FISHING IN ZANZIBAR, CANADA, THE BAHAMAS, KEY WEST, CUBA, TRINIDAD AND PARTS UNKOWN.
One of the recreations dear to the heart of most Zanzibari males was to indulge in the sport of fishing. This was not strange or unexpected phenomena since Zanzibaris lived next to the blue and inviting waters of the sparkling Indian Ocean teaming with multi-coloured tropical fish and it seemed the most logical sport to healthy living. It also developed into a competitive sport with each group trying to outdo the other by catching “the biggest one.”
Those were the days when fishing rods were associated with tourists who poured in from the opulent West usually displaying expensive gear that only the dollar could buy. Local boys like us had to be content with a fishing line which was initially made from reinforced twine and had to be cast skillfully by hand. There was a discipline involved in the setting up of the line on the shore before casting it into the ocean. The line had to be placed neatly over a small area (not piled up in one place as was the temptation) so that it would not knot when the line was thrown a great distance into the ocean. If one was careless it was not uncommon to find a frustrated individual spending much precious time undoing the knots on the line and this distracted from the pleasure of fishing. Another caution was to make sure that one did not step on the line while throwing it out to sea. Many lines had been known to snap as a result of this kind of unnoticed obstruction and then one had to spend much time organizing the hooks and tying them all over again.
Most local boys were able to tell what kind of fish was biting by the very feel of the bite. This was important since some fish did not grab the bait and run, but cautiously nibbled at the bait. It was necessary to allow the fish sufficient time to take in the hook into its mouth before tugging the line to hook the fish. The talent was to know just exactly when to tug. If it was done prematurely, the fish was given another lease of life and the entire team of fisherman would be made aware of how disappointed the “impatient” fisherman was. A purpose of amendment from the disgruntled fisherman soon followed for he swore his assurances that the fish would never get away the next time around.
The most common bait used was worms. These could be bought from an old man who dug them out of the Darajani Creek in Zanzibar and he placed them in little bundles for his customers. Considering the work put in to dig out those worms, and the health risk involved, the worms were quite cheap. The other alternative was to dig these worms oneself in more sanitary surroundings usually on the beach near the “band Stand” area. These worms were quite bloody when attached to one’s hooks and they had to be cut into smaller pieces since they were at least ten inches long in some cases. Another popular bait was the use of bits of cuttlefish (calamari). The advantage of this bait is that fish could not easily abscond with it since it was quite firmly attached to the hook. However, even fish had preferences so it became necessary to try different kinds of bait as encouragement for fish to bite.
The best time for fishing was when the tide was coming in. For larger fish, the ideal time was to fish after sunset and if the tide was cooperating fishing was at its premium. There was also a belief that the moon had a negative influence on the eating habits of fish and that it also had a strange effect especially on crabs which, if caught during full moon solstice, were somehow empty of the delicious flesh that so many crab enthusiasts enjoyed.
Many years later, a group of young friends got involved in spear fishing. The gear consisted of a tight fitting mask to enable the fisherman to spot fish under water and to keep the water from penetrating through to the eyes. To this mask was attached a breathing snorkel. Both the feet were equipped with flippers to propel the fisherman through the water. In one hand was held a loaded spear gun. The advantage of this kind of fishing was that one could pick and choose what fish to take and if one had the stamina to stay under water for long periods of time, it made fishing a lot more productive, less threatening and more interesting.
When I migrated to Canada, I had the privilege of being posted as a School Administrator (never liked the designation “School Principal”) to a Public School in Canada’s freezing North. The winters were long and bitterly cold. Everything in sight was covered with white snow which sometimes piled up to the roof of the house. The lakes around were frozen tight but this was not going to deter fishermen from venturing out on the lakes. I was fortunate enough to meet a French Canadian gentleman who was a fishing guide in his younger days. Now in his seventies, his love and enthusiasm for the outdoors, but particularly for fishing was still very much alive. He pointed out to me that he would introduce me to “ice fishing” which I thought was most welcome.
One Saturday morning we drove up to Mercer Lake and after obtaining all kinds of assurances from my friend that it was safe to walk on the lake, we walked over to the center of the lake where Gerald (my guide) was sure that we would catch all kinds of fish. He also assured me that the ice at that time of the year was at least two feet thick and that if the ice was only ten inches thick it would support a truck. That was all the assurance that I needed. Gerald then started digging holes in the ice with a steel pick especially designed for the purpose. As soon as he hit water, it was a signal to put down a baited line and then tie it to a stick kept in place with the ice chips that were dug out of the holes. Each fisherman was allowed only two holes and so all that we had to do was to wait for some action. In the meantime, Gerald walked to the shore and picked up a bundle of dried wood. He then showed me how to make a fire. He placed some birch bark which he easily peeled off a birch tree, and placed it flat on the ice where we were fishing. He then placed some dried twigs (all facing the same way) over the birch bark, struck a match and lit the bark. The bark was so flammable that it lit as though some kerosene was poured on it and in a short time the twigs began to light up. He gradually added larger branches (facing the same way) until he had a roaring fire going. All this time the ice around the ferocious fire melted only a couple of inches.
