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.