Day four into a week long boat fishing trip out from Gibraltar and the first half decent sized fish of the day is moray eel. I hate the slimy, horrible squirming things. But great photo opportunity I thought as it lay motionless half out of the landing net on the deck. The words 'Be careful with that thing' from Tony Triay were still ringing in my ears as I reached over into my camera box. As I did, my left hand, which I thought was well our of harms way, slipped down to around knee height. The moray had obviously clocked all of this. It spied its chance and like a cobra, it reared up from the deck mouth open wide and made a grab.
I've been bitten many times in the past by fish, and I'm sure I'm not alone in this. To some extent it goes with the territory I suppose. Where this incident differed from all the rest was in the deliberate calculating nature of the attack. If you put your fingers too close to teeth, fish will twist or make some other instinctive movement which, depending on the species, can make quite a mess. But it isn't actually looking to launch an attack. This one was and it left me with more that 30 assorted cuts and scratches, the worst of which exposed the white of the bone in one of the fingers.
Anchored up right around the far side of the rock, we couldn't have been further away from port, so makeshift bandages were applied. The problem was that they had to be put on so tightly to stop the bleeding that my finger ends were purple and throbbing. Fortunately for us there had been a minor cross border shooting incident from the Spanish that week resulting in an extra police presence including a police launch nearby, so we radioed him over. They in turn radioed ahead for an ambulance on the tiny piece of beach butted up to the border then took me in. The only problem was that they couldn't get the boat right in, and I can't swim. In the end one of the policemen swan me ashore 'rescue' fashion holding my chin, then jokingly told puzzled onlookers that I was a Spanish drug smuggler they had just apprehended.
Freezing cold and shivering wet, the ambulance dropped me at the local hospital where some geordie nurses hang luggage labels around your neck describing your symptoms. Mine read 'attacked by ferocious fish' which seemed to amuse them greatly. I even smiled myself. But I soon had wiped that from my face when the doctor injected me between all my fingers before he could start stitching. Then came a course of anti-biotics which meant no booze. Some holiday this was turning out to be, made all the more painful by the fact that unless I used a fixed spool reel which was out of the question, I could no longer fish because I couldn't use my left hand to hold the rod.
Each day on our way along the floating pontoons at the harbour to board the boat we had watched shoals of huge mullet browsing and gazing around and beneath the moored boats. Not just normal mullet mind you. Compared to the ones you see in the UK, these were mini submarines. They were literally massive. Fish of six and seven pounds apiece were everywhere. Earlier, Tony had suggested we fish for them at the end of one of our boat trips just as it was getting dark when they appear to go off their guard. So one afternoon we took along a loaf of bread, and on the way in, tackled up our carp rods to give them a go.
Our tactics could not have been more simple. I spooled up with 8 pounds bs mono tied to a small bubble float partly filled with water with a two foot trace tied to one end of it, and a size 10 'Penetrator One' carp hook on the other. Fortunately, the marina is well lit after dark, so bite detection was never going to be a problem. Slices of fresh white bread were then torn up into small pieces, dipped in the water to soak them through, and scattered all over the surface a few yards out in front of us. This brought about an almost instantaneous response. Within minutes, the waters surface was a mass of bulges, splashes and slurps. Not unlike a a summer trout water at dusk, when every fish in the place seemingly gets hunger pangs at the same time.
A small piece of bread was squeezed onto the hook, leaving sufficient flake to give it buoyancy, and the rig was flicked out onto the water in amongst the swirling mass. With all that activity and the cover of darkness, it was impossible to see if your piece of bread had become detached. Takes on the other hand were obvious with the float. But if you didn't get one within a minute or so, it was best to presume that the bait had gone and send out another one. Mullet are spectacularly hard fighting fish when not over gunned with heavy tackle, and great fun at the best of times. But this night fishing was really something else, and they were feeding like there was no tomorrow.
The marina also attracts good numbers of bass, the bigger ones of which come in to pick up an easy living on the scores of tiny bream hanging around the pontoon support legs. Fish well into double figures are not uncommon. And mixed in amongst them is a second bass species which we don't see at out latitudes known as the speckled bass Dicentrachus punctatus. From an angling point of view, the main differences are that the speckled bass only grows to about half the size of out bass Dicentrarchus labrax, and that it is covered in small black spots reminiscent of a wild brown trout. They also have the peculiar habit of being willing to accept bread aimed at the mullet as I was find out on a couple of occasions later in the daylight hours. I really fancied a crack with the live baits, so Tony had his son Jamie catch and leave some in a container tied to the moorings for the next evening. Nothing big took them, but I did have some very aggressive takes and long searing runs from fish of maybe a couple of pounds .
