KAYAK FISHING: Big fish, small boat

by Steven Heusser

The steady rhythm of my paddle, dipping in and out of the glass-smooth water of early morning, had hypnotized me once again. My mind drifted to kayak trips both past and future. To my left was the open Pacific, to my right the rugged coastline of Hawaii’s Big Island. Like a giant tapestry it’s beauty stretched From sky to ocean. From tropical coastline to frozen mountain tops. The sudden scream of my spinning reel brought my mind back to the mission at hand. The boat snapped around 180 degrees , the rod doubled over in it’s holder. Water spilled over the port side and across my legs from the sudden change in direction. I wrenched the rod from it’s resting place, grabbed the spool, and set the hook. I was rewarded with a second drag burning run. With the hook well planted , I began to tighten the drag as line continued to melt from the reel. The drag slowly ceased it’s whine of protest and my boat began to pick up speed. The fish turned into the wind. With the full weight of my boat behind him , he finally decided to surface and show himself. Maybe he thought the sight of his 7 ft frame would make me cut him loose. A Sailfish, tail walking in front of my Kayak, only caused me to cut loose a “rebel yell” of excitement. That morning had started like a hundred others before it. I had slapped the alarm clock at 4:30 am, jumped in the already loaded truck and drove down the mountain to my launch point. The weather man had been true to his word and the water conditions could not have been better. It was a beautiful January day, a light trade breeze rustled the palm trees over head as my wife and I slid our boats across the warm sands of Ho’okena beach. As we paddled out of the bay, the sun finally broke over the top of the dormant volcano of Mauna Loa, it’s 13,000 ft. snow-capped peak was awash with sunrise colors. I baited up with one of my standard Mahi Mahi fishing rigs and set the line out 100 ft. behind me. At that moment I was just happy to be on the water. I had no Idea of what was to come. I had previously hooked and landed many large Mahi Mahi, Ono and Trevally from my Kayak. I began Kayak fishing in the early 90’s , in the estuaries of North Carolina. I targeted flounder, Speckled trout and Redfish. Before the Kayak bug hit me, I owned a 20 ft. center console, fully rigged with electronics and a live well. I spent many days landing King Mackerel and Cobia off the coast of Panama City Florida. Those were great days , but after awhile the challenge was gone. Once the fish was hooked it was only a matter of time before it came along side the boat , spent and ready for the ice chest. I grew up in the Adironack Mountains of New York, I fished for small mouth Bass and Northern Pike from the family canoe. Fishing was simpler back then, no gas or oil to buy, no noisy motor to listen to and no waiting in line at the boat ramp.  So, when I moved to N.C. I decided to regress, and try to get a more one-on-one experience from my fishing. My first kayak catch was an 8 lb. Redfish. He towed me around the flats for 5 minutes, up current, down current and around in circles. The fish was smaller then some of the shark baits I had used in Florida from my power boat, but it felt more rewarding then any fish I had landed in years. I was hooked, Fishing from a Kayak was my new hobby and I dove in head first. I have landed Salmon in Alaska, big Pike in New England ,and now, a Sailfish off the coast of Hawaii’s Big Island. All those previous catches had just been practice for this moment, being hooked up with a fish that was longer then me.  My favorite fishing partner (and wife) Cindy, was several hundred meters away when the Sailfish had struck. She was busy releasing a small Bluefin Trevally . Her excited voice came over the marine band radio that was strapped to my chest, “ Hang on Baby.. I’m right behind you”. The fish had stopped it’s frenzied attempts to throw the hook and was now dragging me straight out to sea. It was time to get some line back on the reel. I began slowly hauling back on the rod, dropping the tip and quickly winding in as much line as I could.  I was getting closer to him, But I wasn’t pulling him toward me, I was pulling the kayak toward him. Every time I leaned back on the rod, I could feel the boat surge forward, sliding smoothly over the water. Within a few minutes I could see what had caught me.  The image of a 7 ft. Sailfish, swimming just off my port bow, with the deep blue Hawaiian water under him, is the most unforgettable of all my fishing memories. Cindy was having trouble catching up to us. This fish was pulling me almost faster then she could paddle, and the only thing keeping me connected to the fish was a thin web of 30 lb monofilament, I couldn’t put much pressure on him. The fish and I remained in this stalemate for the next 10 minutes. The fish swimming steadily out to sea, dragging me along behind like a living buoy . At this point, all I could do was hang on and wait for him to tire out. In an effort to speed up the process, I threw a leg over the side of the kayak, digging my heel in to the water . He wasn’t pleased with the sudden added friction and made another tail-walking head-shaking run , only 15 ft in front of me. After which ,he made a 180 degree turn back toward shore. 10 more minutes went by. My right arm was beginning to burn from gripping the fishing rod, but he was also tiring. He was right along side me now, his tail cutting the surface with each broad stroke. Cindy had finally caught up to us, and She had already taken a few still photos of the fight. She had the camera out and ready for when I finally released this fish. I had no desire to kill this beast, but I did want some proof of the catch. He made one last surge and stripped another 30 ft of line off the spool. But when He finally stopped , he rolled over on his side and began to flounder.  Even in this exhausted state his tail never stopped . As I reached down and grasped the front of his sail, and tried to lift him for the camera as best I could, that powerful tail continued to carry us along. At this point I wasn’t sure if this qualified as a catch or a ride, and getting photographic proof of this encounter was proving to be difficult.  Every time Cindy stopped paddling and lifted the camera up to get a picture, the fish would carry me away from her. She was able to snap off several shots before I finally cut the leader. As I watched the long sweeping strokes of his tail vanish in to the deep blue, I can remember how much I Wanted to share the Image of that fish, slowly disappearing , with my family and fishing buddies. Having an animal that size right next to you, and feeling the power it has, was something I wanted to share with others. So, one month later I launched off the beach with a mini-camera and microphone securely strapped to my head. Now, every thing I saw would be recorded as I was seeing it. Since then Cindy has caught 2 other sailfish, and I was able to get them both on video. We have been fishing together for over 15 years, and fishing from the kayak is the most fun we’ve ever had with a fishing pole. Once you’ve had a fish drag you around faster then you can paddle, you just can’t wait to do it again. The tranquil sometimes Zen sport of open ocean kayaking, combined with the excitement of big game fishing, is a recipe for some unforgettable days on the water.  Since that first sailfish, Cindy and I have caught many Mahi Mahi , Wahoo, gray snapper and even a 86 pound Giant Trevally, but that’s a whole other story.