I squinted into the thick, balmy blackness of tropical pre-dawn, trying to pick out a shape to match the drone of an idling diesel from among the dim silhouettes and reflections in Neiafu Harbor. Capt. Paul Mead's voice boomed out a cheery greeting as he leaned out of the wheelhouse and backed expertly to within inches of the deck of my anchored boat, and I hopped on. He'd invited me along on his weekly busman's holiday: a day on the water aboard his 35-foot charter boat Dora Malia.
Ten minutes later Paul had a multicolored spread of octopus skirts skating in the wake in 150 feet of water as we snaked our way out of the deep inner passages of the Vava'u Group, looking to bag a couple of shark mackerel or skipjack tuna for bait. Both species usually swarm through in good numbers under frantic bird flocks, but no birds were out yet this morning. "We'll swing by a vertical wall at Luafatu where the mackerel ball up on this tide, and then put out a lure spread and head for the middle FAD," Mead said. Billfish are his passion, and details like a brisk 30-knot easterly trade, getting under way before sunrise, an ailing back and the company of a relative stranger were irrelevant.
I steered and sipped steaming-hot black coffee as a mackerel bit on cue. Paul replaced the bait and tackle with a spread of pet billfish lures as we passed the improbable promontory of Tu'ungasika and headed offshore, protected from big seas by the raised platform of islands receding behind us. I plied Mead with questions about his childhood in Oklahoma, his adult lifetime of experience in the tropical Pacific, his Tongan wife Alisi and their children, and the blue-water scene in Tonga as we circled the FAD, ignoring a swarm of dolphin racing out to inspect the lures.
We headed back for the protection of "The White Spot," the large cliff on the main island of Vava'u that overlooks a series of drop-offs and current rips, locally famous for blue and black marlin bites and sailfish. I glanced aft at just the right moment to see the left rigger lure get pulverized by a fat, surging mass of blue, bronze and silver, perfectly lit by the morning sun. I leaped to clear the spread and jumped on the rod at Paul's urging, the fish now greyhounding away with the Shimano Tiagra 80W's spool three-quarters empty.
We got things under control, but something didn't feel right. "It's like a tail wrap, Paul, but there's still a lot of mobility." Three hours later and 11 miles closer to Fiji the fish was up for good, bleeding profusely from the gills and exhausted, unfortunately a goner from the prolonged fight caused by the hook position - through the back under the forward part of the dorsal. No longer in the lee, we struggled to lash the fish alongside in big, white-capped wind waves for the slow ride to calmer water. Every ounce of the 384-pound blue was later consumed by diners at the restaurants, hotels and Polynesian-style underground ovens or village "umus," and a local carver transformed the bill into a Tongan masterpiece that now adorns the galley of my boat.
This was the first of many days riding along on charters and "fun trips" on the Dora Malia. My wife and I had sailed our 41-foot sloop to Tonga from New Zealand, still exploring after leaving home in the Florida Keys five years ago. The weeks in Tonga stretched into months, and plans to visit Fiji and Vanuatu went by the wayside as Mead convinced us to stay for the annual September Tonga International Billfish Tournament.
The Local Layout
The Kingdom of Tonga is the last remaining Pacific monarchy, a sleepy chain of about 170 idyllic tropical islands strung north to south over some 500 miles of ocean, starting 150 miles below American Samoa. The nation's 100,000 inhabitants occupy only 36 islands. The three main island groups, Tongatapu, Ha'apai and Vava'u, sit perched on the raised eastern lip of the Indo-Australian tectonic plate, under which the Pacific Plate descends, sending frequent shudders through the diverse array of volcanoes, low coral islets and raised, flat-topped islands that comprise the archipelago. This plate margin plunges into the 34,000-plus-foot depths of the Tonga Trench, which runs parallel to Tonga and then southward to the Kermadec Islands and New Zealand. The underwater topography of the area is every bit as wild as the islands, with a strong peppering of steep, pinnacle-like seamounts, many of them uncharted. One curious feature called Fonuafo'ou alternates between being a 300-foot-high island and a submerged shoal. (This has happened at least six times in the past 120 years).
