It had been a few days now, and the writing was on the wall. I was sick to death of being dunked in 3ft shorebreak trying to spot fish. The green water was coming. Seven guys throwing plugs from morning to night hadnt raised a single GT. Moral was low. Very low.
I’d lost over 20 parrots by now. On everything up to a SL12S 2/0. Things had gotten a bit crazy, and while looking for decent submerged terrain for landing these parrots (with my mask on I should ad), I noticed something. A cleaning station. With something big lying stationary on the floor, with big perctorals. It was a GT. Im embarrassed about what happened next, but I caught myself trying to foul it before I snapped out of it.
It was exactly what I needed. Visual confirmation that they are in fact here. Id walked many many kilometers now, beaches, pinnacles, points, bays, you name it. This fish was worth 20 litres of sweat. My formula was to first sit and watch for 15 minutes, then I would blind cast for a few minutes, then sit and watch. If nothing then i’d move.
What made me pick that exact rock I dont know, but almost instantly a massive GT came swimming right up to me to have a look. It took a quick recalibration, this fish was well over 1.4m. She came right up, looked me in the eye and then calmly swam on. I tried in vain to get to my 12, but no joy. Then another fish, just as big, then another.
For some reason they vanished with the high tide, so back to the parrot hunt it was. In my maldives lodge hunting GT attire (board shorts, mask and rod), I would hook a fish and jump after it. Usually I would never consider it for sharky reasons, but id been convinced that the man in the grey suit had long left oman, finless, on the back of trucks. You can guess what happened next. I hooked up and ran and jumped off the rocks. The bubbles hadnt even cleared when I spotted a big big shape coming straight up. A good 9 feet worth of lemon was undecided as to what would make the better meal. Lukily the parrot bit me off as usual, and I high-tailed back up the sharp rocks, cutting myself nicely as I went.
As the tide started dropping I spotted a smaller GT, closer to 1.2m, convinced this one was mine. I lead the fish a fantastic margin, and on spotting the fly it accelerated. Heart in stomach I watched it swim right up and then get the fright of its life, vanishing off the flat quicker than a spooked turtle. By the time the ride back appeared I’d presented to 13 fish, and expected the pluggers to have had an equally eventuful day.
The angler that flopped over the gunnel that day must have been an almost unbelievable sight, because again they hadn’t seen a single fish all day. “I found the GT highway!”
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