Tahiti’s cowboys of the ocean
When writing about Tahiti, there is something that compels most scribes to start their pieces with romantic passages from authors like Robert Louis Stevenson, Melville, Gauguin or Michener. If it is a fishing article, quotes from Zane Gray appear ad nauseam.
While pondering the lede for this column, my mind kept returning to this passage, “If one did not have experience in Tahiti, one might wonder why this is all so bloody hard, but when one has experience in Tahiti one knows that’s just how things are in Tahiti.”
That is not a quote from a famous author. It is actually a text message I sent to a friend in Tahiti this morning. My amigo has been helping me round up photos for the column you are reading now, which is (eventually) about the giant marlin caught from the small boat fleet in French Polynesia. We will get to those fish, but first some background and perspective.
I wrote that text because local fishermen sent us photos of marlin that were said to be 1,000 pounds or more – exactly what we were looking for. However, some of the photos were not suitable for publishing. When we asked for better photos they sent us better photos alright, but of different, smaller fish. Auwe.
Yes, Tahiti can be romantic as depicted in classic novels. However, if making progress on seemingly simple endeavors is something you are tasked with, it’s best not to be confined by something as silly as a deadline.
“Time means nothing here, so things can take forever.” Nope, that is not taken from “Typee” or “Noa Noa” or even “Tales of the South Pacific.” That’s me again, facing the facts of life down there and remembering to employ the only known remedy for frustration (and the heat) – sitting in the lagoon.
While sitting in the lagoon, you will marvel at air so clear that froth atop waves curling on the reef can be seen in minute detail, from a mile away. Turn toward shore and you may note the patience of two dogs standing in the shade of an overhanging ironwood tree. Chest deep in the water, they wait for a school of mullet to swim close enough to trigger a pounce. Splashing, they chase the fish into the shallows with the hope one jumps on to the beach and becomes a snack. Afterwards, the dogs return to the shade and wait again. This goes on, day after day, all day.
Sitting in the lagoon is not just a remedy for frustration or heat. To sink up to your neck and take in everything around you is to immerse all of your senses in cool water, which then combines them all into one sense – perspective. With perspective, you’re armed and ready to take on whatever people come up with, the understanding of which usually only requires looking at things they way they do.
Take the Tahitian small boat fishing fleet as example. This fleet is primarily comprised of one type of boat, the “poti marara.” To an American, this seems weird – until you see it their way.
Poti is the Tahitian word for “boat” and marara is the word for “flying fish.” Up until the late 1950’s Tahitians caught flying fish from canoes at night, using flaming torches and hand nets.
After the introduction of outboard runabouts, locals started building similar boats making certain changes for fishing in the lagoon. They replaced torches with electric lights attached to helmets. Originally, marara fishing required a helmsman aft and a net man in the bow. In the 60s, one enterprising fisherman built a helm station forward, with a joystick for a tiller next to the engine controls so the boat could be operated with one hand, freeing up the other to swing the net.
Another enterprising fisherman changed the hull shape to handle the seas outside in the ocean. The quarry changed from marara to mahimahi. The net was replaced with a harpoon. Larger outboards were employed, giving the boats more speed and maneuverability.
Someone figured out that these quick, agile craft could be used to chase mahi around the ocean, similar to how a cowboy cuts calves on a quarter horse. It was discovered, somehow, that tired mahi do not go deep but will lay on their side and swim slower to catch their breath. (Who knew?) This can give the harpoon man an easy target, but only for a moment. Timing is important!
I have neither seen nor heard of this type of fishing in any other part of the world, and it is great fun. Chasing a mahi all over the ocean opens up a whole new realm of fishing. It doesn’t hurt that fuel is subsidized for fishermen. Otherwise racing across the sea like a cowboy jumping waves and cutting mahi from the herd could be cost prohibitive.
For fishing outside, a rod holder was added, installed next to the forward helm station. This again allowed the owner to fish by himself with all the tools right at his fingertips.
Most of the fishing in the open ocean is done by chasing “bird piles” for tuna, or spotting high flying iwa birds circling small groups of white and black terns, which indicate mahimahi or ono. Often the boat will first make passes at trolling speed, with a lure out the back.
If they can get a harpoon shot without stopping to bring in the lure, they will take it. This causes the lure to run a variety of speeds and depths and it’s how some of the monster marlin in Tahiti are hooked. More often though, the lure goes in the boat when mahi are around as the chase gets serious.
Next episode, we will talk about some of the monster marlin these guys catch, how they were caught and why some of them have factual weights, while many don’t.
If you are frustrated that those fish stories weren’t included this week, maybe try sitting in the lagoon. Remember South Pacific Perspective. Time means nothing, so things can take forever.
While you wait, watch a video about harpooning mahimahi around Tubuai island here:
