Articles by and about Wildcat Charters

By Andrew Leeburn, Rarotonga

 It’s 5.30 on the morning of the last Sunday of 2007, a grey misty morning and we are in Greymouth, having just met up with Leigh Kelly, the owner of Wildcat Charters and the skipper of Mistral, a 36 foot Pelin. We can hear the sound of an eager and powerful diesel engine gurgling away below decks. Leigh has just loaded the rods and bait aboard and is readying the boat for sea. He tells us that he has driven down to the river bar and taken a look at the conditions; “Looks good,” he says and he has been crossing the Greymouth bar for over thirty years, we take his word for that.

The four of us climb aboard and we are off into the lagoon and down the Grey River towards the infamous river bar; sure enough there is only a slight swell running from the south west. As soon as we are over the bar and under way, Rodney the deckie has got the kettle on and is making coffee very civilised.

Just under two hours later we have arrived as Leigh’s chosen and obviously closely guarded position. The rods are ready to go and the hooks are already baited with good old squid. We are in about 700 feet of water, so it takes a little while for the gear to hit the bottom. We are using a 200lb line leader with about 750g of weight and two hooks. The reels are loaded with 80lb braid.

The gear has been on the bottom about three minutes when I feel something is taking an interest in the bait. I give the line a tug and sure enough I’ve got a fish.  After a good struggle for a few minutes and a lot of cranking, the line goes slack and becomes easy to wind in, but the fish is obviously still there. I keep going and eventually a good looking groper breaks the surface. Rodney is there ready with the gaff and my groper is on deck. It weighs in at 41lb and I am very happy, what a great first fish. My mates are soon in business with some good fish between 30 and 42lb, with the bonus of three very nice trumpeter, all about 30lb.

After just two hours of fishing we have caught our quota of groper and Leigh has started the filleting process. Rodney has got the grill going and there are steaks and sausages cooking for a delicious late breakfast.

The grey weather continues and we have not even noticed that we can no longer see the shore, but the Mistral is equipped with GPS and radar and together with autopilot, we are in no trouble at all. By the time we arrive back in port, Leigh has made an expert job of filleting the fish and has supplied bags to carry it home. A brilliant morning’s fishing aboard a great boat with a superb crew. What more could you ask for?

By Jan Derks

We had enjoyed an excellent day’s deep-sea fishing with Wildcat Charters on board Mistral and had a good catch of bluenose, grouper and tarakihi, and had just enjoyed some fine sport with albacore tuna hooked on trolled lures on the run home, as well. Leigh was at the wheel of Mistral as we cruised toward Greymouth. Rodney was attending the barbeque and the feast smelled terrific. The afternoon sun glinted and sparkled from the crests of mild Tasman Sea swells and we of the fishing contingent relaxed, savouring the view and anticipating the almost-ready barbecue food.

 Suddenly, in looking west, we spotted a large dorsal fin, tail fin and section of shiny brown back on the surface about five swells away – a very large fish by the length of the part that was visible. “Rodney, is that a shark on the surface over there?” Rodney looked, said “No” and dived in to the cabin tell Leigh who cut Mistral’s engine to idle and looked to the spot of last sighting. Nothing there. We waited a few seconds and a few more and there it was again, on the rising swell. Leigh’s skilled eye identified the fish as a large broadbill.

 It appeared relaxed, drifting and sunning itself right at the surface, occasionally turning and sometimes swimming a few metres as we watched. These reclusive fish are powerful fighters, a sought-after sportfish most often fished for by drifting at night in calm conditions. To see one in daylight at the surface, and stationary, was at once a rare sight, and an interesting challenge for the Mistral team – could it be induced to take a trolled lure in these unusual conditions? We had to try!

 Leigh rushed below, returning with big game rod and reel and a large squid look-alike lure. Rigging the gear reminded me of a spider web crossed between a ‘cats cradle’ – that old time hand-string game requiring great dexterity I remember my grandparents trying to teach me (and that I never mastered well). Leigh had it all sorted in no time and the knot pulled tight and neat – a near 100% strength knot in the heavy monofilament. Others of the fishing contingent watched the fish and continued to report that it remained there while the preparations were completed.

 With all ready, and the lure over the side, one of our team (an Australian visitor) was keen to take the rod so donned the shoulder harness in anticipation. Leigh guided Mistral in an arc aimed to run the lure in front of the broadbill. We did a circuit and got no reaction – probably too far away, but didn’t want to get too close or the boat could spook the fish. Another run, this time from a new angle and closer – the lure must pass within 10 or so metres of the fish this time. Movement! The fish reacted, taking on an air of intent not shown up till now, and headed purposefully toward where we picked the lure to be. Are we in luck? A foaming swirl on the surface and the broadbill submerged. Keen anticipation of a take pervaded the team but it was not to be. The big fish had looked, had decided no, and moved on. We didn’t see it again.

 Although not hooked, we had been rewarded by the opportunity of seeing a broadbill so close in daylight and having a try for it, the endeavor being the essence of fishing. Our day trip with the Wildcat Charters team was one of variety, with this unanticipated and rare broadbill experience adding to an already successful day.

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.