Before we knew it one of the sticks holding a line started bending towards the hole. It was a signal that there was a fish struggling to get away. There was a dash towards the line to pull it up. We had a ten pound Northern Pike at the end of it. The fish was detached from the hook and thrown carelessly on the ice. In ten minutes the fish was frozen as hard as ice. This was natural since it was minus thirty degrees Fahrenheit at the time. Though fishing was very brisk, we were obliged to wrap up our lines at 3 p.m. in the afternoon since the sun was about to set. One does not want to be out on a lake once the sun sets because the cold gets so intense that it becomes difficult to breathe.
The Grand Bahamas offered clients a fine deal. Accommodation at the hotel also included deep sea fishing. I opted for deep sea fishing every morning from eight to two in the afternoon. Just before leaving our hotel room I jokingly asked the maid if she would like to have some fish. With a smile from ear to ear she said that she would love to have some. When we reached the spot where we were assured that fish was there for the taking, I suddenly got a massive pull on my line. My reel started unwinding at a terrific speed. It took me at least half an hour before the crew observed that I had caught a massive tuna. After an exhausting bout with this monster, the crew gaffed the animal and brought it aboard. The tuna topped the scale at seventy pounds.
When I got to the hotel room with my trophy, I placed the tuna in the bath tub and went scouting for the maid. I informed her that I had a fish for her and that she would find it in my bath tub but hid the fact that it was a monster. I waited for her to get to the flat when I heard a loud scream. She came out dragging the tuna behind her in total disbelief.
“Is this for me?” she asked in total surprise.
“All of it,” said I, “a promise is a promise.”
The entire family was now around her and in a short time I could see her sharing this fish with the rest of her friends and family. There was enough there for all.
The following morning I had another stroke of good luck. I landed a thirty pound King Fish.
Once again I carried it to the bath tub and alerted my maid. This time half the cleaning staff was with her when I handed her this fish. The entire crowd clapped their hands and I have to admit that I got a great big kick out of it.
On one occasion, we were invited to visit the exotic island of Trinidad.
My host was a former college colleague who opened his doors to us. He knew that I had a passionate desire to go fishing. When he made the suggestion to me that he would get in touch with friend who also had a passion for fishing as I did, I jumped at it before he had time to withdraw the offer. I guess that you will find one or more in every country.
I was informed that Jimmie was to pick me up at five in the early hours of the morning. I was to wait for him outside our building and that I was to be out there at the appointed time or else I would literally miss the bus. True to form, at five on the button, the car screeched to a halt. A door flung open to accommodate me and off the car sped away. I had no idea what the haste was so I put it down to Trinidadian impatience. A bottle of rum was circulated as a substitute for breakfast and each of us took in a healthy swig out of it. Before long I seemed to be the only one with a smile on my face. There were five of us in the car and after quick introductions, a palpable silence pervaded the car as though something sinister was about to happen. You could not help feeling that each person perhaps knew his role in this expedition. I was left out in the cold obviously with no role to play.
The car picked up speed and this heightened my many apprehensions about our safety on these narrow and winding Trinidadian roads. After half an hour of much anxiety on my part and my heart not knowing exactly where its location was, the car leaped onto a beach and continued to drive in the opposite direction for a further five tense minutes. The tide was out, and the beach on which the car rode was packed tight as though it had been recently watered. The sun was just beginning to rise.
Once again the car came to an abrupt stop. Everybody jumped out of the steaming car and made for the trunk which was promptly opened. Out came a rolled up net and two long poles. One enthusiast pulled out what seemed to be a bunch of large bags. The gang proceeded to run towards the calm ocean that had receded from the shore some seventy-five meters or so. Once they got to the gentle waves, the net was spread out on the beach and the poles were fastened to support the two ends. The net was then drawn into the ocean to a depth of no more than two feet and dragged along the bottom. Once the net had scraped some twenty feet, it was quickly brought out and there were some fifty or so large tiger prawns (shrimps) which were promptly emptied out into waiting bags. The net was then lowered into the ocean once again and dragged for another twenty feet. Each time the net was raised it would seem that there were larger numbers of prawns in the net. After repeating the process about ten times, the order was given by the time keeper to wrap up the net and start making for the car. With army discipline, the net was rolled up promptly and everybody took off for the car. Time was of the essence it would seem, and I could not guess why!!!
Once in the car the driver made for the entrance to the road from whence we came. When we just about reached the entrance it was clear to see why the whole operation had to be timed. The ocean waves were just about lapping the wheels of the car. High tide had caught up with us. I thought that this was cutting it thin, but these fishermen were full of laughter at conquering nature.
Another bottle of rum was promptly opened and passed around amidst joyous conversation as to how they were going to cook their catch of the day.
The experience that I had with this kind of strategic fishing, however, will remain in my memory for it was not only richly productive but extremely original, innovative and in hindsight, very dramatic and exciting.
I guess that there are two ways of living, one is DANGEROUSLY.
On yet another occasion, a Trinidadian neighbour felt that it was his obligation to take me out fishing while we were holidaying in the beautiful island. He knew “the greatest spot on earth” where we could catch all the fish in the world. Early in the morning four of us got into his car and drove towards Mayaro Beach. Little did I expect that as soon as a bar came into sight on the way out, they had to stop in for a drink. Trinidadians order drinks by the bottle and not by a peg. By the time we got to Mayaro Beach, I have to admit that I was almost cross eyed and my nervous system was in shock..
There was a boat waiting for us there and with some difficulty I managed to climb on. We headed out to sea and in the distance I could see an oil rig. When we were within a hundred yards of the rig, all of us got busy assembling our lines and dropping them over the side of the boat. It seemed as though there was no end to the line descending to the bottom. My host Andy told me that it was very deep and that the secret here was not to wait to feel a bite. As soon as the weight hit bottom, he suggested that I pull the line hard as though I was trying to set the hook. He explained to me that it was so deep that by the time one felt the bite at the other end, the bait was gone. Once I got the hang of it, we soon filled the boat with all kinds of fish of varying sizes. What needs a mention here is that once a fish was pulled up half way, it suffered from the bends and just came floating up to the surface no matter how large it was.
My Cuban fishing experience was a bit of a disappointment except that it revealed to the fishermen mainly foreigners, the repression that comes with Communism.
We were at the port at seven in the morning to embark on a fifty foot boat that looked reasonably sea worthy. The crowd was very excited about the fishing prospects. The crew and the captain of the ship were very guarded in what their responses were to the many questions that the tourists posed but mostly with regard to the type of fish that we were after. In most cases our questions were cold shouldered away with the excuse that they did not understand English.
We soon cast off from the pier to negotiate our passage through a long but narrow channel that led to the ocean. Much to our surprise, we heard gun shots from the shore. We could see several fully armed soldiers on the shore making hand signs to the captain to stop. The anchor was dropped. The soldiers approached the ship as though they meant business. As soon as they got on, one soldier descended into the bowls of the ship and in short order he appeared with a Cuban with his hands cuffed behind his back.
Most of us were naturally alarmed by this incident and turned to the Captain to seek an explanation. Through a tourist who claimed that he had taken some elementary courses in Spanish before he arrived in Cuba, we were made to understand that the Cuban who was arrested did not have a pass to travel on the ship. The fear of the Cuban government was that many Cubans tried to get to the United States by secretly getting on to fishing boats and when they were a couple of miles from the shore of the United States, they would dive in and head for the U.S. shore. According to the Captain most did not make it.
This incident dampened our spirits, and it was also clearly not a good day for fishing. At noon we made signs to the Captain that we were thirsty and hungry. He got on his ship to shore phone and before you knew it, one could see in the distance a speed boat heading towards us. The beers were cold and the food was delicious. The only thing that was caught on this trip was the Cuban escapee.
Our plane landed at Miami. The flight from Toronto was very smooth and comfortable. After we left the airport we headed to a rental car outfit in order to drive down to Key West. It was a scenic drive to our hotel. The following morning we approached a fishing boat which carried the slogan, “Rent Me.” After coming to rental terms with the ship’s captain and receiving the assurance that we would be taken to his fishing grounds, we boarded the vessel and off we went out to sea. Trolling lines were systematically launched on both sides of the boat as we made our way to what we hoped would be excellent fishing.
