Travel: Clandestine Fishing

Fishing is the mainstay of traditional island life, yet is also a popular pastime of all Maldivian youth. With eyes lit up, the reservations team proposed a clandestine fishing trip (against company policy and strictly forbidden). After much scheming, plotting and bribing, accomplices were carefully selected among the kitchen staff to organize food and drink. A date was set, secret smiles of excitement marking each approaching day. Finally the undercover operation was to be put into action.
The sun hung low on the horizon, providing cover as eleven of us slipped discretely away. Our boat whisked us across the white capped waves to a deserted island at the edge of the atoll. Half of the group remained on the island to try their hand at beach fishing while we ventured out into a setting sun.

A dhoni with local fisherman near a reef signaled a bountiful fishing spot, so we anchored there. Before darkness set in, lines were tethered with sinkers and hooks with fish bait, attached to a water bottle (no rods in sight!) and dropped overboard from both sides of the boat. I sat in silence on the edge of the gently rocking boat, water bottle in hand with the line slowly slipping through my fingers as the weights sank to the ocean floor. Silhouetted against a kaleidoscope of crimson hues, lulled by sounds of lapping water, gently caressed by a pure breeze, and feasting my eyes on an idyllic coconut fringed island, I suddenly felt blessed. I was increasingly mindful of the dream that I am living, finding complete happiness in the here and now.

My wandering thoughts were interrupted by a sharp tugging at my line. A fit of rapid arm movements ensued, pulling the line frantically in, haphazardly depositing it on the boat's floor. It seems I wasn't alert enough as the line suddenly went limp; the bugger had cut clean through my line taking not only the hook and bait but also the weights! With new resolve I cast all romanticism aside and focused on the task at hand. All around me impatience was building and enticing calls of "come sweet fish" soon turned into "bastards" as we were eluded by their cunning and crafty antics.

Total darkness proved to be our trump card; releasing whoops of joy as our luck changed, successfully baiting red snapper and barracuda (didn't know you could eat that). Even I, with a broad silly smile plastered across my face, managed to reel one in. I looked around me and saw my ecstasy mirrored in all of us, coupled with lively jigs and high fives. It is amazing how such a primitive thing that has been practiced through the ages can rouse such feelings of satisfaction and fulfillment. An urgent cry sliced through the air, followed by a mad dash towards one line and an excited deluge of Maldivian. Amandio and I stepped aside fascinated and momentarily clueless as to what the frenzy was all about. A lot of heaving and pulling, frantic instructions, attaching additional lines, bottles flying overboard later, a large silvery shape just below the surface sparkled in moonlight. With tanned arms bulging we struggled for 20 minutes to pull this thrashing monster out of the water onto the boat. As the excitement subsided and our breathing regularized, we took in the enormity of our catch: a metre long, 40 kilo Jack fish. (I later researched this to discover that Skipjack fish are members of the tuna family and inhabit tropical waters). Everyone was slightly delirious, oblivious to their cut hands and aching muscles. Catching a fish this size with this primitive method of fishing is literally unheard of, marking a highly successful cloak and dagger operation for both us and these experienced Maldivian sea farers.

TBC…