POPPING AT THE RUSSIAN WRECK OFF PENANG ISLAND

This article was published in the February 2004 issue of Rod and Line fishing magazine.

“Sorry guys, it is no go,” declared Sia, our taikong. Six smiling faces became very long. (Try to imagine the faces of horses, got it?) Yes, disappointed was too tame a word to describe our feelings. We have planned this trip for quite a while. As we had tried popping at Tukun Perak a few times, we felt the change of venue and scenery really could do wonders to our enthusiasm, you know.

There we were bobbing in the sea with heavy rain and North-westly wind slamming into our boat. Our fading hopes were kept flickering by the fact that the taikong did not turn the boat around and head for port. We rode the storm for almost half an hour peering through the rain-splattered windows and scanning he horizon. Slowly the sky at the distant horizon started to clear. With our combined pleading, Sia relented by gunning the engine and steering the bow westward. Being only eighteen nautical miles west of Penang, we were soon circling the wreck.

James with his trevally. He did not look too happy with his size.

Sia took his time to observe the wind and tide before dropping anchor. We were all lined up at the side of the boat, rods in hands (popping rods lah, what else?) and craning our necks like giraffes, scanning  the sea for signs of GTs. Sia announced nonchantly that the time and tide was  not right yet (no wonder he was resting in the cabin). When he started to prepare our meals, we knew he really meant it was not time yet.

The taikong's assistant helping to unhook a GT.

While having our tummies filled, Sia told us that the time and the current must fit together for the baitfish to surface. Following closely behind would be the thugs and hooligans, we called giant trevallies. He added that our boat would be parallel to the wreck. That was when we had to be ready. Either we had to cold cast to entice the fish to the top or wait for them to follow the baitfish to the surface.

After our meals, we were sitting around talking and joking. Yours truly took the opportunity to narrate my fishing stories (as all old goats do), boring everyone to death in the process. I was so engrossed in my yarn spinning that I failed to see James picking up his rod. With a yell that nearly gave me a heart attack, James strained back against his rod. At the other end was a GT fighting desperately for its life. I guessed that GT was fated to be caught.

Most of the time it was a waiting game. Here we were scanning the sea for action.

Suddenly, Sia was onto another fish. That was when everyone wised up and started scrambling all over to grab their popping rods. Tan’s popper was gulped the moment it started to skip on the surface. With a lot of groaning and swearing, the fish was finally landed. Looking around, I saw Sia leaning back against a hard running trevally. I was rather worried as he had one leg jammed against the railing and another on the deck. Though not very religious, I was praying hard that his line did not snap. He would be in for a nasty accident, should that happened. Well, he not only did not fall but won the battle too.

Thang was helping his best friend, Tan,  to charge up his luminous jig with a small torch light during their night jigging session.

When Thong yelled, his rod was already bent into a perfect C. Thrusting the rod butt into his belly cup, he could just managed to move into a Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune Do stance. All the while the fish kept on taking line. There must be something wrong with his drag, for that turbo charged submarine emptied his spool again  (He was spooled once at Tekun Perak). Above the din of crashing waves and excited shouts, I could not clearly make out what he was saying, but I could make an intelligent guess. Most of the time, those @#$% do help to ease tension and frustration, you know.

Thong’s fish must have led the whole school away as everything quieted down after that. When all the casting di not bring us any result, we had to give up. Taking the opportunity from the lull, I asked James how he could sense the GTs was coming. Putting on that cunning smile of his, he said, “You people not only got to work smart, but to fish smart too.” He added that when he saw the taikong standing against the railing, popping rod in his right hand and his left hand shading his eyes (just like the legendary Monkey God) he knew the GTs were coming.

The lull lasted into evening when Tang suddenly tied onto a trevally during one of his random casting. That was the signal for all of us to move into action station. My skipping popper suddenly disappeared from the surface of the sea and I was into my first fight of this trip. Moving along the boat, I slowly fell back to the stern. Line was slowly but steadily been peeled from my spool. There was nothing much I could do, except to use the railing as a leverage to prevent myself from been pulled overboard (The boat was rocking and rolling quite badly, mind you).

Feathering the spool ever so lightly, just to make that thug work harder, I could feel the heat from the overworked drag radiating onto the spool. Suddenly, every angler’s nightmare happened. My line went slack and I nearly fell backward. Reeling back my popper, I noticed that the center treble was missing. Well, who was I to be blame except myself for been too lazy and careless. While changing the hooks and split rings to stronger ones, I was aware that the split ring had developed a gap, which I was too lazy to close. The hook must have worked its way out through that gap. I paid the price for underestimating the power of the GTs.

That night everything was quiet. Tan and his best friend Thang were jigging for the GTs that we knew were around at the bottom. All methods and jigs were tried with no result. In the end they had to give up too. 

Our taikong and Tan holding up some of their catches.

Even before the sky began to lighten in the morning, we were already scanning the water surface with rods in our hands. Everyone did their duties by taking turns to cast, hoping to trigger the fish to strike. When there was no result from all our efforts even the most persistent guy would rethink. In the end, the motto “if you do not succeed try again” got to make way for “if you do not succeed just give up lah”.

On the way back, everyone were teasing me about been luckless again. I hope this bad luck streak does not follow me around too often or else the will attach the initial “P. K.” (Pak Kor) to my name.

