Fishing - The Tiracol Trip
Posted: Thu May 17, 2012 8:40 pm
I am in love with Tiracol 
It is unspoilt, beautiful and totally hedonistic. Tiracol is a little spot at the northern tip of Goa. The only way to get there, from Goa, is to actually take a ferry across the sea and hunker down for a quick walk to my friend Francis' shack.
The sea is a bright cobalt blue. Like the eyes of Christopher Plummer, and the coast line is so unspoilt that you can see deep down into the water. There are no medicine shops, but it has three shacks selling great beer and the local fiery urrack. The locals reach for it without any half measures...in large jugs
This island has its priorities intact.
Where River Meets the Sea
I am having chai and listening to the soulful psalms wafting in from the church. Everyone in Tiracol is at church today. Maybe praying for more luck while fishing
I landed here at about 4 pm yesterday and was welcomed like family by Francis and his wife. While I sipped on some hot tea, Anthony the fisherman sauntered in. We exchanged notes and then he wanted to see my rod. I took it out and we realised that we had a small break in the butt guide i.e. the bottom guide. So we fixed the broken butt guide with some insulation tape Jugaad at its best.
Then disaster struck. Anthony was fixing the reel on my rod, when he accidentaly raised it a notch higher and the fan struck the rod with a twang that sounded like a bullet fired next to my ear.
We looked dumbly at each other. The top one inch of the rod, that has the tip top (this is the guide at the very tip of the fishing rod & the most important) was cleanly sheared off by the fan.
AAARRGGGGHHH!!!!
The fishing rod is useless without the tip.
It felt like a kick at 50 kmph in the nether regions. I was absolutely quiet. I went insanely quiet. While Anthony kind of looked like he wanted the sea to swallow him whole
Then we went hunting for the tip. Looking all over for it. I had no clue as to why, but I think it gave Anthony something to do. Then we found it. And somehow, it gave Anthony an idea. So, I, fished out the Boker Subcom and he managed to slice off the fibreglass rod tip from the tip top and then, with the Swisstool pliers he fixed the tip top back on the tip of the rod. Notice please that my knives have uses:). A liberal dose of feviquik and voila, it was fixed. By now Anthony had the zeal of a puppy. And just as we heaved a sigh of relief, Francis told us about a tsunami warning.
It looked like everything was conspiring against us.
We went anyway.
Something about the evening seemed just right. We walked a trail on the right of Fort Tiracol and soon reached the huge orange rocks. And we cast our lines just as the sun was setting.
Anthony - Fisherman Extraordinaire Casting as the sun goes down
Anthony, is an awesome angler. Watching him and the ease with which he taught me, I was soon attaching bait to my hook and casting effortlessly. Of course, I had the usual snafus. The less said the better about those misadventures
Suddenly, as I gently tugged on the rod, I felt as if I was being pulled by a turbo charged bus. F#@k. The rod bent at an impossible angle. I yelped in alarm and bent down and reeled like a maniac. It felt like trying to rein in a TATA truck. My arms taut, I bent right into it as I saw Anthony scrambling to me out of the corner of my eye. I gritted my teeth and tried to keep the pressure and suddenly, as Anthony came abreast, I could feel the line slacken as the beast broke free.
I dont know what I snagged. But it felt like a monster. And Anthony clucked like a petulant child. He was really upset that it got away.
The wind had picked up now. And he told me that it wasnt a good sign. I was expecting some tsunami fed steroid waves smacking into me. The sea was slapping the rocks, and at least on two occasions, threw up a wave that wet me waist down.
The wind howling, my rod, shuddered a bit. This time, I reeled it in fast. It was a tame chap and it seemed almost like a farce. I actually thought that I was over reacting. But voila. Out popped a catfish. Just my luck. Well I took pictures and then, much to Anthonys surprise,we sent it back to the sea. I think he expected me to keep it.
The Catfish
Now the jinx was broken. Imagine the colossal pain. The rod had a broken guide problem, we then broke the rod, we then fixed it with feviquik, tsunami warning. And I still hunted a catfish.
