Lands with no continental shelf such as El Hierro in the Canaries, species of fish are sometimes present within angling range feeding at levels within the water column that UK anglers are not used to fishing. In home waters, most of our fishing takes place either at or close to the bottom at depths down to maybe 300 feet. But as has already been demonstrated with the deep water bottom hugging six gilled sharks, Miguel Gamito is happy to look beyond the traditional approach. Life in very deep water however has more of a three dimensional aspect to it. Scientists know more about 'outer space' than the area of the earth's oceans beyond the continental shelf down to the ocean floor which they refer to 'inner space' where depths average around 4,000 metres. Sunlight starts to loose its penetration at around 100 metres beyond which photosynthesis cannot take place. This is the chemical process by which planktonic plants use sunlight to produce energy. These are then consumed by planktonic animals which in turn attract small fish, then larger fish, and ultimately the predators we as anglers like to catch. That is how the oceanic food chain works.

Immediately below the area of light penetration is a twilight zone, and eventually a vast space that is totally devoid of any light whatsoever. Usually such areas lie so far away from land as to have absolutely no bearing on angling thinking. El Hierro offers an almost unique opportunity to drop a baited hook into this intriguing environment, which in terms of global surface area is around twice as great as all our continental land masses added together. But life in the very deepest corners of the ocean is sparse in what is a particularly dark, cold and inhospitable environment. Further up the slope such as around El Hierro much more is going on. And as any successful predator will know, it is always easier to find a meal when the larder is well stocked. Some fish have even adapted their life styles to raid larders overlooked by the vast majority of other fish such as by moving up off the bottom to feed mid water. Swordfish are a good example of this. Less well known, though like El Hierro's six gilled sharks enjoying a widespread distribution throughout all temperate and tropical seas, is a group of deep water upper level feeders known as the snake mackerels.

Late in the day when the sun begins to dip low in the sky, phytoplankton (microscopic plants) rise ever closer to the surface in an attempt to grab every last ray of light before it disappears completely over night. The knock on effect of this is that the remainder of the food chain driven by the distribution of the phytoplankton moves up in the water column to follow it. Some of the larger predators such European hake have adapted their life style to nocturnal feeding high up in the water column to take advantage of this. So too have the snake mackerels, in particular the escolar and the oil fish. Both are of similar appearance which is not unlike a dark brown, almost black tuna with huge eyes that glow in the light, a good mouthful of sharp peg like teeth, finlets top and bottom close to the tail, and a keel either side of the tail stalk. Oil fish also have very sharp scales which can sever nylon. Both are noted for their hard fighting capabilities, and both feed all year round within a short distance of the shore all around El Hierro, particularly the escolar which Miguel catches on a regular basis.

We boarded the boat in La Restinga harbour at around 7 in the evening. That would give us enough time to motor down to the permanently anchored shark buoy in day light. At the buoy we would set the escolar gear up and possibly grab a short spell light tackle fishing for dorado which like to congregate under the floats. That way the darkness could set in around us and we would become progressively acclimatised to it. The dorado were about in good numbers. Then as the sun started its decent behind the horizon, Miguel began to motor out to the 1000 metre mark for our first drift. Driven by the phytoplankton migration, the food chain moves up slowly through the water layers throughout the night, getting as close as it is going to get in the hours leading up to day break. Second guessing the whereabouts of fish in this three dimensional world is a precise skill in itself, though some guidance can be had by picking up mid water 'strikes' on the echo sounder. In the fading light aided by a Ryobi line depth counter, Miguel had us set the first drop of the baits at around 200 metres which is the base of phytoplankton driven element of the food chain. Whole mackerel flappers on 10/0 hooks to short wire traces with light sticks fished from a stout wire boom are his tried and tested approach. Then as with the six gills earlier in the day, it was time to sit back and wait.

