February 5, 2011

The British/American family we met the first day on Aitutaki had spoken very highly about a small boat charter company they had used. It was run by a Kiwi called Mike and his wife Mere. They had one boat and the excursion the family had done with them had been outstanding. They told us that they also did deep sea fishing trips and that the yellow fin tuna had just arrived in the area. People were regularly pulling 20 kg tuna out of the water.

Adrian and I really wanted to try deep sea fishing. Previously in the week I had spoken with Mike and we had originally booked a fishing trip two days ago. We had gotten up at 5am. Mike arrived at 5:15, only to tell us that the waves were much too high and that we couldn’t go out with the boat, it was too dangerous. We had rebooked for today, but Mike was very skeptical, the weather forecast did not look promising at all.

I got up at 5am and dragged Adrian out of bed before I stuck my head out of the front door. All the stars were out and there wasn’t even the slightest hint of wind. Perfect! Mere came and picked us up at 5:15 and drove us to the the port in Arutunga, the capital of Aitutaki. She told us we were very lucky, there weren’t many days with this little wind during the year.

Mike’s father was born on Aitutaki and when the couple had been here visiting many years ago they had fallen in love with the place and the rhythm of life here. They decided to stay and start their little business.

Once we arrived it became clear that we were the only customers today. Other potential anglers had probably been scared away by the weather forecast. What a luxury to have the boar to ourselves.

Mike explained to us that the tuna around here can be very picky. They always have a feeding session early in the day, but he never knows when or how long it lasts. Sometimes it can go on for as little as 10 minutes. That is why he always brings clients out before sunrise, so they are sure to be at the feeding grounds when the tuna come to eat.

We sailed out of the lagoon and raced out for about half an hour until we were pretty far from the island. Even though the sea was relatively calm we moved quite a bit about once we slowed down. We were after all in the open Pacific. Adrian quite quickly developed nausea. Unfortunately all the children have inherited Helene’s tendency to easily get sea- and carsick. I had forgotten just how bad it can be with even small wave movements in a boat, when we booked the fishing trip. I am immune to those sorts of things myself and it is so easy to forget, just like Helene forgets how extremely sensitive my skin is to sunburn.

Once, when I was a student, I took this ferry from Oslo to London in order to go Jean-Michel Jarre’s extravagant concert at the Docklands. The ferry got caught in a storm in the North Sea with waves much higher than houses. This enormous ferry with space for about 2000 people was constantly lifted a few tens of meters into the air only to slam down in free fall until it hit the water surface a few seconds later. There were 4 of us traveling together and two of us did not get seasick. While the other two would not/could not move from the cabin we moved about the ship in what was a very alien environment. There were seasick people everywhere and the results of their state everywhere. It was the worst barf-o-rama I have ever seen (The next worst, and also very impressive, was during my student initiation party ( Phaestum Immatricularis) at Samfundet in Trondheim, but that is a different story). We went to the discotheque, on what was a Saturday night, and there were 7 or 8 of us in total there. When the ship slammed down from the top of a wave parts of it was in free fall for an impressive amount of time. We were weightless!

Weightlessness is not, as some people think, lack of gravitation. Weightlessness is being in a constant free fall. When you see astronauts on the international space station they are well within earth’s gravity field, but they are constantly falling towards the earth. The stations large horizontal velocity relative to the earth, and the earth’s curvature, ensures that it does not smash into the ground, but constantly continues to fall. (aka. being in orbit)

What I’m trying to say is that falling together with a ship, or falling as part of a bungy jump for that matter, is genuine weightlessness.

After a while we discovered that we could make the weightlessness last longer by jumping up at the right time. We had lots of time to practice and got pretty good at it. We jumped far up a staircase, half a story at a time, like men on the moon. Of course we had to be really careful with our timing, because on the way up the waves the boat was accelerating upwards and we got much MORE gravity than 1G.

My best moment was when I ran down a hallway at maximum speed and managed to time my jump perfectly. I floated weightlessly at high speed down the hallway, with waving arms, until I crashed into the wall at the T-junction at the end of it. My nose hurt, but I was very happy. Why pay 20 million dollars to go to the international space station, when all you have to do is take a ferry through a storm?