We cast again. It was pitch dark. The wind howled and the sea raged around us. Occasionally a ghostly strobe of light cut through the dark from our headlamps. Sudenly I heard Anthony whoop like a man on something powerful. He was 30 meters on my right. I couldnt see him, but I heard him yell through the wail of the wind.
I reeled my line as quick as I could and gingerly made my way through the treacherous rocks towards him. My headlamp occasionally caught him wrestling with the rod as I made my way to him. The wind was so powerful that it felt like trying to walk with an open parachute. I finally reached him. Just as he began to finally reel in.
And from the depths of the black, foaming, seething waters, Anthony pulled out a beautiful 4 kilo Red Snapper. It came out fighting like a wrestler and Anthony, gently, dropped it into a small pool of sea water that had collected on the rocks.
A red snapper is a beautiful thing. I just couldnt take my eyes off it. I took many pictures and Anthony was almost apologetic. He kept telling me that had I landed the beast I had hooked it would have been much larger than the humble fish he had caught
The beautiful Red Snapper
We left the red snapper there and went back to the sea. The wind had died down. The sea was a gentle swell now. And though this is supposed to be good, I kept casting in vain. All my bait kept getting gobbled by hungry fish. But no luck on hooking one. We kept at it till about 9 pm. And at 9.30, we picked up the Red Snapper and made it back to Hygienic Hotel.
Francis and his wife lost no time in lovingly admiring the catch and then it disappeared into the kitchen.
I took a long cold water bath. It felt like being reborn. The cold water made me feel like a lettuce that just sprung back into life. And when I came to the porch, there was a chilled beer bottle waiting for me. Condensation just forming.
And while i did justice to Kingfisher, the fried red snapper arrived. I cant explain the taste. Suffice to say, it was divine
And many yarns at the dinner table. Fishing stories of how Anthony learnt to fish by casting without a rod. Just a line. And how he caught a 30 kilo rawas with it.
All in all, a day of disaster turning into victory! FISHING IS A GAME OF GLORIOUS UNCERTAINITIES
Next evening, I was really lucky to hook a gorgeous Chonok. I am attaching the picture....but that is another story... till then au revoir!
It is unspoilt, beautiful and totally hedonistic. Tiracol is a little spot at the northern tip of Goa. The only way to get there, from Goa, is to actually take a ferry across the sea and hunker down for a quick walk to my friend Francis' shack.
The sea is a bright cobalt blue. Like the eyes of Christopher Plummer, and the coast line is so unspoilt that you can see deep down into the water. There are no medicine shops, but it has three shacks selling great beer and the local fiery urrack. The locals reach for it without any half measures...in large jugs
This island has its priorities intact.Where River Meets the Sea
I am having chai and listening to the soulful psalms wafting in from the church. Everyone in Tiracol is at church today. Maybe praying for more luck while fishing
I landed here at about 4 pm yesterday and was welcomed like family by Francis and his wife. While I sipped on some hot tea, Anthony the fisherman sauntered in. We exchanged notes and then he wanted to see my rod. I took it out and we realised that we had a small break in the butt guide i.e. the bottom guide. So we fixed the broken butt guide with some insulation tape
Jugaad at its best.Then disaster struck. Anthony was fixing the reel on my rod, when he accidentaly raised it a notch higher and the fan struck the rod with a twang that sounded like a bullet fired next to my ear.
We looked dumbly at each other. The top one inch of the rod, that has the tip top (this is the guide at the very tip of the fishing rod & the most important) was cleanly sheared off by the fan.
AAARRGGGGHHH!!!!
The fishing rod is useless without the tip.
It felt like a kick at 50 kmph in the nether regions. I was absolutely quiet. I went insanely quiet. While Anthony kind of looked like he wanted the sea to swallow him whole
Then we went hunting for the tip. Looking all over for it. I had no clue as to why, but I think it gave Anthony something to do. Then we found it. And somehow, it gave Anthony an idea. So, I, fished out the Boker Subcom and he managed to slice off the fibreglass rod tip from the tip top and then, with the Swisstool pliers he fixed the tip top back on the tip of the rod. Notice please that my knives have uses:). A liberal dose of feviquik and voila, it was fixed. By now Anthony had the zeal of a puppy. And just as we heaved a sigh of relief, Francis told us about a tsunami warning.
