Did you say TWO Hurricanes?

Of all the places in the world to fish, there have always been a few that stood out to me. Alaska, Zambia, Christmas Island, etc. However, Zambia is dangerous, Christmas Island is nearly impossible to get to, and Alaska is, well, I'm not sure what the situation is with Alaska. However, another place that has been on the top of my list is Hawaii. Known for legendary fishing in an unparalleled setting, it has always been on the top of my list. Fortunately, a family wedding gave me the opportunity to explore the island of Maui and the fishing it has to offer. Unfortunately, the hectic chaos that weddings usually provide would make fishing difficult. In addition, my entire family was staying in a large home a considerable distance from the beach, making the old "sneak out at five in the morning with rod in hand" difficult to pull off. And there were two other limiting factors named Iselle and Julio.

I ended up not using 90% of the tackle in the box.

The Hawaiian islands were in the midst of preparing for an unprecedented TWO hurricanes for one of the first times in history. I might land to find myself looking at the aftermath of Katrina. My cousin was distraught, as deadly tropical storms are never good omens of an impending marriage. Quite the opposite, frankly, and I myself was extremely worried for a much more admittedly selfish reason that may have had to do with fishing. If Maui did get wrecked, then that would not fare well for the reefs or the fish living inside them. Even if they did survive, I would imagine the Ichthyoids of the Hawaiian atolls being more than a little frazzled. Still, I brought a box of tackle with me in the hopes of finding a few opportunities to fish.

I will be staying on that little green speck to the far left of the picture.

And I did find some. Thankfully, we arrived after Iselle had passed. Although there were more than a few broken branches and leaves in the ocean, it look as if nothing had happened. The morning of the first day, I was able to head to a local beach to do some shore casting. Some relatives were with me to do snorkeling as well, and I figured I could engage in the latter so as to scope out potential fishing areas. However, I stopped by a small tackle shop in Lahaina to ask for some productive baits and advice. Although regular fishing techniques will work here, Hawaii is known for having some of the most inventive and unique fishing methods in the world. These include slide baiting for Ulua, or Giant Trevally (in which a specially designed sinker is intentionally snagged and snelled leaders are slid down the line to the fish) and pole fishing for Akule, or Bigeye Scad fishing (in which the lips of previously caught fish are used as bait). Even for simple shore fishing, there had to be some unique Hawaiian methodology that required extra money to be spent. 

The Minnow Strip

Everywhere I go, there's some sort of crazy plastic lure that's stranger than the last. Quadruple-tailed, weedless, glow-in-the-dark fluorescent concoctions with "secret" scents that smell like gunk scraped from the back of a refrigerator abound everywhere, and I was refreshed to find a simpler soft plastic. It seemed almost too simple, being a single clear strip with no discernible action. However, they were popular with the locals, so I bought a package and set off to do some shore casting. I picked a small state beach nearby, hoping that there would be few tourists. I was right, and I only shared the place with another fisherman.

This place isn't even mentioned in most Hawaii travel guides.

I have weird fish that I obsess over (see http://spooledkamranw.blogspot.com/2014/07/the-quest-is-over.html ). While many people travel to Hawaii to catch legendary sport fish such as Marlin or Giant Trevally, I was much more interested in the humble goatfish. That's right. Something about the colorful bottom dwellers with their whiskers and perennially-startled expressions appealed to me. It might have been their beauty, or their similarity to the famous bonefish, or their delectability on the table (sans the occasional hallucinations and vomiting that ensue upon ingestion). Or perhaps it was because I was in Hawaii, a place where universally ignored fishes are held in higher esteems. Goatfish, known by their different Hawaiian names of Weke, Oama, Moana, Munu, and Kumu, are all highly regarded among Hawaiian fishermen as worthy adversaries on light tackle and also as table fare. I also had not caught any before.

Crazy looking fish, but I desperately wanted to catch one (photo courtesy www.zoochat.com)

After scouting the area via snorkel, I found a nice rock and began casting. After a few minutes and an annoying snag, I found a school of juvenile papio, or Bluefin Trevally. Although small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, they were highly aggressive and a blast to catch on ultralight tackle. I was also excited to have caught a new species.

