PLAY IT LIGHT
Amazing sport with mahi-mahi and tuna… under two hours from the UK
Superb sport only two hours away.
It’s a little after five in the morning when I leave home, torrential rain and a full-blown gale confirming that autumn has well and truly arrived in South Wales. A couple of hours later I am boarding a budget flight at Bristol Airport for the one hour and 50 minutes’ hop to Barcelona, where the captain cheerfully advises summer is still in full swing.
Later still that day, barely 12 hours after leaving home, I’m seated at a smart harbourside restaurant at the little-known town of L’Hospitalet de l’Infant, savouring a cold beer while contemplating whether to order wine or yet another beer, to accompany the grilled mahi-mahi fillets that have just been placed in front of me.
The glow on the back of my neck provides a none-too subtle reminder that I need to apply more sun cream the following morning, or at least remember to wear a Buff.
Right now, I am giving full attention to the beautifully cooked mahi, just one of several dozen of these spectacular fish I had caught that very afternoon.
SPECTACULAR SPORT
The general consensus among British sea anglers is that the Mediterranean Sea is fished out, which is simply untrue. Certainly, if you wander around the many harbours and marinas located throughout the Costas, you’ll likely see nothing more than a few mullet, along with a handful of minuscule breamlike species. Ditto if you don a snorkel and mask and go for a swim. Rarely you will see anything that will send you rushing back to the hotel for a fishing rod.
I have fished at many locations in several countries throughout the Mediterranean, trips during which I have caught some very nice fish. During these visits I have spoken to numerous local anglers and guides, many of whom have confirmed that at certain times of the year the fishing can be spectacular.
The coast of Catalonia between Barcelona and the Ebro Delta in north-eastern Spain is one of the most prolific areas I have fished in the Mediterranean to date, and L’Hospitalet de l’Infant is located in the middle of this beautiful part of the country.
Catalonia is a well-known destination with many Dutch and German anglers, but until recently, little known with the vast majority of British anglers, other than those who fish for catfish and carp within the freshwater stretches of the Ebro. This is a shame, as I can assure you the saltwater sport fishing really is outstanding.
LATE-SEASON ACTION
I first met Erik Ouwens during a trip to Sri Lanka. Erik, a Dutchman, was working as a guide at the camp where we stayed, and one evening he told me that during the summer he based himself in Spain to guide clients fishing for bluefin tuna, bluefish, leerfish and mahi mahi (dorado).
In particular, he had enthused about the late-season action for mahi, when seemingly unbelievable numbers of fish could be caught using light tackle, in addition to various species of tuna of all sizes
I love fishing light tackle in blue water, and the possibility of experiencing such prolific fishing within such a short travel time from home stuck with me. Finally, at the very end of September this year I got the chance to experience it for myself.
I had received an invitation from Erik and Terry Smith, who owns popping and jigging specialists Jigabite, to visit L’Hospitalet de l’Infant and fish with Chasing Blue Fishing Experiences, Erik’s charter company.
Terry is a long-time friend of mine, with whom I have fished at many destinations around the world, and today he is Eric’s UK agent. I knew Terry had fished the area many times, mostly targeting the prolific runs of large bluefin tuna using spinning tackle.
On Terry’s advice, I left my fishing tackle at home and travelled with hand luggage only, which is both easier and cheaper. Aboard Chasing Blue, Erik has excellent tackle, including a full range of rods, reels and lures from Shimano and, of course, other brands sold through Jigabite.
Our arrival at L’Hospitalet de l’Infant coincided with perfect sea conditions, and as soon as our minimal luggage had been dropped off at the apartment we had rented, we set off on the two-minute walk to the marina, from where Erik took us fishing.
INSTANT ACTION
As we slipped out into open water, we were greeted with a picture postcard Mediterranean, a glassy calm of the deepest indigo blue, with just the slightest hint of an offshore swell.
Erik’s boat, a sleek Scarab 25 centre-console sport fisher, is perfect for the run ‘n’ gun style of fishing he practices, and I found myself smiling from ear to ear as he opened the throttles and let the matching pair of 200hp Suzuki outboards propel us out to sea.
Yet barely had I chance to allow the welcome cooling breeze induced by a highspeed sprint across open water to blow away the hassle-induced stupor of air travel, when Erik throttled back and cut the engines.
