Fishing Fishing Island

Fishing the FISHING ISLAND
Hawaii Fishing News - Summer 1990
by Brad Deffenbaugh

          Robert Congdon’s miniature feet hit the deck of the Fishing Island less than 10 minutes before the 6-year-old was yelling, “Hookup! Hookup!” from the bow as his 9 foot spinning rig bent over and the Penn 850SS emitted a metallic scream.
         Capt. Ray Nibert immediately shifted gears. One second we were discussing a 100 foot luxury Fishing Island complete with restaurants, sun decks, business offices and floating mahimahi hatchery, and the next second he was feverishly hunting a net to assist young Robert. Fish always come first on the island.
          Robert’s aku was thrashing the surface. Capt. Ray swung the net over just as the fish dove. Robert scowled at Capt. Ray as the fish bore deep.
          “Looks like you’ll have to fight him now,” chuckled Ray.
          Robert grimaced and applied all the pressure in his 3-foot frame to stopping the fish and bringing it up. Several strained groans later, the fish was boated and Robert busied himself retying his green PILI. He held the knot up for my inspection.
          “Looks good. Go get another one,” I urged as I tossed Krocodiles, Rapalas, Buzz-Bombs, weights, hooks, potions and pliers aside as I dug for a PILI of my own.
          HFN readers will recall Rick Gaffney’s article in February 1990 that documented the trials and tribulations of Capt. Ray Nibert and his partners in dropping a mooring in 1,000 fathoms off Kaiwi Point. Ricks article was followed by reports of fantastic thresher shark, mahimahi, aku and even marlin and tuna fishing from the Fishing Island. All that fishing action was too much for me; I arranged an overnight stay.
          By the time I emerged from the galley with my 8-foot pole and Shimano TSS-3 at the ready, the aku had sounded. After a few minutes of burning the tops off the waves per Capt. Ray’s instructions, I slid my rod in a holder and continued my tour of the Island.
         My wife Lisa, and daughters Keahi and Loki were sprawled on the lounge chairs and air mattresses on the upper deck. They’d ferried out with us on the SUMMERTIME II for a couple of hours of exploring the island and checking out all the fuss I’d been making about the fishing there. They made a quick inspection of the craft and decided the upper deck was the perfect perch for covering the action on the main deck. After Robert’s fight with his feisty aku, my girls were alert to his battle cry as he continued to fish from the bow.
         “The fishing’s been slow the last couple days,” Ray said. “For about three weeks the fish will be consistent in their feeding and their schooling patterns, and then for no apparent reason they change. You don’t know when or if they’ll bite, and they don’t come right up next to the boat anymore.”
          Ray peered over the rail and stared into the blue depths at the fluorescent shine of the fish far below.
          I checked the stern. At each corner in a rod holder a 130 lb class outfit was rigged with a heavyweight, 25 foot leader and an 8/0 hook. A Sanyo electronic fish finder in the workroom marked several schools of aku moving below the boat. A nice pile of aku and a 35 lb mahimahi covered the bottom of the fishbox. A cargo net attached by a high overhead rope kept the island from banging her buoy and added attraction to passing fish. A good feeling of anticipation settled on me as the sun edged toward the horizon and the SUMMERTIME II left for land with Lisa and the girls. Only Robert, Capt. Ray and I would be spending the night.
          “Keep your lure jumping out of the water,” Ray coached while I fished. “I think the aku mistake the PILIs for escaping malolo, and a fast retrieve is the one that really works.”
          With the arrival of darkness, we traded our PILIs for diamond jigs and young Robert bedded down in the main cabin.
          “How about Krocodiles?” I asked Ray. “I brought a bunch of them.”
          “You can try them,” he replied, “but we haven’t had much luck with them. Diamonds jigs work the best out here. Just tie it on, drop it into the school and crank it up fast. Usually Jesse waits until the fish finder goes black with fish under and around the boat before he starts jigging. Last night that was around 2 a.m.
          “Like I said before, this is that strange time of month. Usually, they come right up to the boat and you can see them in the lights. For the last couple days they’ve been staying deep.
          “There’re a couple of schools under us now, but they’re not piled up yet,” he reported after a glance at the fish finder.
         Jigging proved to be great exercise that evening, but futile. Ray and I dropped our lures until the line emptied from the reels, then we ripped them back to the surface using a pump and reel like crazy technique that turned my arms to lead. On my first retrieve, three squid followed my lure up. That was good news according to Ray. When squid were around, so were mahimahi. The aku weren’t impressed, however. I checked the depth finder often to make sure the fish were still there.
          “Yep, they’re down there,” Ray verified without even looking. Then, deciding I’d find a lesson in fish finder reading interesting, Ray elaborated on the mysterious dots and flashes. “This black pile here is aku. Way down here are the bigeye, I think. Here are a couple of big fish.”
          Ray returned to the rail and dropped a jig. “Can’t catch fish with your lure in the boat,” he stated. “That’s the biggest limiting factor. Our fishermen get tired and quit just before the fish start biting. You gotta keep trying if you’re gonna catch fish.” I got the message and dropped my own jig despite my aching arms.
          The wind that had been stirring a light chop before sundown had subsided, and the catamaran rolled comfortably. The inky blackness beyond the lights of the island was brightened by the sprinkling of lights from the stars and distant Kailua Kona Town. Triggerfish played tag alongside, and far below came the soft blue shine of the aku. The steady rumble of the generator was the only sound. I relaxed and really started to enjoy the evening.