The excitement began to fade away as I caught about twenty more of these things. I tried different baits in an attempt to try to ward off the papio, but they all seemed to drive them into even more of a feeding frenzy.

They were still nice little fish, and I could brag at the tackle shop about how many papio I caught. Even if the target size is a little bigger. I considered the trip a success, and headed back to the sandy beach to do some more swimming.

The next day was the wedding. I can assure you that I took plenty of photographs, but due to, cough, legal concerns, I decided to not post pictures of others without their consent. This has nothing to do with the fact that I may have not taken any photographs. However, the ceremony itself was short, giving me plenty of time to hit the beach with the newlyweds and company. And fish, of course. This time, I hit the surf.

I like surf fishing, mainly because any violent waves will crash me into sand as opposed to razor-sharp rocks. However, this is usually little comfort, as the millions of tiny sand grains ultimately form a flat, hard surface that erodes skin like the cliffs that expensive SoCal beach homes are built on.

Your days are numbered.

I cast a strip of squid on a bottom rig, and immediately got an explosive bite. However, the fish was still a four-inch papio, so it didn't transmit the way it had hoped on my heavy spinning rod. One thing papio and all other jacks like to do is follow their hooked friend around, as if to offer help or stupidly attempt to steal the "food" from their doomed buddy. Apparently, they didn't learn anything from their observations, as I continued to catch these fish on almost every cast.

My dad also filmed me for a while. Although these videos are embarrassing attempts to match the "quality" of what is seen on TV, they mostly consist of obnoxious, campy commentary mercifully drowned out by the relentless waves. The diminutive fish are also practically invisible.

Small, but spiny and difficult to get a grip on. 

At this point, I was getting tired of catching what my uncle kept referring to as "bait," so I switched to a larger hook and a bigger chunk of squid. Almost immediately, I hooked up with something strong. It took me on several runs before finally being dragged ashore. It was a Reef Triggerfish, the iconic species and state fish that squealy tourists insist on calling by its lengthy and ridiculous Hawaiian name. This name will remain unsaid.

I don't care what Don Ho says, it's called a TRIGGERFISH.

Despite its almost mythical status, these ubiquitous fish unceremoniously make loud grunting noises upon capture. In fact, the name (insert it here, I'm not typing it) means "fish that grunts like a pig." They also bite. 

Another one I caught in the same place. Note the close proximity of my fingers to the spines.

At that point, two tourists had joined me and asked what I had caught. Upon me telling them, they broke into a chorus of "My Little Grass Shack in Kealakekua, Hawaii," forcing me to jump in the water to muffle my screams. Upon climbing out, I continued fishing. Casting as far as I could, my rod bent over and I was into a fish. It didn't feel as strong as the trigger, but had a different fight than the jacks. Desperately wanting to avoid "reef fisherman's insanity," I held my breath as the next wave washed it in. I smiled. A goatfish! My dad had gotten a video of it as well, but my attempts to suppress my excitement in an effort to look cool on camera resulted in a slew of even more obnoxious trivia. After rattling on everything I knew about the stupid fish, I realized my dad had stopped filming a full minute earlier.

The picture above was frozen from the video and doesn't do this species of goatfish justice. Below is what the Blue Goatfish looks like in its natural habitat.

How do these things not get eaten all the time with coloration like this? Photo courtesy Spearfish Maui.

Even though the goatfish was too small to keep, it was great to have successfully caught my target species, especially on what was fated to have been one of the day's final casts. I decided to call it a day after that, and spent the remainder of my afternoon checking out local fruit stands. Once again, due to "legal reasons," I may have not bothered to take photos. However, I instead decided to show numerous Hawaiian fruits and my personal opinions on them. 

Guava: Great to eat, but er, increases the speed of your digestive system a tad.

Lilikoi, or Passion Fruit: My personal favorite, sans the bowel-wrenching pain usually felt while "carpet bombing Afghanistan" afterwards.

