HARUANS OF SUNGAI DURIAN

This article was published in the May 2001 issue of Rod And Line fishing magazine.

1.  The Indonesian workers loading the harvested watermelons onto a truck. When not working, they will be going after the haruans. 2. James proudly posing with his haruan.

     I had problem seeing clearly ahead as the dust cloud thrown up by Ah Joo's 4x4 was very thick. Keeping my distance, I slowly eased my car along the dirt track hoping that its drive shaft did not give way. After forty-five minutes of bumpy ride off the Tanjung Tualang trunk road, James and I finally reached our destination. Our host and guide opened the gate into the oil palm estate (situated near the jungle fridges of Sungai Durian area) and ushered us to some workers' quarters. A short briefing later, we were let loose for our haruan fishing.

Host Ah Joo (right) and yours truly at the gate of the oil palm estate. Would you believe that this area was full of 2 kilos plus haruans and bujuks not too long ago?

     Looking around to size up the situation, I noticed that there were kilometers of flat land with not a shady tree nearby (it was a drained out swamp). James and I decided to head for some irrigation canals, dug to drain out access water away from the newly planted oil palm trees. Moving around here requires one to know hang kung (kung fu jargon for the art of light-footness). The trick was to step only onto grass clumps or dead branches. Any wrong placement would find your leg sinking into the soft porous peat soil.

Me and my haruan. The hot weather really sapped all my strength. I should have paid heed to the rumors and come here a year ago. now, only the cheroots are left.

     Casting along one such canal, I was immediately hit by a cheroot that stole my frog. Cursing underneath my breath, I moved to another canal. At the third canal, I felt a bump, lowered my rod, waited a few seconds and struck hard. That poor cheroot nearly had its dentures pulled out. It was released after its mugshot was recorded.
      While casting fruitlessly at a few more canals, I met a local who just landed a presentable haruan. What Mr. Kong told me would made me regret for a long, long time to come. When this area was first opened up, haruans and bujuks of 2 kilo plus was the norm. Of course there were a lot of whoppers too. All the Indonesian workers here were having a wonderful time catching them for over a year! That was the time, one of my colleagues, Pn. Tenmoli informed me that people were catching fish in this area.
     You see, her husband, Mr. Raju and his partner, Ah Joo were watermelon towkays here. They had a whole workforce, helping them plant watermelons among young oil palm trees as cash crops. As a non angler, her way of telling didn't include the exaggeration, frantic gesturing and over excitement common to story telling anglers. The true meaning of her news never really sank in. As most of my Sundays were already planned well ahead, I never made the trip here. Recently (after almost a year) when I inquired further, I was told that Ah Joo used to catch whoppers near the jungle fringing the estate. Jungle was the key word that triggered my adrenaline flow and jogged me into action. Many phone calls later, this trip was the result.

A local, Mr. Kong with his catch.

     Crossing to another part of the estate, I immediately hooked a nice haruan of about 800gms. The strikes here were more frequent and I caught a few more. At the opposite end, every time I looked to his direction, James was either fighting or unhooking haruans. Must be enjoying himself tremendously. By now my whole T- shirt was dripping wet. As there were no shade and the weather was very hot, we had got no choice but to return to the quarters to rest.
     Ah Joo's wife informed us that her husband and two other friends were fishing in the swamp near the jungle fringes. Rushing over, I couldn't place where they were as the whole area was covered with tall grass. Shouting at the top of my voice a few times, I finally got a response from within the swamp.
     Banging my chest Tarzan style, I plunged into the tall grass, following the trail left behind by the other guys. Panting and stumbling, I was sweating like a drowned rat. This whole area was covered by thick vegetation. Unseen tree stumps and dead branches littered the way. Every step must be taken with care as I was warned by Ah Joo earlier not to step into the water. Any misstep and the giant aquatic Daculas would home in on you.

Ah Joo jigging near the jungle fringes.