Shootout at "OK Island"

    See any big sharks out here Ray?" I asked.
    There've been a couple," he replied. "Glen Hodson's HUSTLER hooked the largest mako ever caught on hook and line right next to us. That was earlier this spring, and the shark weighed over 1,200 lbs.
    "After that, we saw another big one, a great white," he continued.
    "Actually, I heard it first. We had the Summertime and a nice thresher shark we'd caught the night before tied along side. I heard or felt something bump the island, but thought it was the SUMMERTIME. Then, I heard it a second time so I went back to check."
    "The first thing I saw was the shark's head just below the bow of the SUMMERTIME. It's tail was still at the back of the boat.
    "The thresher we tied up to the island was mostly gone. The great white had eaten that 200-lb shark in two bites. He was huge."
    I shivered involuntarily and moved a little farther back from the rail as my diamond jig fell into the depths.
    One of the big Penn reels sounded at 11:10pm. "Hookup!" Ray yelled. "Brad, we got a big one!"
    I nervously joined Ray at the transom and started cranking as Ray helped me settle in to the fight.
    The boat lights were above and behind me, so my shadow fell over the reel making it hard to tell just what was happening.
    "When he stops running, crank him," Ray coached. "Here, put your hand on the line so you can feel when he stops. If he gets stubborn, haul line in with one hand and crank with the other. That's it.
    "Try to keep him off the mooring cable," Ray said over his shoulder as he vanished into the workroom to ready the bang stick and gaffs.
    The fish made several short, strong runs, but appeared to taken the bait deep. Once I captured the rythym of reeling when the fish stopped it's runs, I made good progress. Line piled back on the big Penn almost as fast as the fish peeled it off. Ray stepped over to check my progress.
    "He's coming up fast," Ray said. "Looks like an ahi by the way the rod is pumping. Good work!"
    The fish got it's head down a couple times and made some good runs. Twice, I fought it back from the mooring. The Penn was getting full, so I leaned over the rail. The shimmering white form of a big shark swam out from beneath the island.
    "Shark!" I squeaked. Then, in a more manly voice, I announced, "Capt, we've got a shark."
    "What? You sure?"
    "Yep, It's a thresher," I stated, noting the long characteristic tail. Ray came to the rail and glanced at the fish.
    "He'll go about 300 lbs. The bang stick's not cooperating," He said and disappeared into the island's work area again.
    The weight and leader came up as Ray arrived at my side with a cased 30-30 rifle. Ray grabbed the leader and then passed it to me.      "He'll go about 300 lbs," he said, his eyes never leaving the fish as he uncased the rifle and chambered a round. "Bring it's head up," he ordered as the shark headed toward the boat. I pulled, the rifle boomed and geyser erupted by the shark's head. The fish vanished in the black shadow of the boat.
    Ray jacked another shell in and, as the fish came around, he blasted a solid round to the shark's head. The fish reversed coarse and took another turn into the shadows. I was hauling on the leader for all I was worth. Ray lent me hand and leaned the rifle barrel closer to the fish.
    Wham! The 30-30 bellowed a thrid time. The leader parted. I couldn't speak for a second. Then managed a weak "Lost him."
    "What?" asked Ray.
    "The leader's out," I said.
    "What!" I saw Ray's eyes widen in disbelief. We looked at the shark. It was dead. It's death throes combined with the power in it's wide tail pushed it ever farther from the boat. There was no way of reaching it with a gaff. Mercifully, the shark sank quickly out of sight as we stood and watched.
    Ray was sick. In the past few months, he and the crew of the Fishing Island had boated over 250 thresher sharks and hadn’t lost a single one at the boat. For the next couple of hours, we replayed the events of the fight. The frayed leader showed clearly that the shark’s teeth had been the culprit that had cut it loose. To vent his frustration, Ray busied himself constructively by sending down a new bait, rerigging all the gaffs, reorganizing the entire deck, and rebuilding the bang stick. Occasionally, he’d go to the rail and stare into the blue depths at the faint shine of aku far below. It was early morning when he finally lay down for some rest. The island’s gentle rocking worked it’s restful magic on both of us.