It looked like everything was conspiring against us.
We went anyway.
Something about the evening seemed just right. We walked a trail on the right of Fort Tiracol and soon reached the huge orange rocks. And we cast our lines just as the sun was setting.
Anthony - Fisherman Extraordinaire Casting as the sun goes down
Anthony, is an awesome angler. Watching him and the ease with which he taught me, I was soon attaching bait to my hook and casting effortlessly. Of course, I had the usual snafus. The less said the better about those misadventures
Suddenly, as I gently tugged on the rod, I felt as if I was being pulled by a turbo charged bus. F#@k. The rod bent at an impossible angle. I yelped in alarm and bent down and reeled like a maniac. It felt like trying to rein in a TATA truck. My arms taut, I bent right into it as I saw Anthony scrambling to me out of the corner of my eye. I gritted my teeth and tried to keep the pressure and suddenly, as Anthony came abreast, I could feel the line slacken as the beast broke free.
I dont know what I snagged. But it felt like a monster. And Anthony clucked like a petulant child. He was really upset that it got away.
The wind had picked up now. And he told me that it wasnt a good sign. I was expecting some tsunami fed steroid waves smacking into me. The sea was slapping the rocks, and at least on two occasions, threw up a wave that wet me waist down.
The wind howling, my rod, shuddered a bit. This time, I reeled it in fast. It was a tame chap and it seemed almost like a farce. I actually thought that I was over reacting. But voila. Out popped a catfish. Just my luck. Well I took pictures and then, much to Anthonys surprise,we sent it back to the sea. I think he expected me to keep it.
The Catfish
Now the jinx was broken. Imagine the colossal pain. The rod had a broken guide problem, we then broke the rod, we then fixed it with feviquik, tsunami warning. And I still hunted a catfish.
We cast again. It was pitch dark. The wind howled and the sea raged around us. Occasionally a ghostly strobe of light cut through the dark from our headlamps. Sudenly I heard Anthony whoop like a man on something powerful. He was 30 meters on my right. I couldnt see him, but I heard him yell through the wail of the wind.
I reeled my line as quick as I could and gingerly made my way through the treacherous rocks towards him. My headlamp occasionally caught him wrestling with the rod as I made my way to him. The wind was so powerful that it felt like trying to walk with an open parachute. I finally reached him. Just as he began to finally reel in.
And from the depths of the black, foaming, seething waters, Anthony pulled out a beautiful 4 kilo Red Snapper. It came out fighting like a wrestler and Anthony, gently, dropped it into a small pool of sea water that had collected on the rocks.
A red snapper is a beautiful thing. I just couldnt take my eyes off it. I took many pictures and Anthony was almost apologetic. He kept telling me that had I landed the beast I had hooked it would have been much larger than the humble fish he had caught
The beautiful Red Snapper
We left the red snapper there and went back to the sea. The wind had died down. The sea was a gentle swell now. And though this is supposed to be good, I kept casting in vain. All my bait kept getting gobbled by hungry fish. But no luck on hooking one. We kept at it till about 9 pm. And at 9.30, we picked up the Red Snapper and made it back to Hygienic Hotel.
Francis and his wife lost no time in lovingly admiring the catch and then it disappeared into the kitchen.
I took a long cold water bath. It felt like being reborn. The cold water made me feel like a lettuce that just sprung back into life. And when I came to the porch, there was a chilled beer bottle waiting for me. Condensation just forming.
And while i did justice to Kingfisher, the fried red snapper arrived. I cant explain the taste. Suffice to say, it was divine
And many yarns at the dinner table. Fishing stories of how Anthony learnt to fish by casting without a rod. Just a line. And how he caught a 30 kilo rawas with it.
All in all, a day of disaster turning into victory! FISHING IS A GAME OF GLORIOUS UNCERTAINITIES
Next evening, I was really lucky to hook a gorgeous Chonok. I am attaching the picture....but that is another story...
till then au revoir!