     After slipping and falling for the third time I finally emerged through the grass to find Ah Joo and gang flipping and jigging away. Looking closer, I saw water flowing underneath the grass. It was a small stream almost covered over with weeds. The trick was to  flip or lower the frog into any opening, hoping that resident a haruan or bujuk  was hiding below. According to Ah Joo, haruans here were more aggressive as they would come to investigate any commotion in the water. As for the lazy bujuks, they would only grab the frog if it was placed right in front of their mouths. Just like the much-coveted marble goby.
     Ah Joo and gang managed to pull three haruans of respectable sizes (by current standard), before we got out from there. Itwas a pity no bujuks was caught as I wanted a photograph badly. According to Ah Joo, I should come after an overnight heavy downpour. By then all the haruans and bujuks would migrate upstream for a feeding frenzy. Those with weak hearts are recommended not to fish as the sound made by the feeding fish may cause heart attack. By now the workers were back at their quarters for their lunch break after harvesting water-melon the whole morning. Almost all of them grabbed hold of a fishing rod and headed into the swamp.

Ah Heng, one of Ah Joo's friends with another cheroot. Sigh!

     Bidding farewell to Ah Joo and gang, we left for home. I am very happy that Ah Joo had given his permission for us to return as soon as possible to fish anytime we feel like it. You can bet it will be soon, as I am sure this haruan haven, with no 'catch and release' policy in force, will go the way of other good haruan spots before it.

HUNTING THE GIANT RIVER PATIN

This article was published in the April 2001 issue of Rod And Line fishing magazine.

The gang with our three patins

      Five times! Yes F.I.V.E. That was the number of times I came back empty handed from my patin fishing trips. If not for those photographs of giants shown to me by Gurdip (the patins) Singh, I would not be so persistent. Hunting the elusive giants was never easy. Every trip was, torturous, especially on this out-of-condition 50-plus fisho.

Gurdip (the patin) Singh with his 27 kilo giant caught in june'99.

     This sixth trip was no different. We started off at 6.00am in Roger's (a.k.a Jackson) van. Before I proceed any further I think I owe everyone an explanation. Roger (his actual name) was mentioned as Jackson in my "Of Wild Boar and Haruan Country" article in the July 2000 issue of Rod and Line. I know him as Roger. Fished with him as Roger. Joked with him as Roger. When it came to typing his name in my computer he became Jackson. Please blame it on Murphy. Even though my "a thousand apologies" were accepted, I still was wary of him because accidents do happen, especially when the river swollen, you know.

     Turning off the Kampung Gajah trunk road, we were tossed and rocked from left to right as though riding on an elephant. Three times we had to get down to push the van out of the many potholes dotting the jungle road. It was real hard work, as we had to rock the van forward and backward to gain momentum for Roger to drive it out of the mud traps. If you were stupid enough to push from the back of the van, don't be surprised if a horny, on-heat female buffalo made a pass at you.

A shallower part of the swamp. Still trying to find some time to fish for the bujuks and haruans that live here.

     At the end of this 10 kilometers of jungle track trip, we unloaded our gears and plunged into the swamp. Walking single file, we plodded and stumbled through this smelly weed covered swamp into the jungle. Gurdip was leading (parang in hand) with Roger bringing up the rear. As we didn't like the idea of one of us ending in some slithery creatures' stomachs, we kept on doing mental head counts. Dodging the many thorny vines criss-crossing all over the place, we trudged wearily along, The sharp thorns could inflict very painful tears on our flesh if we were not careful. Stopping once in a while to get our bearings right, we noticed that many trees bored marks of the wild boars rubbing their mud caked bodies against the trunks. This sure was a hunter's paradise.

This was the scenario where we had to get down to push the van. Sometimes, we had to rock the van forward and backward to gain momentum for Roger to drive it out of the mud traps.

     About half an hour of zig-zagging through the jungle, we lost our way and stumbled upon a clearing with a strange looking structure. All sorts of theories were put forward as explanations, as we had never seen such such a thing before. Ganesan said it could be some illegal immigrants inviting the spirits of their ancestors to Malaysia. Someone suggested that it was a place for housing toyols (small mischievous spirits purportedly kept by some people ). It looked more like burial ground to me.

