Canaries Charter By Nick Fisher

Canaries Charter

By Nick Fisher

Renting a charter boat in a foreign country is a bit like going on a blind date. You don’t really know what you’re getting, until you’re sat down at dinner, committed to a long night. Or in my case, stood on deck, anchored in 50 foot of water off the north tip of Fuerteventura, with my arm elbow deep in a live well full of fat sardines.

My wife won’t let me go on blind dates anymore, so I have to be satisfied with boat charters instead.

I’ve only been to the Canary Islands once before, to Tenerife, where I managed to persuade my nearest and dearest, to come for a day’s charter fishing, this time on an English run boat out of Los Christianos. It was horrible. Pointless barbaric carnage. Everything was killed for the sake of killing. The tone for the whole day was firmly set on the way out, when the crew busied themselves chopping the jaws out of two stone dead blue shark they’d caught the day before, and then dumping the huge carcasses overboard. One of the sharks had even been in pup. The fish had been slaughtered for a few tourist photos and a trophy set of teeth.

The Barvik at Corrallejo, on Fuerteventura, is a totally different kettle of fish. First I had a long chat with the Barvik captain’s wife, Englishwoman Michelle, on the phone.

Although it can take 8 or ten anglers, it was agreed that as I was bringing my wife Helen and our small boys, it’d be better to hire the whole boat, to ourselves. A fee which was to include either fish cooked on board or a paella lunch and a swim on the tiny island of Los Lobos.

I’ve been on wrecking trips off the south coast of England where you steam out at 20 knots for three solid hours before you reach the fishing grounds. On board Barvik, we steamed at about 8 knots for 10 minutes to reach big fish country.

Around the Canaries there are plenty of big game fish caught, marlin, tuna and sail fish, but today wasn’t going to be a trolling lures day. All I wanted was some hungry fish that would put a bend in the family rod and something on the barbecue.

Bait was the first item on the agenda. Sardines shoal around the rocky eastern tip of Lobos where the local commercial boats catch them, by hurling spoonfuls of mashed up fish chum into the water, then lowering an eight foot diameter circular net suspended from a long pole. The net’s held in position till a good bunch of fish are feeding above it. Then the net is raised sharply by heaving on the pole, scooping up the fish who aren’t quick enough to scarper.

Antonio and Carmelo, our Spanish speaking crew for the day performed this technique very efficiently, but I couldn’t help having a chuck with a string of tiny Japanese Sabiki feathers on a light spinning rod.

Antonio clucked and shook his head at my optimism, but it paid off. I didn’t catch as many as them, but the feathers brought in two or three fat sardines on each cast.

With a live well full of bait, the British made catamaran, originally built in Faversham, was taken on a quick detour before we set about fishing seriously.

The detour involved steaming south along the coast about two miles off shore to a point, estimated by matching up mountains on Fuerteventura with hills on Lobos. (No GPS nonsense here). Then a sack of old sardines was thrown over board with a huge rock stuffed inside and a buoy attached.

Sadly my Spanish is rudimentary and Antonio’s English consisted mainly of German words, so the purpose of this manoeuvre could only be explained as pre-baiting for tuna fishing on another day. Curious. I’d have loved to have known more.

Back at the rocks off Lobos, the live sardines were free lined, hooked through the anal vent to allow them to swim down amongst the rocks.

Baits were retrieved regularly without their heads which was according to Antonio the fault of the ‘Sargo’, an annoying fish and not the ones we were after, he explained. I badly wanted to meet a ‘Sargo’.

Helen fished live sardine too, so did Antonio and my son Rory fished a chunk of sardine straight down on a light spinning rod.

Antonio soon started shouting screaming swearing and dancing around the boat in a very enthusiastic Latin way, with line screaming off his rod at real pace. He fought and blasphemed beautifully. Finally bringing an 18 pound mutton snapper to the boat. Now this is a serious fish. I’ve fished all round New Zealand and Florida, where a snapper of this size would be marked with fiesta-like celebrations.

Rory started a regular reeling-in of Sargo, which turned out to be what the Florida anglers call sheep’s head snapper. Great eating, hard fighting bass affairs with perch-like black stripes.

My finest catch was a barracuda. Great fight, beautiful toothy specimen which I later filleted and cooked for tea.

In many places around the world barracuda isn’t eaten because in certain waters it can, so I’m told, be toxic. This barracuda was, one of the best fish I have ever eaten. Lightly floured, seasoned and fried in very, very hot vegetable oil it took my taste buds on their own little charter ride of ecstasy and joy.

On the subject of gastronomic joy, lunch was eaten in a tiny weather beaten restaurant on the island of Lobos which boasts no cars or motor vehicles only boats and sea so clear and blue you’d think it was fake.

Catching fat barracuda is a joy, but nothing compared with the pleasure of watching small boys stuff their faces with saffron coloured paella and then leap into azure seas sending mullet scampering off in a shimmering silver shower.