He handed each of us a light spinning rod, ready rigged with a small casting jig, and indicated that we should start casting at a floating patch of weed, one of several in the area that had clearly grouped together as a result of converging currents. Mahi mahi are well known for their association with floating debris, and especially weed lines, but this small and seemingly insignificant patch of vegetation would barely have drawn a second’s glance from crews in other areas where I have targeted these fish.
As instructed, I cast, and a few seconds later I hooked my first mahi of the trip. Likewise on the second, third, fourth and fifth cast, with Terry fishing alongside me mirroring my performance.
As soon as a lure splashed into the water, dozens of mahi appeared from beneath the various patches of weed and out of the inky blue depths, flashing electric green, burnished gold and neon blue as each fish aggressively raced each other to be first to grab a lure. It was such an amazing sight, so much so that eventually I had to force myself to put down my rod and pick up a camera.
As far as mahi mahi go, these were small fish, averaging barely a pound or two, but what sport on little more than a trout spinning rod and a Saragossa 4000 reel. We saw a few bigger fish, perhaps 6-8lb, but each time we cast towards these they were beaten to the lure by a smaller fish. Mahi of 10lb-plus are caught occasionally.
That first afternoon we fished for under three hours, during which time we estimated we landed in the region of at least 50 fish. After a while the mahi/dorado did become a little more cautious, but we found that allowing the lure to sink for a few seconds, then jigging it back with an erratic action,
invariably induced yet another solid strike. A switch to small poppers also provoked numerous exhilarating surface strikes.
Several baby bluefin tuna, were, like the mahi, outstanding sport on light tackle. If anything they pull even harder and added variety to that first magical session.
TUNA TIME
An intense thunderstorm ruined our plans for fishing on the second day, but the third dawned fine and clear, the previous day’s gusting winds having eased considerably. A little after sunrise we went fishing and I was pleased to see that, as promised, Erik had brought along an 8wt fly-rod. I couldn’t wait to cast a fly at the first marauding packs of mahi.
However, this day proved to be more about tuna rather than mahi. As we headed out to sea, it wasn’t long before we started spotting groups of seabirds feeding upon tight shoals of anchovies. Looking down into the clear blue water beneath the anchovies, we could see frequent flashes of silver and blue as fish crashed into the bait balls and snatched a fish.
Again, our lures almost immediately resulted in our first catches, which on this occasion proved to be little tunny (false albacore). The day’s top lure was a 42g Molix Jugulo in silver holo, which was hardly surprising because it was the perfect replica of the baitfish in both size and colour.
As we approached one ball of fish, Erik grabbed a long-handled net and deftly scooped out a full purse of wriggling anchovies. “Get ready with the fly-rod, Dave,” he advised, as he quietly repositioned the boat.
Stood at the bow, fly in hand, yards of line stripped from the reel in preparation to start casting, I watched as Erik started loose-feeding handfuls of anchovies. Almost immediately the surface erupted in boils of white water as the lightning-fast tuna snatched the free offerings.
“Okay, cast now!” he ordered; I cast out. Immediately when I started stripping back the fly, several tuna chased it, following the tiny morsel back almost to the rod tip, yet frustratingly refusing to take it.
The same happened on the next few casts. Then I remembered a similar situation I had found myself in several years ago while fishing for striped bass and bluefish off Cape Cod. On that occasion the guides had advised me to strip the fly as quickly as possible, by tucking the rod under my left arm, leaving both hands free to haul in the fly line – ‘milking the cow’ they called it, for reasons which should be obvious.
GRAND SLAM
I recast, and once again saw fish following the fly, only this time it wasn’t long before the line tightened. I firmly set the hook with a couple of hard tugs and watched in awe as all of the coils of slack line at my feet rapidly disappeared back out through the rod rings with an audible hiss, followed by the remainder of the line and several yards of backing. A strong and spirited fight resulted in a fly-caught little tunny.
During the next couple of hours, we caught plenty of fish, Terry spinning, while I cast a fly to successfully catch both little tunny and three or four baby bluefins.
“You only need to catch a bullet tuna now to complete a Mediterranean tuna grand slam,” Erik joked as we ate lunch. Guess what, less than half-an-hour later that is exactly what I caught – my first of the species!
The next day, our last, proved to be yet another prolific day using both light-tackle spinning and fly. Once again, we found weed lines holding good numbers of mahi mahi and tuna, only this time I was ready to cast a fly at these wonderfully acrobatic golden fish, which, when hooked, typically spend more time in the air than the water.
It was the perfect end to the perfect trip – three days’ fishing just a couple of hours from home. Needless to say, I’ll be returning at the earliest opportunity. ■