Deep-Water Aku

         My watch glowed a digital 4:30. A check of the depth finder showed the area beneath the island was dark with fish. Eagerly, I went to the raft and dropped a 3-oz diamond jig into the black water. As line flipped from the spool, I leaned against the wall and mentally prepared myself for an hour of hard reeling and pumping. The line that had been flipping steadily from the Shimano’s pool electrified. The flip, flip of the line changed to a blur. Alarmed I snapped the bait shut and was unprepared as the rod slammed down against the rail and the drag walled.
         It was a strike! The fish’s first run was a beauty. The Shimano protested loudly, and the rod doubled over. Still sluggish, I gathered my senses and put some pressure on the fish. Adrenaline started to jet through my system, but it was too late. The line went dead. The fish was gone.
          Eagerly, I reeled my lure up and checked the line. Everything seemed OK, so I dropped it back down. My senses were on the red alert for the strike on this drop. Nothing happened. The next couple of drops were also quiet ones. The quiet rocking of the boat and the morning’s peace once again lulled me into a relaxed lump.
          That’s when my second strike occurred. The flipping of the line off the spool blurred, and I popped the ball shut. The line had barely had enough time to tighten up on the fish when it pulled free. I had nothing to cuss at except myself for not concentrating on the fish.

The Morning Bite

          Daylight came slowly behind the mountains of Hawai’i. My first clue to the coming of a new day was Capt. Ray yelling, “Hookup!” He was using a pink PILI.
          Immediately, I was reeling up and changing lures. Dashing to the rail, I made a long cast and transformed my PILI into a fleeting malolo. It worked. The water around the leaping lure erupted, and I was fast to a nice aku.
         Ray bridled his aku to one of the big Penn rigs, and as soon as my fish came up, the bait needle was waiting to attach it to the other big rig. The needle went through, the cord twisted light, and the book slipped under. In seconds, the aku was back in the water. We settled into a routine almost automatically. I moved to the bow and started whipping while Ray alternatively raised and lowered the big rigs hoping to draw the attention of a big predator while keeping the bait alive.
         The bite was on! The blue PILI sailed out, splashed into the swells, and then charged toward the boat in a simulated panic. The water would boil with splashes from attacking aku. The hungry fish would explode from the depths with such speed that they leapt into the air when attempting to hit the lure. Two or three fish often broke the surface simultaneously. The PILI never made it back to the boat without a fish when that happened. In quick succession I landed several fish which were tossed in the cooler or bridled to replace the original baits.
          Robert soon awoke to our shouts and joined in the topwater fun. With Robert and I both catching, Ray was able to bridle a fresh aku as soon as one of the baits died.
         The sky was still dark, but light was filtering the blackness from the air when the first aku boat arrived. By then, the aku action at the boat had slowed, but as the sun rose, small schools of aku broke the water in a helter-skelter manner on all sides. Charterboats and local fishermen hooked up repeatedly to the hungry fish. One charter snapped an outrigger in half when a mahimahi grabbed their lure, and another boat fought a tuna for 25 minutes on ultralight gear before finally loosing it.
          “Sometimes the boats pass too close to the island to cast your lure, “Ray said. “I guess they think the fish are hiding under the boat. What they don’t realize is that this is the only place we have to fish. They can motor over to a bustling school of aku, but we can’t. Most boaters understand our situation and allow us room to cast, but there are a couple who always crowd the island, and they can make fishing here a little frustrating.”
         The SUMMERTIME II arrived with two new anglers, a young couple on their honeymoon. I chatted with Ralph Sill and Jesse Kunewa until the morning news had been bantered about and the day’s agenda assigned. Then, Capt. Ray, young Robert and I boarded for the return trip. Lisa met me at the pier, and we bade Capt. Ray a fond aloha. My Fishing Island trip had been more than a success; It had been an adventure.