Roger standing next to this strange structure. Anyone can throw some lights on it?

   

Gurdip showing Cheong the place where the wild boars rubbed against the tree trunk. Cheong was trying to do a video recording of one of our patin fishing trips.

Gurdip offering some niceties to the resident spirits during one of our trips.

 

   While taking phonographs of it, my hair began standing on ends, and I felt like being watched. Looking up after packing my camera in record time, I realised the rest of the gangs were no where to be seen. In my haste to get away from there, I almost bulldozed the whole jungle down.

     We somehow found our way to the fishing spot. As usual Gurdip spread out some offerings to the spirits that might be dwelling there. When in the jungle, no matter how non-superstitious you were, it was wiser not to take any chances. Many strange things have befallen a few unbelieving souls of which there was no reasonable explanations.

     Settling down at one spot where the current seemed to be flowing slower, I made a clearing in the tall grass. Of course, a lot of them were left standing so as to camouflage me from the patins. Moving around was done in slow motion and every step was taken with as little noise and vibration as possible. The patins were very sensitive and could detect any unfamiliar sound and vibration easily. Don't forget too that this was my sixth trip. I was desperate to at least land one. If doing the American Rain Dance could help me I would have done it.

     Our quarries are mainly vegetarians. Fruits like buah ara, banana and even durian seeds are relished by them. The star fruit that I used were diced and strung on to the leader like satays. Casting out this whole bunch must be done gently as the baits could be torn away by the force.

     After casting, I settled down to wait. It was funny thought, for while being alone, every little sound from the jungle behind sounded like some monsters slowly stalking me. Not forgetting the strange structure tat the toyols lived. The nagging itch between my toes felt like the unbearable forty years itch. By the time I realised what was happening, that bloated up leech was burping happily with toothpick in its mouth. Revenge was sweet and satisfying though. I never realised I has such a sadistic streak in me. Hope I didn't blotched up my karma.

     From the corner of my eyes, I noticed my rod quivering slightly. When it bent a second time I struck. My old faithful Cardinals 55 screamed from the pressure been applied by the mad patin. My main concerns was whether the 15lb line could take the punishment when the fish headed downstream with the help of the swift current. The giant was having the upper hand. Suddenly it swerved to my side of the bank. Cranking like mad to keep my line tight, I was praying hard that the patin would not gain the safety of the sunken tree branches.

     Lady luck was smiling on me as it headed out to the centre of the river again. Pumping and cranking, I slowly gain and lost line. After what seemed like hours, I felt the fish slowly giving way. Ganesan was beside me waiting to gaff the fish. My heart sank when I noticed the gaff in his hand. In our haste, we forgot to bring along the gaff. Gurdip had improvised one by tying a trebled hook to a tree branch. When Ganesan lifted the fish, the gaff tore out. Luckily my fish stayed hook. He made no mistake this time.

Yours truly holding up my 10 kilo patin.

     We all estimated it to be about 10 kilos. Before I could settled down again, Gurdip was heard blabbering excitedly about twenty meters up stream. Later I found out that his hook broke and he lost that fish. Ganesan lost one too through an opened snap. What luck!

     Suddenly, my rod almost toppled into the river. Grabbing it in my haste, my hand was cut by the fast disappearing line ( I grabbed the fishing line as well). This fellow shot out to the center before bulldozing down the river. Pumping hard, I had it near the bank three times before losing line again. After the third run down river, it stayed in the middle of the river and we stalemated. Fearing that the fish would regain its strength, I kept on applying pressure. Suddenly it headed up river and I knew I had it licked. By the times the exhausted fish was ready to be gaff, I requested Segar to hook its mouth as I intend to release it later.

Suddenly, the fish lunged and my line parted. The barb of the treble cum gaff sliced through it. Poor Segar was looking as though he had lost the crown jewel. Even though I assured him it was not his fault, I still noticed him keeping a wide berth from me. Maybe, he was also thinking that accidents do happen especially when the river is swollen. This fish was estimated to be bigger than the one I landed , maybe 15 kilos. Well, the one that got away is always bigger.

