9 minute read
BATTLES BLUEFIN
from STABIMAG 04
by stabimag
In the spectacular surrounds of Fiordland’s Milford Sound a 49-year-old record was finally erased from the New Zealand spearfishing record book. After a mighty battle, a 54kg (119lb) southern bluefin tuna wound up on the pointy end of a spear, smashing the previous record by a whopping 42kg (92.6lb). Dave Shaw from The Hunters Club, creator of the South Seas Spearo TV series, talks us through the stoush from on board the Stabicraft 2250 Ultracab WT they rode into battle.
WORDS & IMAGES The Hunters Club
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STABIMAG: Tell us about the mission?
DAVE SHAW: For the new series of our show South Seas Spearo, we decided to set our sights on spearing a southern bluefin tuna, a feat that hasn’t been achieved in New Zealand waters for close to 50 years.
Epic. Is this a new phenomenon?
Spearing a southern has been on the wish list for all top New Zealand spearos for the past five years since populations started bouncing back and large numbers started being caught out of areas such as Waihau Bay on the East Cape and along the south-western corner of the South Island. A few guys in the team had tried and failed to get a spear into a fish, so we expected this mission to be the first of many before we’d eventually strike gold and get enough material for an episode.
Who made up the salty crew?
Dwane Herbert is a New Zealand spearfishing legend, with multiple national titles to his name. Having regularly dived commercially in the area, Dwane has extensive knowledge of the Fiordland coastline and what it takes to find these elusive tuna.
Julian Hansford is Dwane’s regular partner in crime and also a multiple NZ national champion.
MILFORD SOUND
Milford Sound, aka Piopiotahi, is 288km (179 miles) from the nearest airport at Queenstown. The drive takes about three and a half hours by car — longer when towing a boat — as State Highway 94 is a winding beast and includes a tunnel through the rock. Fiordland is a primeval place where ancient forest climbs to jagged peaks. Colonial writer Rudyard Kipling reckoned this place was one of the world’s major wonders and UNESCO agrees, tagging Fiordland National Park a World Heritage site in 1990.
It rains here. A lot. It’s officially the wettest place in NZ, with a mean annual rainfall of 6412mm (252in). Which means there are spectacular waterfalls cascading from the cliffs into the sound. The rain is also handy in keeping the world’s entire sand fly population from eating you alive. Still, no pain no gain, eh?
The sound runs 15km (9mi) inland from the Tasman Sea and its sheer rock faces soar up to 1200m (3900ft). The surrounding mountain peaks are higher still, with 2723m (8934ft) Mount Tutoko the big daddy. Carved out by glaciers during the Ice Ages, the fiords are crazy deep in places, dropping almost vertically hundreds of metres even close to the rocky coast, while the offshore waters are some of the most unpredictable in the country, with massive Southern Ocean swells a regular occurrence.
TOP SHOT: The speargun Dwane used to pin the record tuna was more suited to spearing kingfish and snapper. Thankfully, his shot placement was perfect.
As salty as they come, Julian knows first-hand the challenge involved in finding and stopping these big blue freight trains.
Underwater cameraman Sam Wild — he of the ginger moustache and hoop earring — is also a keen spearfisherman and the butt of most of the lads’ jokes and pranks. But he takes it all in his stride and seems to be as attractive to the ladies as he is to the camera lens.
I’m the producer of South Seas Spearo and the main photographer/videographer on the trip. I’m responsible for retrieving the magic moments from the unfolding chaos.
What were your pre-trip expectations?
We had a pretty decent weather window. The first day was forecast to be a little choppy, but we hoped to get out and familiarise ourselves with where the albacore were holding in the hope of encountering a bluefin among the schools once the weather settled on the second day. The thought of banging over a tuna within minutes of getting in the water was not on the radar! Our initial goal was to get in and spear a couple of albacore, both to get our eye in and also to provide a bit of material for the episode to build up to the eventual southern bluefin tuna encounter, which we all figured might take a year or so of filming and half a dozen trips to achieve. Which is why when about 200 of the fish suddenly showed up, Dwane was massively undergunned.