Tonga spans a large section of the westward-flowing South Equatorial Current, the islands and undersea mountains obstructing the current causing persistent eddies and swirls. The Vava'u Group, a labyrinth of forested islands with elevations to 670 feet, poses a significant barrier to the prevailing southeasterly trade winds, sheltering a large complex of billfish haunts from the full brunt of the sometimes-boisterous conditions. Naturally, most of the small number of dedicated charter fishing operations in the country focus their attention here. Thus, despite the tropical beauty and excellent fishing to be had around the generally lower-lying Ha'apai and Tongatapu Groups, the choice for visiting international billfish aficionados is unquestionably Vava'u.
With the quiet, small town of Neiafu the center of population and commerce, Vava'u remains for the moment a placid backwater, with bargain-rate accommodations and charters. Why hasn't Vava'u been splashed across the fishing headlines and inundated with well-heeled anglers served by a fleet of state-of-the-art fishing vessels? There are several reasons.
Tonga is one of the few nations in the world that has never borne the burden of European colonization. The monarchy makes land available to citizens for the asking, and taxes are minimal. The majority of Tongans are poor, but the favorable, mild climate and rich soil make it possible to live healthily off the land. Traditional dance and social mores flourish, like peaceful, ubiquitous after-hours kava drinking ceremonies. Any foreigner wishing to do business in Tonga is there strictly at the king's pleasure.
And Tonga is remote. The young and restless emigrate to New Zealand, Australia and the U.S. Drugs? Crime? The king doesn't put up with it. The result: a stable, small economy and population of easy-going, friendly people, most of whom speak English as well as Tongan.
Inevitable changes are occurring. International flights, mostly from Auckland and Fiji, arrive daily to Nuku'alofa, Tongatapu, the country's capital, with daily links to Vava'u. You can even fly directly from American Samoa to Vava'u on certain days of the week. An airport construction project is currently under way to accommodate flights from farther afield. At present, getting to this island group involves some circuitous routing for most potential visitors, and the volume of tourism remains low. By the time you arrive, you may have spent more money and time on plane travel than you would to reach alternative Pacific destinations, but once here you have a full range of very reasonable small resorts, hotels and restaurants from which to choose. Want to stay in a remote beachside villa away from town? No problem. The charter boats will come pick you up in the morning and drop you off late in the afternoon, all part of the fare of $400 to $600 Tongan dollars (about $300 to $450 U.S.) per full day of fishing.
Wintertime Blues?
The best time for blues in Vava'u is September through March, though consistent numbers seem to be present year-round. Large-scale climate events may alter the normal peak season timing and bite rates, just like everywhere else. Blacks tend to show up most frequently between July and October, with average size, timing of arrival and numbers inconsistent and variable. Mead knows the location and timing of several spots on the edge of the bank between Vava'u and Ha'apai that attract small bunches of them. (He's had as many as 14 in the baits in one day, tagging and releasing three, all small fish in the 150-pound range.) A scattering of sailfish is present year-round, and highly specific pieces of wall and points of land hold individuals consistently around Vava'u. Striped marlin visit occasionally year-round, but a shot at both sails and stripes is more likely between August and September. Normally a rare catch in most areas, shortbill spearfish sometimes appear here in unpredictable flurries. Targeting this species would likely result in more consistent catches, similar to recent trends in Hawaii.
Dolphin, school yellowfin and wahoo usually provide additional action at a line of seamounts west of Vava'u that sprout from a volcanic ridge running from Late Island north to Fonualei, and periodically in the vicinity of three FADs located closer to Vava'u. Peak dolphin season is July through November. Bigger (70- to 180-pound) yellowfin normally move to the area in the warmer months of December through February. Mead has spotted several tailing swordfish at close range, all late in the afternoon near the seamounts, though no boats have tried swordfishing to date. Dogtooth tuna and barred or Spanish mackerel (the Indo-Pacific analog of Atlantic king mackerel) are residents year-round, though they tend to follow bait schools inshore during the winter months of the Southern Hemisphere. Likewise, action with hefty wahoo can get ridiculous in August through October, both along the western Vava'u shelf contour and out at the seamounts. Mead got 17, including two 54-pounders, on a recent afternoon foray to an uncharted seamount known only to him. Inshore variety fishing features numerous Indo-Pacific reef species.