Another giant caught in April'99. Now you know why he is called Gurdip (the patin) Singh.

     Gurdip and Ganesan managed to make up for their lost fish by landing a 7 kilo and 8 kilo patin each. Poor Roger was without any patin again for the sixth time. I had being teasing him about teaching us how to dance the Haka the Maori war dance), since we came back empty handed the third time ,with no response from him. On the way back, he was subtly telling us the formation, timing and method of sticking out our tongues for the Haka dance.

BRONCO SURFING

    This article was published in the March 2001 issue of Rod And Line fishing magazine.

Thomas, with his first fusilier, an excellent bait for GTs.

 
     Ouch! Agh! Ayuh! No, I wasn't being punched and kicked by someone. Just yelling to ease the pain from riding a wild bronco. The bronco happened to be a speedboat belonging to Thomas Pong. While heading out to Pulau Sembilan we encountered slow swells of about 2 meters. From the direction of the swells, there was no choice but to face them head on, once in a while, to stay on course. Hitting a high one, our boat would fly over the crest and land with a jarring thud. My two legs nearly pushed through the bottom of he boat when I jammed them with my back against the seat to ease the impact. Every once in a while I had to check the seat to see that my stomach wasn't plastered to it. At my age, I think I am a little over the hill to play rodeo cowboy. I realised it a little bit too late though.
     The reason for our fool hardiness was the annual Tow Foo Yue (fusiliers) fever. From September to November, they would move inshore to the islands around Pangkor and Pulau Sembilan areas. Judging from the many roe-ladened females caught, they could be coming for their annual sex and wife swapping parties. Joining in to spoil their sexual fun (real wet blankets) were hordes of anglers of all denominations. Many were sport anglers, part timers and professionals in their boats of all shapes and sizes, cruising all over these areas like ants smelling honey. It almost looked like a re-enactment of Dunkirk of the Second World War fame.
     When Thomas phoned, I grabbed his invitation with all my arms and legs. We bought our rations and baits at the market at Ayer Tawar. Our plan was to get ikan bilis (anchovies) from the many boats harvesting them. With baits and provision bought we headed for Kampong Baru, where Thomas's boat was kept at Moh Kee Boating Service. The ride along the Dinding River was quite pleasant. The same couldn't be said when we reached the open sea. That was when I became a rodeo cowboy.
     Our first destination was the rocky outcrop named Fairway Rock. Rounding the island, our sonar showed a lot of fish on the side of the island facing open sea. With our 'matchbox' it would be suicidal to fish here. Dropping anchor on the protected side we managed to land quite a number of good size fusiliers. The school's attention around the boat could not be kept with no ikan bilis as berley (we did not get fresh ikan bilis from the boats). Just before we upped anchor, I was hit by a tornado. My 20 lb casting rod tip was almost touching the surface of the sea. Line was being stripped from my reel as though in free spool. I managed to gain line a few times before losing twice the amount back. Finally my reel began to fill up again. Suddenly, the fish gave one last burst and the most dreaded thing happened. I think my line was cut by the corals at the bottom of the sea. Only a trevally could fight like that was our unanimous decisions.

My 'barracudized' tow foo yue.

 
     After the action had slowed down, we headed for Pulau Argus. The trip from Fairway Rock to Pulau Argus was a real test of our body structures. With high slow swells and white caps showing I think I should use WD40 on my joints before venturing out again. In the safe hands of Captain Thomas, we somehow survived the trip. A few likely spots were tried with satisfactory results. The trick was to pass all known thoroughfares of the fish and then used the sonar to locate them. The moment the sonar showed any fish our apollo rigs were immediately lowered to the bottom. Action would be fast and furious if the fish were in feeding mood. Normally the store bought apollos have six hooks which I cut into two or three hooks each. You see, with fast, hot action , multiple hook ups were very common. When frightened and crazy fish ran in different directions, break offs were very common. Further more, try to imagine bringing that bunch of frightened fish into your bathtub, with you sitting there naked. Do I need to elaborate?
     While at Argus, I hooked up a fusilier that fought  like a hooked trevally. My SM5600C and Daiwa Heartland rod handled the short burst effortlessly. After a few runs it was beaten or so I thought. Half way up, it got its second wind and I was really surprised by the fight that it put up. When it, or rather the head was hauled up, then only did I realised, its second wind was a barracuda. That razor thug robbed me!  We decided to up anchor after forty-five minutes of inaction and headed for the windward side. The swells were real bad as we were being tossed around like a polystyrene board. A boat with three professionals was spotted nearby and we headed for them.

