a few metres, drop and wind, lean back with full weight to effect another small gain. Then, in an instant, all the gains would be reversed as the fish made sporadic, powerful runs. Leigh, Chris, Russell and Craig were in turns busy assisting by steering the chair on its deck swivel to keep the rod and I aligned with the fish’s run direction avoiding side pressure on the gear to make the fight easier. Leigh and Chris were ever watchful of alignment and Leigh skillfully executed required adjustments with engine power to ensure Mistral was oriented correctly relative to the fish’s changes in position with each of its runs.
If we thought the work was challenging early in the encounter, Leigh had us under no illusions when he said the real battle would commence when the fish was within 30 – 50 metres of the boat, and he was right. Numerous times we would have the fish close – not yet visible in the deck light arc area, but with the leader appearing. Not at all comfortable in proximity to the boat, the fish would mount a determined, forceful run, rapidly stripping out hard won line, to be worked in close again with the same result – a forceful run and back to hard, rod pumping retrieval work.
Eventually the leader came to Chris’ gloved hand and this time the expected run was reduced in intensity but still enough to put distance between boat and fish. The next time Chris gloved the leader the fish was alongside Mistral and Russell and Craig sighted it – a beautiful torpedo-like Bluefin Tuna about 2.4 metres long. Chris kept the fish alongside while Leigh quickly used the flying gaff to secure it and the spectacular fish was ours after just over an hour of team effort and for we fishing members of the party, an hour of excitement and anticipation – a fulfilling outcome to our trip.
At this stage I had still not sighted our prize, as position of the chair relative to gunwales meant my view when reclined in working the rod was limited. I knew from the effort expended in playing the fish that it would be substantial, yet its appearance was stunning; the solid, deep-blue/black body with iridescent sheen and silver underbelly contrasted with the bright yellow protuberances between powerful crescent-shaped tail and dorsal fin. Leigh and Chris fitted a portable alloy slipway extension to Mistral’s stern and with aid of block and tackle the fish was easily and quickly hauled aboard. Having expertly dispatched, gilled and gutted the fish, Leigh produced copious amounts of ice from Mistral’s hold, packing the tuna’s body cavity and around its exterior, thus ensuring the excellent meat would be in top condition for barbeque and table.
The delicious food that Michelle, Leigh’s partner, had prepared and packed provided opportunities to enjoy another aspect of this unique trip and Chris’ galley skills were much appreciated by us all as he took available opportunities between fishing activities to make hot drinks, heat and set out food and generally ensure we were all well fed and refreshed. Dawn provided another spectacular event, the eastern sky changing hue with every minute as darkness faded through a palette of deep indigo, to violet, purple, pink, orange and yellow in a progressive show of colour, appearing air-brushed across distant cloud and land, culminating in sunrise – the beginning of a beautiful, clear and calm West Coast day. We continued fishing for a time in these idyllic conditions and then it was back to Greymouth on a pleasant run in calm conditions. We took this opportunity to sit in Mistral’s cabin or stand at the rails admiring our surroundings – the sea and its colour and contortions, the array of sea birds, and on one occasion, some dolphins traveling close.
On arrival in port the fish was weighed, turning in at 198 kg. Then Leigh skillfully broke the body down to convenient pieces, shared out amongst us all.
Wildcat Charters had excelled in making our trip to this unique fishery an exceptional experience and one recommended to West Coast locals and visitors alike.