REVISITING KOTA TAMPAN – Part Two (Toman Fishing)

This article was published in the January 2004 issue of Rod and Line fishing magazine.

After our previous two trips to hunt for the sebaraus of Kota Tampan, we felt we needed a change. Too much of a good thing is dull, you know. Variety is the spice of life, so they said (Only true for fishing, or else I will get a lot of protests from readers’ irate spouses). As a result we decided to target the tomans this time.

Reaching Lenggong at 6.15a.m., James and I headed for Sen Huat Restaurant. You could get some of the best pows and tim sum (sorry, they are non-halal) around here. The proprietor named his large pows, Yip Chee Mei (a very well-endowed Hong Kong actress) pows. Anyone with good imagination should be able to visualize their sizes. With that type of pows, you got no choice but to feel bloated and burp regularly after breakfast.

Not very big, but there was a good population here.

 

With stomachs filled, we headed back to Raban and unloaded our boat. My outboard was purring slowly as we ‘tiptoed’ out to the Perak River. Why the caution, you may ask. Well, the whole stretch of the mist covered lake was criss-crossed with drift nets. One wrong move and you not only had a tough time untangling the propeller from the net, but you had also to pacify some parang-wielding fishermen too.

This chap hit James' Tail Dancer in the Perak River itself.

When the entrance of the first pond came into sight, I eased up on the throttle. Lo, behold! A ball of toman fries was rippling on the surface of the water. James’ Tail Dancer was grabbed even before I could kill the engine and position the boat. The fight was fast and furious with runs and dashes to the left and right. Anyway, the battle was quickly ended with the release of the fish to join its brood.

Inching our way into the first pond, we headed for some drowned trees. Casting to a submerged log, I started my retrieve. Suddenly a huge toman shot out from nowhere to go for my lure. Too late, for I had lifted my lure out of the water. Before I could react, that confused fish dashed off with a flick of its tail. Well, that was our only excitement here after almost an hour of casting.

The second that we headed for was very misleading. After emerging from the passageway, you would be very disappointed with the size. Anyway, we explored this small pond for signs of the giant snakeheads.

Toby also worked well here. This toman grabbed one and earned a sore mouth.

Suddenly, James’s lure was stopped in its track. Poor James, that monster was a well-trained street fighter. He lost more than RM20 when that brute headed for some submerged branches. Well, I do admit that I was a bit of a sadist. I did derive some pleasure from ribbing him on his lost lure. “Aiyoo, your heart must be aching badly loh. If you were to give me a treat with that money, at least I would say thank you,” I teased.

The fact that 'Tom Thumb' went or my lure proved that they were ferocious.

I was going to regret it later for I ended up losing more than a hundred ringgit of lures (who said that fishing is cheap?).

At the far end of the pond, there were quite a number of dead tree trunks jutting out of the water. Once we had maneuvered pass this mess, the expense of water in front was as big as two football fields. As soon as we had quieted down, the freshwater tigers began to rise.

Another fell for the Tail Dancer. This lure proved to be very effective.

The moment we spotted a rise, two lures immediately shot out pass the concentric rings. The attack would come the moment the lure wriggled pass the approximate position of the rise. There was no exploding jerk, only a sudden stopping of the lure when the toman struck.

Well, I thought someone said that ‘fishing is just a jerk at one end of the line waiting for a jerk on the other end’. The action that followed could only be described as fantastic. Though I lost quite a number of lures, I still enjoyed myself tremendously.

The condom man.

Somehow the Almighty always has his own plans. The sky darkened and the wind began to pick up, forcing us to pack. My chubby fishing partner suddenly announced that it was time to put on his condom.

Puzzled, I watched him slowly unfurled a small pack of thin plastic. He got me quite worried then for I thought that he had a slight short circuit in his head. When he finally had finished putting that piece of plastic on, only then did I realize it was a piece of disposable raincoat.

For our next trip we went to the pond that I first fished a few decades ago. This was the pond that we had to trek inland risking being shot, as there were quite a number of army patrols going around the jungles here.

This was the pond we had to trek and risk been shot to reach in the past. But now a road has been built just passing a stone throw from it.

Instead of trekking, James and I could drive across a bridge reaching almost to the edge of the pond now. Well, development has its pros and cons. My first cast at this pond resulted in a small toman. This small fellow grabbed my Abu Toby. The Toby accounted for another toman of respectable size, which was released.

The locals called this bridge 'San Sin Kiew' or 'Fairies' Bridge'. We did not fish here as it was full of criss-crossing branches. I took James on a tour here to show him where I caught my first kuang (toman bunga) decades ago. Just showing of.

Most of the tomans here were more of the below average size. Small though they rare but they made up with their numbers. There were quite a number of fry balls here too. Most of the time our lure would be grabbed the moment they were retrieved pass the fries.

There were a few groups of fries that we termed as ‘anak yatim piatu’ (orphans). No matter how many times we cast or how many lures we changed, there was no hit from their parents. Those that were caught were let off as near to the fries as possible. The fights were kept short so as not to stress the fish too much.

The pond that we fished in was still very well populated with fish. If you ask me whether the professionals have moved in, I think the number of times we had to recover our lures from discarded nets provided the answer. The number of sunken trees and weeds did offer some protection to the fish and helped to maintain a reasonable population. Let us hope the situation remains.