This good size fella had just being landed by Thomas.

 
     When Thomas slowed down to enquire about their result, the bow of our boat dipped slightly and that  was when disaster struck. A high swell came riding up the bow and slammed into us. I have never felt so soaked before. Suddenly I remembered my camera which I had kept safely covered (or so I thought) underneath the bow section. Looking down, to my horror, I saw my camera soaking wet.
     At that very moment. I got a painful electric shock when the aluminium windscreen frame turned live with high tension current surging through it. The saltwater (good conductor of electricity) caused the shorting and the 70hp outboard spluttered and stopped. Sensing the danger (we were drifting towards the rocks), Thomas shouted to me to drop anchor.

This is Pulau Argus, where we were nearly smashed against the rocks.

     Now I was in the "save mother or wife first situation". Actually, there wasn't any difficulty to decide as I was given a Hobson's Choice. My life was more valueble than my camera, though I would really love to save it.
     Picking up my beloved gingerly, after the boat was secured, I found that it was soaking wet. The LCD screen flickered and the winder kicked a few times before my long serving camera breathed its last. It was real hard to accept that my long companion, that had won me so many prizes in competitions, finally was gone. I was jolted out of my misery when Thomas asked worriedly whether I was sad or frightened. He must have seen through the "synchronised swimmer's grin" plastered all over my face.
     By four, we had no choice but to head for home. Dark ominous clouds were forming in the far off horizon. As we were travelling with the wind, the ride was a lot easier on our "pat yuet sup ngs" (buttocks).

Passing the Malayan Flour Mill on our way out. See the aluminum wind screen frame? It came 'alive' after we were slammed by a wave.

     Soon we were back at the club house. While washing down the boat, another boat came in.
When they emptied their five ice boxes, our eyes pooped out. Hundreds of fusiliers were strewn all over the place. With bigger boats they could venture further and the baits they used - the ever popular ikan bilis.

TENGAS OF SUNGAI RAYA

   This article was published in the February 2001 issue of Rod And Line fishing magazine.

My biggest tengas.

   The moment I set my eyes on him, I knew Wong Kai was having something up his sleeves. The unmistakable swaggering and the grin from ear to ear were his tell tale body language. Pushing a plastic bagful of fish right in front of my face, he announced proudly, " I caught all of them with rod and line." The six tengas of about 30cm long were real beauties. Back-lighted against the sun, their bodies gave off a translucent shin, while they swam desperately around looking for a way to escape. They were carrying a reddish brown tinge, which almost made me mistook them for kelahs.

This was the place we fished.

     Whether, tengas or kelah, they still were much sought after fish. Anything that smells or looks like one will get me all excited. Tengas (Acrossocheilus hexagonolepis) are mainly found in mountain streams. It is a large scaled barbel that gives first class sport on light rod and line. Tengas spook easily. catching them in clear mountain water is rather difficult. It involves a lot of stealth and patience when hunting them. Therefore many anglers fish for them at night. As they live among the fast flowing water of the rock-strewn streams, fighting one is never a gentleman affair. You have to bring out your whole repertoire of techniques and tricks including ear biting.

I caught 7 tengas of about 15 cm long here. How the fish could swim and survive in the fast current really surprised me.

      Well, as close friends, a cup of coffee was enough to work as the most effective jaw muscle relaxant. I began to grill Wong incessantly over the secret spot. What he told me was a real surprise. The Raya River, with its source at the mountains of Brinchang, Cameron Highlands, flows in a series of fast rapids down the Ulu Piah area before joining the Kinta River near Batu Gajah, was his hunting ground. Lately, due to development at its upper reaches, the water quality was real bad and turbid, thus enabling the catching of the weary tengas very much easier.