As it turned out the fish seemed to be on strike. We were taken to several fishing spots claimed by the Captain to be normally very productive, but there wasn’t a bite. After two hours of fishing we had nothing to show when, in the distance, the alert Captain spotted a flight of seagulls in one spot diving in for fish. He promptly lifted the anchor and headed for the spot. When we got there he announced that we were about to engage a shoal of large “dolphin fish.” He also issued a warning that each of us was only allowed three fish. This was an established rule by fishermen to preserve the specie.
As soon as we got into the middle of the shoal, each of us caught fish at the same time. It was a pleasure pulling these fighting fish in. Each of them was roughly four feet long and weighed in the region of ten pounds. As the fish were hauled in, the Captain’s helper promptly removed the fish from the hook, baited it and tossed the line into the ocean. In a count of five there was another fish giving me the thrill of the day. Once again the fish was detached from the hook, baited and thrown into the ocean. It would seem that before the baited hook hit the water, there was another fish at the end of my line. I hauled it in and the helper detached the fish from the hook, but this time he grabbed hold of the fishing rod and amidst the confusion that ensued, he reminded me that I already had my limit. My other friends were on their third fish and before you knew it, there was silence on the boat while the captain slyly moved the boat away from the shoal leaving us to enjoy the euphoria of the event that just occurred.
Dolphin fish, for those who have not seen one is a flat fish and the head is rounded just like that of a whale. In the Miami restaurants the Dolphin fish is perhaps the most expensive fish that could be ordered from the menu. The reason, as we soon found out ourselves, is that the fish is very tasty, almost boneless, and feels like cream once it engages the tongue.
Shortly thereafter we became beneficiaries of a six foot shark. Unlike most Americans, who do not eat shark, we insisted on taking it with us, for with our special curry preparation (Ambotik), shark is like a dish fit for the gods.
On yet another occasion, my Arab friend who had much more than a passion for fishing made arrangements for a group of four of us to travel to Boston on yet another fishing experience. Traveling all night by car from Toronto to Boston and going through different kinds of micro climates, we arrived at our hotel at seven in the morning. After washing up, we made our way to the port where a sixty-foot fishing vessel was waiting for us. There were roughly thirty fishermen from all parts of the United States busy reserving their spots on the deck to obtain the best advantage to catch that elusive big one. The vessel was fitted with sleeping arrangement for each fisherman since this was to be a three-day fishing excursion some sixty or more miles out to sea.
The ship also housed a restaurant where our meals were to be served. The bar sold only beer. No other alcoholic drinks were allowed to be brought on board nor could one buy it on board the ship. Fishing equipment such as fishing rods and bait were provided by the ship.
To spoil us thoroughly, there were several young guys mainly students, who baited our hooks. Since it was our first time out, the student nearest us recommended that as soon as the weight hit bottom, that we should keep pulling the rod up and down quite vigorously so that the fish could see the bait and chase it. This was cod country. When I was on my fourth pull at the rod, my line kept running out of the reel. I had a large fish on my line. I fought against it quite vigorously, and in a matter of four minutes I landed a four and a half foot cod. My friends had no time to exchange pleasantries for they were battling with fish that they had also caught. In three days of fishing, our group had landed eighty cod which we were happy to bring back to Canada packed in dry ice. Our group also won the raffle of four hundred dollars for catching the largest cod. Cod that were less than three feet had to be returned to the ocean. This specification was taken quite seriously.
The Dominican Republic brings back fond memories of our deep sea fishing experience. This time we had to settle for a boat with outriggers and propelled by a fifty horsepower motor. Not far from the shore, enclosed in giant nets, were millions of sardines which were kept alive and used for bait by the fishermen. After scooping out a few hundred sardines and preserving them in a large tank of sea water in the boat itself, we took off for our fishing adventure.
After an hour of traveling the anchor was lowered, and each of us reached out for a live sardine which was hooked by the tail and then cast by our rods into the ocean. In a matter of minutes, we were hauling out red snappers that weighed anywhere between five pounds and thirty pounds. None of us had ever experienced the rapidity with which we were hauling out these fighting fish. In a couple of hours we were so exhausted that we requested the smiling boatman to take us back to shore. We had caught fifty-five fish each weighing twenty-five to thirty pounds. We had the good sense of catching and releasing fish that we considered to be too small.
At the hotel, the cooks were happy to prepare some of the fish for our dinner, and the remaining were cleaned and stored in the hotel freezer for its onward journey home.
I have fished in the oceans around Venezuela, Panama, and many other lesser known places. I also did a spell of fishing in Greece particularly around Santorini but one soon learns in this game that if fishing spots are unknown, a fisherman can labour all day but will catch little or nothing.
My fishing buddies and I have always been accompanied by a local fisherman and we have noticed that it has made all the difference.