Am I drifting again? Sorry.

We were offered breakfast and Adrian had a little bit, but wasn’t really able to eat much. He didn’t want to go back to the port though, he really wanted to catch some fish.

We must have been trolling for less than 10 minutes, I had just had time to nearly finish my first sandwich, when the line made that wonderful whizzing sound when a fish has taken the lure. We had agreed that Adrian would take the first fish, and he was quick to get in position. Mike helped him get a good grip and placement of the rod:

There was something big at the other end of that line:

The fish would let itself be drawn upwards for a while only to pull all the gained line out again in a raging rush downwards. This was very hard work and after about 15 minutes Adrian’s biceps had had enough. I took over:

After some grueling last runs the fish finally let itself be pulled all the way to the surface, where Mike could get to it. Photo timestamps show that it took us 23 minutes from Adrian grabbed the rod until we had the fish on board. It had been a nice fght:

A 20 kilo (45 pound) yellowfin tuna. New largest fish record for both of us:

Who cares about some slime and blood on the clothes when you have done such a prize catch? (It turned out Helene did, but that’s another story…)

Adrian was not feeling well at all in the waves and really struggled like a hero. He wanted so much to continue, which we did.

I got great tips from Mike and Mere about what we had to see and do in New Zealand while we were waiting for the next tuna to bite.

20 minutes later there was something on the other end again.

I took the rod and was a bit disappointed when the fish willingly let itself be pulled almost all the way up to the boat. Must be a small one.

Wrong. Very wrong.

As soon as the fish understood it had something hooked to it, it rushed downwards at an amazing speed. This was something way bigger than the previous one. I was afraid it would pull out all the line, but luckily it stopped with about 20% of the line left. Whew! Then the hard work started. I pulled it up a few meters, and it pulled down again the same length of line. It did not wiggle or move much. This was just hard pulling, like dragging a piano up the side of a building with a rope, only to have an elephant sit on it until it was back on the ground again.

After about 40 minutes it showed some weakness and let me pull it almost to the boat. It did a another short run until I could pull it up so we could see it. It was massive, maybe around 30 kg (65 pounds). Then, at a crucial moment, I was not concentrated enough, It had been a very long struggle and I was so excited about this fish that i forgot one of the basics just long enough for it to be fatal. When you get a fish this size close to the boat it will be afraid of the boat and do a last couple of runs. The pike, for example, do the same thing. The tuna, wlll do one additional thing in the very end, which Mike had told us about. It will start swimming around in circles at the surface to try to get away, with the rod, and thus the boat, in the center. This is when you need to control the fish and make sure it does not get on the other side of the motor from you.

I had drilled Adrian in this on beforehand, but now I managed to do the mistake myself. As I pulled the fish closer to the boat it made a sudden dive under the boat and started to form the arc of the circle. I could have saved the day by a hard movment in the opposite direction, but wasn’t alert enough. It all happened in a couple of seconds. Mike saw what was happening and dived forward to grab the line and give the pull I hadn’t, but it was too late. Snap! The line was cut by the propeller blades.

I felt really stupid.

Can we reshoot that scene one more time, please?

Oh, the pain of hindsight. If only…

You want so much for that broken Ming vase to unfall and become one piece again, but it is too late.

40 minutes of struggle was over. The tuna had won.

The ocean now seemed dead. Feeding time was most probably over and Adrian was very sea sick. We headed back. Mere tried to console us as much as she could.

Since we now had plenty of time left Mike brought us close to the island and got out some snorkeling equipment for us. We snorkeled in the crystal clear waters just outside the reef for almost an hour and saw lots of beautiful fish.

We had to take a trophy photo with Mike once we were back at the port:

Here is the boat:

Their little operation is called Black Pearl Charters. Highly recommended.

I didn’t know this, but it turns our tuna flesh is like jelly just after you have caught a fish. It needs sevral hours to settle and become the tuna we all know from sushi bars. Mike came over to our bungalow in the evening with tuna steaks and ready cut sashimi. It tasted fantastic:

The others had been spending the day at the beach next to the bungalow.

Tomorrow our adventure on Aitutaki is already over. Time has passed too quickly.

 

Eirik

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