     After some arm twisting, Wong finally agreed to a trip the following Sunday. As the way up the river is by an old timber and Orang Asli track, we decided to go by motorbikes (luckily I had just changed to a new EX-5). Our rendezvous point was at Wong's 'Shangari-La'. Wong Kai is crazy about herbal medicine. He has a jack fruit orchard, with lots of herbal plants planted in between the trees. Among this tranquil set is built a small hut with all the basic amenities. Sometime, just to relieve stress, we would gather here for some jaw and tongue exercise.

     At 8.30 am we pushed off from here. The first kilometer was quite a pleasant ride.What followed was considered as scrambler country. As it was not used for along time, the track was in pretty bad shape. Together with the recent almost daily convectional rain, a lot of soil erosion  had taken place. Gullies were cut by the running water and we had to push our bikes many a time. At one bend, I nearly went over the edge, down a 40 foot vertical drop, into the river. I guessed it wasn't my time yet (luckily).

Nearly went over the edge here-a 40 feet vertical drop. Maybe, it was not my time yet.

At a small rivulet crossing our path,Wong pointed to a spot where he had seen pug marks before. It was as big as his outspread palm, he said. Seeing the disbelieving look on my face, he dismounted to look around. Suddenly he was gesturing and shouting. Rushing over, I was convinced when he pointed out some fresh pug marks on the soft ground. From the size of the pug marks that tiger smut be huge! Somehow, I acquired a knee-jerk nervous reaction  of looking over my shoulders after that, as I was bringing up the rear. Almost all man eating tigers attack from the back, you know. 

     Finally, we reached our destination, an old reservoir that diverted water to the numerous tin mines of days gone by. To go further upstream would demand a change of vehicles as it was considered as hard core scrambler territories. Climbing down the 20 foot high bank, I settled down near a rock directly below the cascading water. Here Wong took out his secret baits. Of all things in the world, chicken intestines!

     10 cm pieces were cut and threaded onto the leader with no. 10  prawn hook just emerging from the end. The other end was hooked and secured by the snap. A small piece of lead strip was rolled on to the main line as a running sinker. This whole setup was cast and allowed to drift into the cascading water. In less than 10 seconds, following a hard pull, a 15 cm tengas shot out of the water with scales glittering in the morning sun. it stayed suspended in the air for a few seconds before dropping back into the water. I caught 7 tengas of the same size just from this spot. Moving another 20 meters down stream, I let my bait drift down behind a boulder.

This was Wong's way of fishing for tengas. The turbid water made it easier to catch the weary fish.

     The tug was the strongest I felt on this trip. That fish shot up the fast current and managed to take off some line before it veered of to the other side of the stream. Two more short runs downstream later I had my remembrance photo taken before releasing it. Not big though, just 800gm. Fishing nearby with a bamboo rod and a line, Wong caught four 15 cm long tengas which he kept for his aquarium.

Being quite satiated with these small thrills, we decided to move down hill on our bikes to look for other spots. Along the way we fished a number of likely spots. As the river current was quite fast and shallow we got mostly 15 cm to 30 cm specimens. Small though they may be, but they were real fighters on very light tackles. The way they burst up the river taking lines against the current testified to that. Some of them even skimmed along the surface of the water like a speedboat.

Our way of rigging the bait.

     All too soon, we were back at relatively flat land. While fishing here, my bait was stolen six times before I changed tactic. The intestine was cut into small half cm pieces with the hook embedded inside. Four palm size lampam sungais and a small keli were caught and released using this method. Keli in mountain streams, what a surprise! Wong, fishing about 5 meters away was yelling excitedly to me about something. I just couldn't comprehend what he was saying over the din caused by the fast flowing water. Later when he came upstream carrying all his things did I found out. Something took his bait and his rod went flying into the river and disappeared into the distance. The split second that Wong's attention was diverted while washing his hands was time enough. Cold be a large tengas. No harm being optimistic, eh!

