Become part of this FAD
Artificial fish-attracting device best when you get to it first, which means early start
It’s an eerie feeling driving the 8m runabout over the oily surface in pitch darkness. As the sharp brightness of the stars passes slowly overhead, one cannot help wondering how the ancient Polynesians roamed the Pacific Ocean 800 years ago, navigating solely by the stars and the ocean currents.
They found New Zealand, stopping at the Cook Islands en route, and they knew exactly where they were going.
On this morning — a week ago — we glanced from the stars overhead to the bright screen of the GPS map and we could see exactly where we were and where we were going.
“We want to be the first to the FAD,” explained skipper Tom Vea, a Tongan who married a Kiwi woman and moved to Rarotonga, where he operates a charter fishing business with family. You listen when Vea speaks, for though he talks gently, he looks as if he was made for an All Black jersey, and you obey.
The FAD is an artificial fishattracting device set in 2000 metres of water off the coast of Rarotonga, and like casting at a stream mouth on Lake Tarawera at 5am in midwinter, the first to touch the water has the best chance.
An acronym for fish aggregation device, FADs are becoming more common throughout the South Pacific Island nations. They were invented in Hawaii, and are designed to attract and hold fish in deep water where there is no structure such as islands or reefs.
A strong back-bone line is anchored to the seabed and identified on the surface by a string of floats and a flag. But under the surface more lines of fronds are layered, stretching for many metres, often with coconut branches and other materials attached. This artificial structure attracts barnacles, small shellfish and tiny fish which attract larger fish and so the food chain develops.
The pelagic fish which the fishermen seek roam the perimeter, often in large schools, and the first lures which are run past the FAD may hook yellowfin tuna, mahi-mahi, wahoo or even sailfish and marlin.
Suddenly Vea shouted, “Here’s the FAD — right next to us,” and dropped two wobbling lures into the black water. “Bang! Bang!” he added, simulating strikes. The adrenaline was hot as we watched the rods.
Two more boats turned up and the radio crackled as notes were compared. Then one boat had a quadruple strike, boating three small yellowfin and one beauty of 25kg, which of course was shared over the radio. No point in catching fish unless you can brass off your competition.
“Right place at the right time,” mused Vea. Typical fishing talk really.
Then a rod jerked and reel squawked.
“Hit it,” exclaimed Vea, and after the hooks were firmly set, a smooth combination of rod work and steady reeling soon had a 5kg yellowfin at the boat and the gaff went home.
The action slowed when the sun rose, and Vea decided that the glassy sea was an invitation to head out wide and look for birds.
“Where we find the birds, we’ll find the fish,” he declared confidently.
Several hours of roaming on indigo water of 27.4 degrees produced a few scattered terns which were doing what we were doing : Looking for fish. But no fish.
Then a dark object caught the eye. “What’s that?” we asked, pointing out to port. It disappeared, then popped up as a swell heaved gently.
“A floatie!” yelled Vea. The suninduced lethargy vanished as he swung the wheel.
“And it’s a big one. Bang! Bang! Bang!” he yelled with a wide grin.
This is what the local fishermen dream about; a sort of roving FAD that is in, well, virgin water. As we drew near, with four lures popping and wiggling at various distances behind the stern, a lone booby which had been hitching a ride took to the air. “We should fill the box,” said Vea. That would be exciting. The box is a chilly bin about 2m long and half a metre wide and deep. It holds a lot of salt ice, but would take half a school of tuna to top up. I was beginning to like this guy even more.
Our lures wiggled and sploshed past the jumbled pile of plastic tubing, netting, floats and bamboo. But nothing happened. “The fish must be here,” said Vea. So we went round again, and again, as he explained where it originated.
“The Chinese drop hundreds of these and they have a GPS transponder on them so they can find them, and drop a net right around it and scoop up all the fish. We are not happy with them, as we would take just a few fish and leave the rest.”
Such floating structures also pose a risk to boats travelling in the dark, and one can imagine the drama if it became entangled in the engine’s propeller.
“We will take it with us, or it will just take fish away with it,” declared Vea, as he dragged the dripping “floaty” over the stern. Dozens of small fish darted around, looking for their home which was suddenly whisked away, while schools of sleek, yellow-tailed fish circled underneath.
On the way back to Rarotonga, he stopped at a FAD closer to shore and tied the “floaty” to the surface line where it could continue its work.