By and large, however, Vava'u charter boats target blue marlin and take whatever else happens to pile on the spread. A few New Zealand boats have joined Mead in the fishery on a full-time basis, and long-distance charter and private boats show up during peak marlin months from Nuku'alofa, New Zealand, the Samoas and elsewhere, particularly around the time of the annual billfish tournament in September. The captains who make the crossing say you can expect a bite rate of two to three solid shots per day from blues of all sizes, with the average leaning upward of 200 pounds, and a number of well-documented sightings, hookups and spoolings at the hands of bona-fide granders. Keith McKee of Kiwi Magic now faithfully fishes 130-pound unless otherwise requested by his customers.
The majority of Vava'u charter customers come from New Zealand and Australia, with only a few Americans and other nationalities trickling in. A warm preceding summer and depressed New Zealand economy sharply curtailed the number of customers in the 1998 season, making it difficult to ascertain the number of fish around. Strikes per trolling hour as tracked by local operators prior to the end of the September tournament indicated slower than normal fishing, with local conditions and fish abundances still out of whack from the receding El Niqo. We had high hopes that the tournament would prove different.
The Tonga International Billfish Tournament
Mead took me out to the seamounts prior to the tournament for a look around. We started to the southwest of Vava'u and worked our way north. Each peak held a pack of surface-feeding yellowfin up to 45 pounds marked by terns and boobies. Paul timed our arrivals at different pinnacles to coincide with specific tide stages, emphasizing the critical role these played on highly localized current nuances and bite rates. He had one particular spot in mind for the high tide, and lo and behold, a 250-pound blue streaked across the wake and nailed a fruit salad Super Chugger running behind a green-and-pink Soft Bird, burned off 150 yards of line and was gone.
An hour later a slightly smaller blue lunged onto the bird, spit and departed. We pulled the big stuff long enough to catch 26 yellowfin and a 20-pound dolphin to stock Paul's Ikapuna Store, a combined full-service tackle shop and fresh fish market on the main street of Neiafu, and called it a day.
The excitement grew with the arrival of a few more boats. Real Passion, a luxurious aluminum catamaran out of Bay of Islands, New Zealand, that had spent the charter season operating in Western Samoa, got excellent close-hand views of a big fish hooked on its first practice day. The double line was out of the water early on, but the fish woke up at the transom and spooled a 130. Conservative weight estimates put it well over 1,000 pounds, and as the crew had recently set the New Zealand record with a 1,000- plus-pound blue, their guesses carried some weight.
More practice days uncovered the presence of an unprecedented flurry of shortbill spearfish (including a whopping 66-pounder by Real Passion), some 100-pound-class yellowfin and a smattering of tantalizing blue marlin appearances - including another estimated grander that stayed in Kiwi Magic's lure spread for a few agonizing minutes before fading away.
The 10-boat tournament finally got under way, featuring a unique mix of South Pacific characters and vessels, from the Tada III, a wild-looking rusty steel supply boat with one bamboo outrigger and a stalwart Tongan crew, to a group of hard-core charter boats and luxury private fishing vessels.
Our group on Dora Malia included Paul's excellent mate Kii, New Zealanders John Sullivan (brewmaster and manager of the Royal Tongan Brewery) and Brent Foote, and Australian Derek Frew and his son Morgan. Whatever the pre-tournament signs, however, blue marlin mostly took a break for the week, with a few hookups and break-offs but no landings. Things got interesting with two shortbill spearfish and a surprising flurry of sailfish activity that resulted in three catches from 11 hookups one afternoon as crews accustomed to targeting marlin tried to adapt to the influx of sails. Finally, on the fifth and last day, the blues appeared for a two-hour stretch at the top of the tide - two break-offs on large fish, a thrice-missed suicidal small blue and at least five window shoppers around the fleet, one of which was behind Dora Malia. After the blues receded, Frew tagged and released his first sailfish, ultimately garnering fourth place in the tournament behind three other earlier sailfish captures. Morgan, an extremely avid young angler with an encyclopedic memory of IGFA records and other fishing information, took biggest dolphin of the second day, scoring an armload of tournament prizes and the memory of a lifetime.