     Somehow we never encountered any tengas bigger than 800 gm. Maybe the river is too small and shallow. It also could be due to the lack of deep lubuks and pools for the fish to gorge themselves up and grow. Maybe the amount of energy expanded to swim in those fast water prevented obesity too. Better than going to the gymnasium, I supposed.

Wong's Shangri-La.

     As it was pointless to fish with no rod, we headed back to Wong's retreat to rest. Over a hot bowl of herbal instant mee, topped with aromatic wild cabai burung, we were already planning our next trip. A hiking, camping and fishing trip up the source of the Raya River!

GO FISHING WITH PUPPIES

This article was published in the December 2000 issue of Rod And Line fishing magazine.
 

These were only part of the catch. Except for two fish the rest were released alive.

 Ever heard of anglers taking puppies along to fish? That was what Loi of IGFA Sports (Ipoh) told me. When he ask me whether I was interested to go bujuk fishing at a new spot, my answer was an understandable yes.

This bagful or rather net full of assorted fish caught in traps set by the local professional, indicates the abundance of fish in the area.

 
     According to him, a customer of his told him about this still virgin swampy jungle. My eyes popped out of their sockets, when informed that the catch was 20 bujuks of more than a kilo each in just one hour! Boy, this must be fishing paradise, I thought.
     The problem here was, one got to bring along a puppy. When he saw my puzzled look, Loi laughingly explained that the place was so untouched and wild that pythons and crocodiles were the Tai Kohs. The chances of coming in contact with these Tai Kohs were much easier than striking the four digits. If ever we meet one of them, the poor puppy will be thrown as sacrifice so as to buy time for us to escape. After discussing and arguing over this new spot, we were quite sceptically about the puppy part. You know lah fishos are famous for exaggerating their stories.

A beaming James with his sebarau.

     Someone asked how are we going to carry a puppy in one hand and fish with the other? Not to mention the bags, knives and fishing rods that we would be bringing along. Finally, Loi suggested taking James Wong and Richard Lau with us. When we queried why he mentioned the two of them in particular, he laughingly answered that all of us could outrun the two of them. His theory was, 'as long as you have someone behind you, you're safe'. (I guessed that was what the scientists called survival of the fittest. Trust Loi to come up with such outrages suggestions.
     On Saturday, 11 November 2000, we were in two cars heading towards the swampy jungles of Kampung Gajah area. With the sketchy map provided by Loi, James Wong, Richard Lau, Soon Fong, Raymond Wong (Ah Wai) and I managed to find the spot. We brought along our tackle for haruan fishing and managed to catch a few juveniles.

The sebarau that grabbed my shad rap.

     According to the locals, the big bujuks were to be found further up the jungle stream. There the stream flows swiftly through the swampy jungle where the bujuks never heard of the 'morning after pills'.
     The next day (Sunday 6.00 am) our convoy of two cars with two car-toppers was at the bank of the jungle stream. After unloading our gears into the boat, James and I decided to try out for sebaraus at a fast flowing part of the stream.
     On my second cast, my shad rap was whacked by a dark missile, It shot out to the main current and managed to take some line before I pulled a sebarau out of the water. It was released after its photo was taken. Seconds later, James locked onto another.  I had to record its mug shot after which the fish was released. Both fish were about 600gms. After these two fish there were no more strikes even though I could see dark shapes following my lure before veering off near the surface. As we were impatient to test out the bujuk country, we pointed our boats upstream. In the swift current, I was worried of hitting sunken tree stumps.
     Somehow we made it safely to a quiet lubuk where we unloaded our gears. Even before I could get down from the boat, Richard was already fighting his first fish (Very fast for a guy with a weak ankle). The fish was not too bad for it weighed more than a kilo. By the time I was ready with my tackle, Raymond was seen straggling to haul another bujuk out of the swamp.

I and one of my bujuk.