With no light pollution from any buildings to spoil the view, the sky lit up with a huge mass of stars and meteorites. Only the regular flashing from a nearby lighthouse hinted at any other human life. The feeling of total isolation floating along in a dream was made all the more real by the mast lights shining down into the well of the boat and the surrounding water, and pitch darkness everywhere else. It was an eerie experience seeing the green lights of tiny fish darting around at the surface pursued by squids. Like pulsating red torpedo's, squid can move remarkably fast reaching out at the last moment to grab their prey with their sucker laden tentacles. Miguel suggested we catch a few for live baits, which we did on light spinning outfits with special jigs tied to the end tweaked along the waters surface. For a mollusc, squid can certainly put up a good fight. We gave up when we had a half dozen or so in the live bait well. Meanwhile, Miguel was putting one out on the 130 pound class gear 10 metres down under a balloon with a submersible green light attached to it. "We catch Swordfish" he announced. That's fine by me I thought. Swordfish are extremely difficult fish to tempt and are noted for their powers of escape, so we thought no more of it as we waited patiently for the escolar.

The first escolar came quite early to Dave's rod. A small specimen of around 15 pounds, but at least we had opened our account. There is no messing about with these fish. When they find food they simply eat it and take off, and as predicted, they fight well into the bargain. With all the baits then in the boat, it was time to have a re-think about estimated feeding depth. Miguel had been keeping an eye on the echo sounder for mid water marks and was starting to notice things around 150 metres down. We set one bait at that depth and the other slightly shallower. With the squids still darting about all over the place, we amused ourselves for half an hour or so with the light jigging rods. Then suddenly, like an alarm clock shocking you back to life at some un-Godly hour of the morning, the ratchet on the 130 pound outfit sounded out. Line was disappearing at a great rate of knots. We checked our watches to see whose hour it was on the big rod, and Dave slipped the shoulder harness on ready for business. With line still pouring from the spool, the lever was pushed up to the strike position and the fish was on. Miguel was certain it was a swordfish. Whatever it was, it had both power and speed. Then it turned and ran at the boat. By the time Dave caught up with line again it was gone. The swordfishes reputation for being extremely difficult to catch remained in tact.

Miguel put another live squid onto the hook and attached another balloon. The escolar baits were again sent down, this time if my memory serves me right to around 120 metres and maybe 80 metres. They had hardly had time to settle when one of them was eaten. After quite a tussle with line repeatedly going on then off the spool, what turned out to be the best Escolar of the session was on the surface, its huge golden eye glowing under the mast lights making it an easy target for the gaff. This one pulled the needle on the scales down to 55 pounds. Escolar have a tendency to go berserk when they hit the deck, and they have the teeth to make this a worrying prospect. Miguel was quickly on hand with a large wooden 'attitude adjuster' which appeared to have the desired effect. Escolar also have an unusually soft head, particularly around the gill cover which is not unlike wet cardboard. The beating around the head however, while it had quietened the fish down, had not seen it off altogether. During weighing it suddenly flipped tearing its gill cover from the hook of the scales before sliding with its mouth wide open down the lower part of Dave's leg. What a job we had stopping the blood. Bandages and antiseptic liquid eventually stemmed the bleeding, otherwise we would have had to head back to shore trimming the final, and potentially best few hours off the end of the trip.

That episode of onboard excitement behind us, it was time we set the baits much closer to the surface, and again run out the swordfish bait. My watch said it was 3 am which meant that the escolar would probably be as high up in the water column as they were going to get. And this proved to the case as our final specimen was hooked up, this time on the live squid swordfish bait around 10 metres down. We gave it a further half hour or so. But that unfortunately was it for the night. We did however have plenty of time to chat, particularly about fishing for swordfish, and Miguel's desire to try some new downrigger trolling techniques perfected in New Zealand involving soft rubber lures. We also chatted about escolar and oil fish. The biggest escolar caught aboard "Dona Pi" had weighed in at 154 pounds, and there is a mark out around the lighthouse where both big escolar and oil fish could be caught when conditions were right. The problem was that so few visitors want either to experiment or try the night trips. Perhaps now Miguel will see more customers wanting to try that little something different.