Tell us about gear for pinning giant tunas.
The spearguns we intended to use for shooting 50kg-plus (110lb) bluefins were lying in the cockpit of the boat. The gun Dwane had just attached to the rampaging tuna was a small snapper/kingfish gun — the shooting line was worn and frayed from a summer of hard use in the Coromandel, so he dared not put too much pressure on the fish or he’d risk a catastrophic gear failure.
So how did he manage?
Dwane’s skills and experience allowed him to get the job done without any major dramas. His shot placement was perfect and he knew enough to not put too much “hurt” on the fish during its initial runs to ensure the line didn’t break.
Tell us how to pin a record.
There are a few schools of thought when spearing big fish. You can place a shot just in behind the gill plate, which is what Dwane did. That provides a strong base to hold the fish. Or you can try to stone the fish with a single shot to the brainstem, which kills it instantly, but is a much harder shot to make. Or you can effectively demobilise the fish by shooting it in the sinewy flesh close to the caudal keel where the tail meets the body, taking out its only means of propulsion. A slip tip tends to be preferred for shooting larger fish, as it’s less likely to tear out than a traditional long spear shaft.
What did you do with the fish?
We ate it raw — sashimi is the only way to go with a fish of this quality. The tuna was divvied up amongst the four of us, as well as the people who had helped out with planning and preparations in Te Anau and Queenstown. And it went down an absolute treat.
Nice. What’s your advice for anyone else contemplating their own Milford mission?
Pick your weather window well and try and drive the Milford Road — the wickedly winding State Highway 94 — when you’re fresh, rather than spending longer behind the wheel than necessary. It’s a tricky road for towing a big boat, so ensure your vehicle and brakes are up to the task.
Why did you pick a Stabicraft for the job?
We were generously loaned a 2250 Ultracab WT by our mates at Stabicraft. Dwane had been on the boat previously and spoke highly of it. The 2250 was fitted out with a Yamaha 225HP and full Garmin electronics package. She performed well in the sloppy weather early in the day — a 2m chop and gusty winds — and had ample deck space for the massive amount of gear we had aboard, including camera cases, dive bags, spearguns and fishing equipment.
What would you rate as the Stabi’s best features for this mission?
Having the walk-through is great for a number of reasons — such as allowing me to move forward to film without a misstep putting me in the drink, which is always a possibility when attempting to navigate around the side of a cab. The rather clever seating arrangement — which allows full use of the width of the boat — was noted by all the guys, so that’s a winner. Spearos like to keep things simple and spacious. But the main benefit I found was in rapidly ventilating the cabin with fresh air to combat the persistent flatulence of the fellas onboard! It also worked to rid the cockpit of sandflies, Fiordland’s eternal plague.
Do you have any feedback for the Stabicraft R&D team?
Probably a clear livebait tank — or at least a window to allow you to see into the well. We almost forgot we had paua and crays in there on the final day!
Any other trip highlights? What’s this nudie pic?
A nice bottle of rum was dispatched dangerously fast on the steam back into Milford, which also involved a short detour to a waterfall for a nude team pic on the bow. We were staying in a campervan without any shower/washing facilities, so it was a great way to wash off the carcass at the end of a memorable day. On the way out, we’d actually said something along the lines of: “If we shoot a tuna today, we’re coming home nude. It had to be done.”
A nice bottle of rum was dispatched dangerously fast on the steam back into Milford, which also involved a short detour to a waterfall for a nude team pic on the bow. We were staying in a campervan without any shower/washing facilities, so it was a great way to wash off the carcass at the end of a memorable day. On the way out, we’d actually said something along the lines of: “If we shoot a tuna today, we’re coming home nude. It had to be done.”