     Moving upstream I found an opening in the jungle bush and managed to toss my frog out. It was whacked the moment it landed in the water. I lost my first fish when it tangled some sunken roots. After tying on another frog I flipped it to a clump of roots. With just a few twitches of the rod tip the frog was grabbed. Lost this one to the roots too.
     Fishing here was very different from the usual fishing that we were used to. Here the bushes and trees grew right up to the edge of the swamp. We had to look for some slight thinning or holes in the thick foliage. Once found we got to widen the opening. Poking our rods and heads through holes, we then slowly swing the frogs like a pendulum. Flipping the frog a meter in front was enough. Usually the frog would be taken the moment it landed on the water.
     Sometimes, a few twitches of the rod tip were enough to trigger a strike. The bujuks were so plentiful here that they would rush to any disturbance in the vicinity. The whole bunch would be watching with bated breath and eyes riveted to the swinging frog (just like tennis fans watching a match). Their competition for food was so great, the moment the frog hit water they would grabbed it without thinking (not that they have that much grey matter to start with in the first place).

Soon Fong proudly showing his only fish.

     Most of the time, we could hear the 'coop' sound when the frog was sucked in by the bujuks. Line would be given for the fish to back into their hiding places with the frogs in their mouths. Slowly we would tighten the line and pulled so slightly, which would trigger an opposing tug by the fish (Newton's Law of motion, or is it?). That was when we struck hard.
     The bujuks were the masters in their territories, They fought hard and rough, making full use of the many sunken trees, roots and vine to their advantages. Coupled with the fact that most of our rods were of about seven feet, striking hard and setting the hooks were a real problem as the thick foliage and canopy of branches were in our ways. Out of ten strikes we were lucky to land three.
     Our problems were neutralized by the fact that the bujuks here were only educated up to the kindergarten level. Fish after fish could be taken from the same spot! The longest wait was only fifteen minutes. What was so surprising was the bujuks here averaged more than a kilo in weight. Not one of us tangled with or landed a cheroot. After landing two fish, I decided to explore further into the swamp. Stepping gingerly from stumps to branches, I moved slowly above the mostly 60 cm deep water. Stopping once in a while to flip the frog to some likely spots.

Ah Lek, James and Richard at the landing. The swampy jungle is in the background.

     Most of the time the bujuk would rushed out from beneath the tree roots where they were hiding to grab the frog. The three that I landed here must be the unluckiest fish as it was impossible to set the hook. Well, they were still lucky as all of hem were released.
     While moving through this thick swamp, I had to keep a sharp look out above me too. This was Python Country. They would normally hang from some branches and drop down on their unsuspecting prey or crazy anglers like me. Once they coiled their bodies around you, there would not be time to say your final prayer There were also the fearsome crocodiles. Being a swamp near the coast added weight to that possibility.
     By now Ah Lek and Soon Fong were staggering back with a bagful of bujuks. Both of them had also picked their way into the swamp. Soon Fong was not equipped for this type of fishing for he only got one bujuk to show for his effort. With only 12lb line on his reel, he lost most of his fish through line breakages. Ah Lek had about eight fish of more than a kilo in his bag. How he managed to lug the lot out of the swamp was a wonder to me.

James doing his Sumo Fishing. See the opening in the jungle? The fishes are right inside, waiting for our frogs.

     Poor James and Richard both got one fish each. Strikes were aplenty, but they could not land the fish, no thanks to the many roots and branches. Somehow the hypothesis "the first fish is the last fish" had come true again.
     We moved upstream to cast for sebaraus at a fast flowing stretch without much success. Hundreds of casts later, we decided to cool ourselves in the clear cool water. Raymond's imitation of a striking sebarau with its accompanying 'clop' sound was so realistic that I nearly cast my Rapala towards him. my suggestion of him holding onto my lure and swimming out to the swift current was declined. I just wondered how it would be like to fight this giant imitation sebarau in this fast jungle stream.

Raymond holding his bujuk and his 4ft rod which is excellent for fishing in thick undergrowth. A satisfied Richard was beside him.

     We unanimously agreed that we had never experienced such fantastic bujuk fishing in the past before. I think all of us would not hesitate to go again even if we had to fight pythons and crocodiles to do it.