Anyway, back to bites of another sort – the moray eel. The following day after my attack I tried boat fishing but really struggled. I even gave the night fishing for the bass and mullet a miss. And the following morning the problem had got even worse. So I decided to bale out on the boat fishing altogether. The others went leaving me ashore on my own. But I didn't sit around mopsing in the hotel. And as I couldn't drown my sorrows in a bar, I decided to mosey on down to the harbour, picking up a fresh load on the way. And there I sat all day with a my cans of coke and sandwiches, and what an absolutely fabulous day I had.
As I got there, one of the locals fishing from his own little dinghy moored up to the pontoon was doing battle with a decent mullet, and was certainly not getting it all his own way. Minutes after netting it he was in to another. I meanwhile carried on fishing close by between the boats from the walkway. Eventually, he invited me to join him on the back of the boat which I did. We even took the boat out for an hour fruitlessly trolling small lures in the hope of a speckled bass. Perhaps it was just too damn hot. So it was back to the moorings and another dose of big mullet action. Then, when he went leaving me to carry on, with my very next cast I picked up a speckled bass on the bread.
Spurred on by the success I was having, and managing to crank the reel with my injured hand, I fished on until the edge of dark when the others got back in from offshore. What an eye opening of a day it turned out to be. And what a fabulous days fishing, made all the sweeter by the subsequent knowledge that the day out deep had been a poor one in lumpy conditions. In fact, they were envious of me and were talking of taking a day off themselves. So I hadn't missed a thing. I am however confident that the daylight and the water clarity played its part by allowing me to observe the mullets feeding habits in great detail; something I had not been able to do during the after dark sessions.
The larger fish very obviously preferred to spend the bulk of their day under the boats, often swimming upside down grazing weed from the bottoms of the hulls. But when any small fish activity kicked off, such as when bread was thrown for any extended period of time, the bigger fish would then be brawn out into the open unable to resist taking a look. Suddenly, the little splashes would turn into huge eruptions and boils. The beauty of this was that with so many fish in the water all fighting for the same resource, the bigger fish were not given enough to be cautious. Along with the many small to average fish, I hooked a couple of real submarines and was grateful for the 8 pounds line I had loaded up with as I struggled to steer them in with so many potential snags.
Had it not been for the moray eel I would not have fished a full daytime session on the mullet, and some good fish, including a couple of personal bests, would most certainly have been missed. Despite being a boat angler, I absolutely loved it and feel sure that many UK anglers would find it equally exciting, either by purposely visiting the rock, or day tripping from one of the nearby Spanish holiday resorts. The wife would probably love it too as in many ways its just like the UK, but without the extortionate prices and taxes. In some ways it reminded me of St. Peterport at Guernsey, which also fishes well for mullet. But this place definitely fishes better. Besides which, there are two breakwaters linked to the rock called the north and the south moles which look out onto some deep lying heavy ground. There is also a third breakwater between the previously mentioned two known as the detached mole with no land connection. It is possible to get yourself taxied out by boat it. This particular marks holds many European line class records.
Bottom fishing from the moles, harbour rocks, and even the harbour itself is mainly for rough ground species. There are reputedly some very big conger close in to shore and inside the harbour. But predominantly, the fishing is for a very wide range of bream species, some of which grow so big that they take whole mackerel live baits and can't be stopped as they power back into their lairs as Dave Devine discovered. A flowing trace is recommended locally from the moles for couches bream, white bream and gilthead. Good bass can also be taken on lures and small live baits kept in perforated bait container on a rope. Tony Triay once weighed one in at 18 pounds taken on a small live octopus. All of this said, there are restrictions on the moles in those areas used by the MoD, as well as restrictions on some beaches used for sun bathing. The alternative then is the harbour or rocks around the marina and the airport for bronze bream, white bream and bass including the speckled variety which run to around seven pounds, though three pounds would be nearer the norm. Early mornings and evenings tend to fish best.
FOOTNOTE: The moray eel was put back unharmed.
