Jelawat Encounter.

     

This article was published` in the March 2002 issue of Rod And Line Magazine.

     The sultan fish or jelawat is one of the few fish whose scales can be eaten. Before the jelawat was successfully spawned artificially they used to be out of reach of poor guys like me in the restaurants. Since then, jelawats were been bred everywhere, but they all carried a funny muddy taste (the pond one).

     Of late, the fishery folks had been releasing jelawats into the rivers and lakes of Perak. Suddenly the ponds and rivers around Tanjung Tualang area had some thriving populations of jelawats. Reaping the reward of this resurgence of jelawats (though not the Perak variety, as they all had very red fins) was the angling fraternity of Perak.

Seng, Keong and Rothman making us feel so inadequate with their catches.

     Some of my kakis who had been fishing around the mined out ponds of Tanjung Tualang discovered this huge population of jelawat. These ponds were all interlocked to each other and some of them had small streams flowing into them.

     One Sunday found our gang in three boats cutting through the calm surface of the water. The sun’s rays inched across the dark steamy surface of the water. Slowly but surely the ray pierced through the mist and brighten up the breathtaking view all around us. On our left, a colony of cattle egrets (at least more than 500) were waking up happily and noisily bragging to each others about their conquests the previous night.

Rookie Mong happily posing with his jelawats.

     Fong, Ah Hei and I anchored our boat at a spot where there was some slight water flow. Before tackling up we ground baited the area liberally with meshed oil palm fruits. Whole fruits were then attached to our hooks and cast out. After that it was back to story time and patient wait. The calm surrounding was sometimes broken by the chomping sounds made by snakeheads in the mass of floating vegetation near the shore. Those sounds meant only one thing. That was one way tickets for some poor unfortunate creatures. Tempting though the sound might seem, but that did not distract us from our main reason for coming here, that was to catch the elusive jelawats.

The hundreds of cattle egrets at their love nests.

     The rod belonging to Fong was the first to bend. A ‘toothpick’ (our nickname for jelawats of less than a kilo) was landed and released. What followed was ‘toothpicks’ after  'toothpicks’. Even after changing spots a few times, we still could manage juveniles only. Ah Hei was the champion of our boat as he landed the most (about ten). His biggest was about a kilo and that was the biggest among our catches!

     Before heading back, another boat with three of our kakis came to show us their catches. At least theirs were about one kilo plus specimens. Ah Seng from the other boat told us that his catches included a few whoppers of more than three kilos here in the past. Instead of joining us to hunt for jelawats, they had headed for another spot with very fast flowing water. Here Ooi lost a Rapala to a very hard running fish that cut him off at an underwater log. Had he landed that one, it might qualify to be mounted on his wall with pride. Well, that was what made fishing so interesting.

Fong reluctantly showing his 'toothpick' too.

     After a rest of one Sunday, we decided to try our luck for the big jelawats again. Fong, Ah Hei and Chan decided to go on a Saturday, fish through the night for prawns and then hunt for the jelawats on Sunday.       Night fishing here was a no-no for me. The main reason being the prawn population here was almost wiped out by over harvesting and pollution. Another contributing factor was the mosquitoes and other bloodsuckers here had two feeding sessions. From 6.00p.m. to 9.00p.m. the starving hordes would drain you dry. Their appetites were such that they were hungry again from 3.00a.m. onwards. Insect repellants and thick clothing were of no help. The last reason reason was I value my life very much.

     According to some angling friends who related their horrifying experiences to me. They were once doing prawning here in two boats together with a local professional in his one-man sampan. Suddenly there was a bowling bubble trail from the marshes towards them. At the speed of that ‘thing’was moving it couldn’t be a turtle. It was always in situation such as this that you would find people suddenly becoming very religious. A chorus of prayers of the three main religions of the world erupted in unison. God must have heard the muhhibah praying session as that ‘thing’ went past underneath the boats, without any ugly incident. Crocodiles had being sighted before here and some monsters had shredded the nets strung out by the locals. Well…….?

My beautiful kalui.

     Mong and I were  already launching our boat at 7.00a.m. My heart sank though for the water level had dropped since the last time I came. Even with the engine raised, we were still hitting bottom quite often. Oh how my heart ached. Reaching our spot I anchored near some marshes. After one hour of fruitless waiting, my hand phone suddenly rang. It was Fong sending his S.O.S. Ah Hei’s outboard had gone on strike. With my toolbox and Fong’s skill the outboard was running again (it had a small leak at the gasket). They had to stop fishing and limp home. At least they had a few ‘lam kongs’ and two good size jelawats for their efforts.

     Taking over their just vacated spot, Mong and I settled down to wait. Mong (a freshie in jelawat fishing) was the first to land a jelawat. The grin on his face told the whole story. At least he never let his sifu, the famous Mr. Wong Keat Hong of the RM10,000 stingray fame (Rod & Line, November 1998, Guinness Explorers Fishing Competition), down. Half an hour later he had another take. Grabbing his rod which by now was bent into a perfect C, he truck. The sound of the reel giving line was music to our ears. Suddenly it stopped and his line went limp. His braided line had dug into the underlying line in the spool thus causing the break. What luck! When my rod started to bend, I struck oh so slightly. My screaming reel sent ecstasy through my whole body. ‘Patin,’ I gasped, which got Mong overly excited and he stood up holding the landing net. That act almost dumped both of us into the water. When he had calmed down enough to sit down, the fish had taken quite some line. I had forgotten how many times the fish ran. Slowly but surely, I was gaining line back onto my spool.

Ooi and his sebaraus from fast waters.

     Suddenly, my worst fear was realized. The fish got entangled with one of the many underwater rawais crisscrossing all over the place. Luckily, by now the fish was almost exhausted and couldn’t struggle much. Mong had the presence of mind to up anchor and rowed towards the fish. “Wah, a kalui lah,” shouted Mong. That gourami pulled the scale down to 3.2 kg.

     Mong had another bite which turned out to be a jelawat of 1 kg plus. He deserved both his fish as he had gone through his baptism of fire without a whimper. You see, even though I reminded him to protect himself from the sun, he came in shorts. At the end of the day, he look more like a cooked ‘lam kong’ to me.