Several days a week before school my alarm would go off in the dark and I would sleepily descend the dangerously steep hill into the village, make my way along the beach at Corner Bay and then, with the aid of a headlamp, clamber through the jungle to a rocky perch on the south side of our bay.
For the first few weeks, the fishing from the rocks was terrific. As soon as it got just light enough to see where my lure landed in the water, the bite would began with a vengeance and I would hook fish after fish for about half an hour until the morning sun finally crested the mountains. Then everything would go quiet and I would make the trek back, careful to avoid the wasps nests hanging low from overhanging rocks and the stinging nettles poking up from the undergrowth. Just past a small clearing I would check the palms for coconuts, and help myself to one or two if they looked ready. Back on the beach I would start to greet the early risers in the village. Farmers heading out to the bush, people tending to their pigs or goats, women starting their wash at the public spigot. Finally, I would work up a good sweat climbing back up the hill to the house, just in time to make breakfast.
In the low light of dawn I managed to fool a couple of bigger bar jacks into biting. Subsequent encounters with these fish during brighter hours indicated that they have excellent eyesight, as they will chase lures a good distance but turn away at the last instant without biting. Another fish with a reputation for sharp eyes is the snapper, but one morning, just as I began fishing, still in the dark, I landed a beautiful specimen that attacked my large swim-bait. The reef in front of the rocks is fairly shallow, though there are deep drop offs nearby, so I was surprised to hook a frigate mackerel one morning.
Another day I was slightly less surprised, but very delighted, to land a nice rainbow runner. Called a “salmon” locally, they are a fairly unique species, more similar to a yellowfin (hamachi to sushi lovers) than to the “popular” jacks like the giant trevally. Juveniles like the one I caught prowl nearshore reefs in small packs, and we had seen them several times while snorkeling in the bay. The adults can grow very large and are primarily pelagic.
After a few weeks, however, the good fishing just ended. In fact, the only two noteworthy fish I caught all winter were not from the rocks, but from the beach. It became a rather frustrating exercise to make the early morning trip over and over with absolutely no bites. I tried fishing in the evening instead, but that also proved to be fairly fruitless. In Hawaii there was a definite fishing lull during the winter so I suspected something similar might be at work, but published information about fishing where we were was basically non-existent, so there was no way to be sure.
The Fishing Dojo 