Plan Your Own Adventure to the Fishing Island

          Newcomers to the Fishing Island can look forward to sporadic, rapid-fire feeding frenzies erupting around the barge. When the bite is on, you have to act fast. Whipping a PILI lure into a leaping school is the island’s most reliable method to keeping your reel singing.
         “We’ve found that the PILIs are the most consistent producers out here,” said Capt. Ray Nibert. “Other lures will catch fish, but day in and day out the solid-body PILIs that Mark Santiago makes for us are the best and most consistent lures. PILIs with foam cores worked OK, but the fish were breaking them, so we went to the solid body plugs. Mark makes them special for us, and we buy them in bulk. The solids cast a little farther and, since the best retrieve is as fast as you can crank, they work really well.”
         You’re shuttled to the Fishing Island on the SUMMERTIME II. It’s about a 20-minute cruise from Kailua-Kona Town Pier (located at the King Kamehameha Hotel). Trips are scheduled to leave the pier at 8 a.m., 1 p.m. and 6 p.m.
          Outfitted to handle six fishermen at a time, the Fishing Island is the perfect answer to larger parties that would overflow a regular charter boat. The hardcore fishermen in your group can whip out till they drop while the rest of you can relax and cheer them on. If you tire of catching fish or need breaks between bites, you can relax on the sun deck on the second level or drop down to the galley for a cold drink.
          What to take depends on the time of day you fish. Capt. Ray Nibert said the Island has sun 30 percent more often then the island of Hawai’i because of it’s distance from land. Plan on lots of sun during day trips, and bring sun screen. Most fishermen will want a billed cap, sunglasses and good deck shoes.
          Aku are the main target for anglers on the island. Upon your arrival, you’re assigned a spinning rod matched to a Penn 850SS reel. Most likely, a PILI lure will already be tied directly to a 20 lb test monofilament mainline. The aku weren’t color choosy when I visited the island. Capt. Ray used pink, I decided on blue and Robert Congdon selected green – all worked equally well. To save on lost lures and fish, it’s Fishing Island’s policy to retie your lure every second fish. The 20 lb test is tough enough for the smaller aku, but it’s not uncommon to hook up to a larger ‘ahi or wildly jumping mahimahi and fighting such a fish on scuffed line is not recommended.
          The island’s deep-water lure is the diamond jig. When the aku sulk during the day and at night when they school around the barge, diamond jigs work well to induce strikes.
         I started my jigging retrieve in an exhausting pumping motion and was wishing for an easier way when my first strike occurred. The lure was falling on my initial drop. That little slice of success changed my “jigging” technique to a dropping strategy whereby I would reel the lure past where I estimated the fish to be and then open the bait and drop the lure past where I felt the school was (information I got from the fish finder). Instead of breaking my back reeling and jigging AFAP (as fast as possible), I cranked and dropped instead. During the long drops the fish hit.
          Capt. Ray and crewmen Ralph Sill and Jesse Kunewa have planned an interesting future for visiting anglers. They are assembling a high-pressure sprayer that will totally surround the 70-foot aluminum catamaran. Water sprayed on the surface of the ocean serves two functions: to simulate nehu (bait) activity and to make the fishermen invisible to the fish. Ray also recently received a permit to net nehu in the harbor. He’ll use the bait to draw reluctant aku from the depths.
          For more insight to the kind of excitement offered on the island, watch Mike Sakamoto’s “Fishing Tales” show on November 10.
          During a recent phone conversation I asked Capt. Ray Nibert if he needed anything, and he said, “Yeah, more fishermen!”