Jamaican Passion Fruit: Absolutely incredible, but go easy unless you want to spend some quality time with the thunder bucket. At this point, you may have begun to notice a pattern with my reactions to tropical fruits.

Breadfruit: Do not eat. And this time, it has nothing to do with any toilet-related grievances.

After "dropping off the Mexican boll weevil" far longer than I'd like (at this point I'm just looking them up), I decided to put fruit and toilet humor on hold and continue catching fish. It was a glorious Monday morning, and I was ready to release the kraken on these fish (I had to put in one more for the road). My parents, wanting to explore as always, decided to head south in the hopes of finding adventure. What they really wanted was an excuse to drive in a roasting hot car in a state where the average speed limit approximately equals the drinking ages of most countries. Along the way, we drove by beautiful crystalline beaches with sunshine...

...before deciding to stop at a crowded, stormy nightmare with dangerous waves and cafe-latte water. The whole time, I was wondering what happened to Iselle and Julio, only to find them here. I was "slightly irascible" (edited) but decided to make the best of it by checking out the snorkeling. However, as soon as I entered the ocean, she disgustedly spat me back out. Normally I have no problems with waves, but I do with ones that break a foot away from shore. As previously elaborated, sand, albeit seemingly soft, forms a flat, hard surface that erodes skin like-Error: repeated phrase (consider editing).

This picture cleverly conceals the large, foreboding clouds south of me.

I politely expressed my discontent of the beach, which was met with a reply of it being "tropical awesomeness" (in what universe?) and "don't be a whiner" (say the people who find something wrong with every hotel room). Giving that there was beautiful weather North of us, it seemed logical to my family members to continue pressing south like adrenaline-crazed birds during winter. The weather got worse and worse. Eventually, they got the hint and pushed north once again.

I had so many pictures of these things that I needed to insert them in random places.

As soon as we moved north, it was as if we were in a different country. Instead of stormy weather and rain, it was sunny and the surf was calm. However, I knew that shouting "I TOLD YOU SO" was playing with fire, so I went fishing instead. I caught the usual suspects; tiny papio, tiny papio, and more comically tiny papio. If only they were four pounds instead of four ounces.

See if you can spot the subtle differences between the two fish pictured.

The snorkeling was decent. Although the hurricanes had largely ignored Maui, opting instead to wreck the Big Island, the water was still murky in many places due to the resulting storms. However, I still saw plenty of fish, including a Spotted Eagle Ray and a "small" Manta. The turtles were also everywhere. Hawaii is the only place in the world where you can count on consistently having to weave in and out of the sluggish reptiles when stand-up paddleboarding. However, my phone was not waterproof enough to go snorkeling with me, so I leave you with these photos superficially stolen from the internet.

Factoid: When swimming near the surface, the tips of their wings look extremely similar to the fins of our dear friend, the man eating Tiger Shark.

Harmless, but terrifying when one comes unexpectedly cruising at you in dark murky water.

I also saw a turtle with a flipper missing. This scared my morning's jackfruit right out of me, as the only animal capable of biting a turtle's flipper off is a larger-than-average tiger shark, but I then realized it had long since healed over. I decided to shore before I would have any more unnecessary panic attacks.

It was the last day in Hawaii, and I figured I could give fishing a short break as I feebly attempt to appreciate non-piscine aspects of the islands. Unfortunately, Maui is notorious for being extremely touristy, even by Hawaiian standards, and the day mainly consisted of strip malls, overpriced snow cones, and that Hawaiian thing where they slap spam on rice and call it sushi.

However, the fishing bug struck me one last time, and I headed off to yet another local beach to get a few more casts in before the trip's end. It had been a great vacation, despite all the odds being stacked against me and my family members involved. The weather had been great, despite forecasts of relentless rain, and I had caught plenty of fish. The two deadly hurricanes had also been nearly nonexistent.

However, it was the last night, and I wanted to make it the one that resonated above all the others. I headed to the beach, baited up with a strip of squid, and cast. I braced myself for what could be the strike of a lifetime.