Remote Tonga and a Late Vava'u Flurry
Finally, my wife Wendy and I could delay no longer and headed south from the Vava'u Group 60 miles to Ha'apai, and then 65 miles farther to Tongatapu, bound for relatively cyclone-free New Zealand 1,000 miles away. Ha'apai is sparsely inhabited and mostly low-lying, with two high-peaked volcanic islands, Tofua and Kao, to the west. The largest settlement is Pangai, on Lifuka, and coral reefs, shoals and seamounts dot the area. Fishing pressure is light, and no local boats target billfish. We caught dogtooth and yellowfin tuna in the few hours of daylight available in our itinerary for trolling. A mostly commercial fishing fleet operates from Tongatapu, with relatively little directed billfish effort.
Our voyage took us to Tonga's southernmost outpost, North and South Minerva Reefs, uninhabited rings of almost entirely submerged coral some 270 miles southwest of Tongatapu, each with a pass allowing entrance to the lagoon. By now it was early November. We exited North Minerva with a mixed lure spread targeting yellowfins and billfish. A small 150-pound blue crashed the left rigger, missed and inevitably swung over to the lone 20-pound spinning rod and ate a mullet-colored Rapala Magnum, running 40 yards before leaping playfully clear of the mirror-like sea surface, having already let go of the plug. This provided the first sight of a marlin for the saucer-size eyes of my two New Zealand crewmates, Ken Kiddie and Hans Swete, who'd flown up to make the passage south.
Later the same afternoon we approached the northwest corner of South Minerva with a billfish spread. A 60-pound-class wahoo skyrocketed well above the deck with our Lulu teaser firmly clamped in its jaws like a fat cigar, while five compatriots whacked every lure in the spread, miraculously with no hookups, no cutoffs. Upon departure for points south we resorted to just two billfish plugs and Lulu and released both a shortbill spearfish and striped marlin. Near sunset 250 miles north of New Zealand, a pod of common dolphin came wheeling in beside the hull, and as we all crowded to the rail to watch their antics, the left rigger popped and line began screaming off the Penn 80, while a modest-size marlin crashed Lulu and disappeared. The hooked fish turned out to be a 70-pound yellowfin; both tuna and marlin were obviously associating with the dolphin pod.
Meanwhile, I later learned that the blues really went off during late October and November in Vava'u. You gotta love this late November dispatch we received from Mead:
"As usual, right after you left, the fishing started heating up. Dave on Zeus had five marlin on and landed one down off the banks in one day. The next week John on Makaira had 14 billfish, mostly sails, up in a single day. On October 31, a Saturday, it was such good weather I went fishing by myself. Caught a few mahi and then put out my Chubby Chugger down the middle and headed south to the other FAD. It was flat calm so I slowed down to about 4 knots and started cleaning the mahi. Heard a funny noise, looked up and my line was out of the middle rigger, which was still jumping in the holder. The Tiagra was going out slow, there was a huge splash, and a monster of a marlin (blue or black?) came toward the boat real slow, head and shoulders out of the water, mouth wide open. My Chubby Chugger looked like a little trolling skirt very plainly hanging to the left side of the mouth, but well inside. Being the quick-thinking charter-boat captain that I am, I just stood there and stared. She came within 30 feet of the transom, mouth still wide open, head going from side to side slowly but moving a heck of a lot of water. A 5-gallon bucket would have dropped down the mouth, vertically or horizontally. She then turned out to the side, pulled off 60 to 80 yards of line and spit the lure back at me. I was still standing in the same spot.
Couldn't have done anything with her by myself, but it would have been fun trying. An hour later my legs were still shaky. Landed two more mahi and jumped off two small blues (175- to 220-pound range) before I made it in. That big one was a grander, but she could have been closer to 1,400 to 1,600-pounds ...."
If you must fish in the lap of high-speed, air-conditioned luxury, don't head for Tonga just yet. On the other hand, if a consistent fishery for big blue marlin in as pleasant a setting as you could possibly imagine, extremely reasonable charter rates and some sea time with one of the most knowledgeable and entertaining characters in the South Pacific will suffice, then Tonga will work for you.