Okay. I released that fish, baited up with another strip of squid, recast, and braced myself for what could be the strike of a lifetime. When that strike didn't come, I moved down the beach closer to the rocks and cast again. I snagged frequently but immediately started catching nice Manybar Goatfish. These were the fish I wanted to catch, and they fought hard on light tackle. 

I

They look as if they walked into the wrong bathroom at the Chicago Airport.

Me with a "barely legal" goatfish.

At that point, my dad busted out the actual camera and took a picture of one of my larger goatfish. Note the similarity in appearance to bonefish. Or carp. 

I continued to cast, and hooked up with a spate of the small papio I had been hooking all week. However, I noticed one looked different from the rest. I dismissed it as another Bluefin Trevally, but something was different about it. Its body shape was more angular. Its fins were yellow. It lacked the distinctive blue of the ambiguously named Bluefin Trevally. I took a picture and looked at it while waiting for my next strike. 

Presenting my first GT.

It was a baby Giant Trevally. I don't want to sound overly confident, but I pored over color plates of every jack species in Hawaii, and this is the only one it resembled. However, it was not the way I hoped my first Giant Trevally would go. Like with my first tuna (see http://spooledkamranw.blogspot.com/2014/04/tuna-spooled-fish-profile.html), I expected a crazy, explosive strike, followed by a gut-wrenching battle as I struggled to dethrone the king of Hawaiian sport fish. The battle would eventually culminate with one of these:

f

That's the way it goes. Still, I could easily manipulate the details to make it seem as if that GT was bigger than it was. For now, though, I still feel silly even calling it a Giant Trevally.

I continued fishing, catching more papio. I'll include yet another picture of one so as to clearly show the difference between the Bluefin and the Giant Trevally (the specimen below is a Bluefin).

This one has the speckles of a mature Bluefin. 

The funny thing about the Bluefin Trevally was that I was involved with the species online before I had ever caught one. While doing research for a paper I was writing on overfishing, I found a neat little article on a major environmentalist website on Bluefin Tuna. One problem:

"WTF" stands for "wow that's freaky."

It doesn't seem like a very big deal to some, but I find it extremely difficult to confuse these two species of fish. Considering that the Bluefin Tuna is an iconic species recognized by nearly all, confusing it for another-completely different in appearance, I might add- species is unforgivable. Of course, I immediately fired off a strongly worded response:

Burn.

The author hasn't responded as of four months ago. I initially thought he was just "reloading his guns" in terms of finding a snappy comeback, but I doubt it. Then again, it would take a REALLY snappy comeback to overcome mistaking a Trevally for a Tuna. Back to the fishing, I fished with a glitter strip and caught some more small Trevally, as well as a Mamo, a chunky damselfish closely related to the Sergeant Major that is surprisingly hard fighting for its size. A local advised me to keep it; he said they make good poke. However, I've eaten Sergeant Majors before and they taste like licking the underside of the Tradewinds Dock at Depoe Bay. Look it up.

The sun was rapidly setting. Although there are quite a few nocturnal Hawaiian species, the vast majority of the reef fish I was targeting would go to bed and hide from the rampant sharks and similar predators. I kept snagging and frantically retying, and was desperate to catch one more fish to close out the evening. I chucked a glitter strip as far as I could, and had just started retrieving it when I got a strong bite. Setting the hook, I noticed that the fish felt strong. I suspected a trigger or a large goatfish. Maybe even a jack slightly larger than the ones that I had been catching. But nothing could have prepared me for what I pulled onto the beach.

Actually, these guys are super common just about everywhere. They just aren't caught super often. The Cornetfish is one of the strangest looking fish I've encountered, and I've seen individuals while snorkeling that must have been close to five feet in length. No telling how surprised I'd be to haul up one of those. After taking a few photos of the funny-looking fish, I sent it back to go and live the rest of its life, perhaps mate, although I'm not sure how they do that.

At that point the trip was just about over, and it had been a great one. I had caught plenty of fish, and everything worked out despite the "hurricanes" rumored to hit the island. Speaking of hurricanes, I wonder if you can pay money to have them named after you.

A person can dream. Note: That is not me wearing the T-Shirt.

Until next time...

Kamran Walsh