Bait is a dirty word and spinners are best left to cricket pitches. Legendary angler Martin James teaches Andy van Smeerdijk the finer points of fly-fishing.
Why it is that fly-fishing seems so terribly noble? Essentially it's the same as a regular guy dangling a line at a wharf – you're just trying to catch another slippery sucker. Yet when you watch a fly-fisher cast a line, it seems more like an art-form than a way of filling the fry pan. Pitting your skills against nature, it requires all the guile and cunning of hunting yet somehow, somehow it seems more gentile. More civilised.
Detractors point out that fly-fishing is one of the last remnants of the colonial era, a time when trout were spread across the globe for the benefit of English gentlemen. While this is true, much to the detriment of many native freshwater species, the sport's hardly gathering cobwebs. And the good news is that the east coast of the UAE is a prime location for saltwater angling.
Fly-fishers are an optimistic lot and renowned English angler and BBC fishing broadcaster Martin James is no exception. "When you're out fishing you never have a bad day," says Martin, onboard a boat 12km offshore from Fujairah. "You're out in nature, enjoying the fresh air; I always say that if I don't catch anything, it's a draw."
Martin is a fishing legend and certainly looks the part with his matching khaki shorts, shirt and hat. An internationally recognised
angler, he says the sport isn't about catching fish, it's about enjoying the experience. "I could have stayed in bed, but what would that have achieved? At least standing out here with a rod in my hand I've got a chance.
"Fly-fishing is like hunting," he adds. "You've got to locate the fish, read the signs then use the right line and right lure, depending on what you're after."
South African Wayne De Jager, of East Coast Sports Fishing, is our skipper today and he manoeuvres the 20-foot boat close to one of the massive oil barges anchored off Fujairah. Some of the vessels have been here for six years and act virtually like reefs, providing a habitat for marine life.
Every winter Martin comes to Dubai to see his daughter, Sharon, and while here conducts fishing academies and leads angling trips
on the east coast. Today he rose at about 3am to go fishing, a passion that's driven him for more than 50 years.
He and Wayne scan the water for movement, occasionally casting glances at the horizon for diving birds. "We're looking for nervousness on the water – you'll often catch a flutter, then next moment you'll see a Dorado cruising past," explains Wayne.
Martin, who appears unsatisfied by what he sees, reluctantly casts his line in at Wayne's request. Once the line sinks, he pulls it back by hand. There's no reel in fly-fishing; everything's manual and Martin's series of movements try to simulate those of an injured fish 'limping' through the water. When dry, the fly appears fuzzy and insect-like. But once wet and in motion, it does resemble a fish... at least I think it does. Fooling the bigger fish, I guess, is where the true art lies.
"This is a bit of chuck and chance. I'd rather see one near the surface – that way I can target an individual fish. A lot of the time you can see them within one foot; that's when the adrenaline kicks in.
"I do a little spinning and jigging but fly-fishing is my love. You can feel the takes; when a fish shakes its head you'll sometimes see it come to the surface and you'll say, 'C'mon you bugger, grab it!' When I feel a take on the line it goes straight down my arm – to the heart. My heart starts beating maybe 150 or 160. Pure adrenaline."
Martin doesn't drink or smoke; natural highs are his uppers. And he doesn't catch for the pot either; any fish caught is released relatively unharmed due to the use of barbless hooks. Or so he argues.
Wayne decides to check out a few other anchored vessels with similar results and again Martin throws the line in a few times. But then Wayne spies a flock of fish diving about 800 metres away.
"Basically, you need to match the size of the fly with the size of the bait fish [the fish being eaten] in any given area," explains Martin, as we start cruising along at full throttle. "So ideally, I want to be able to see what they're eating."
As the boat draws closer, we see a school of tuna thrashing on the water's surface, presumably feeding on baitfish. Gulls plunge into the water as Wayne cuts the engine, allowing the purpose-built fly-fishing boat to glide adjacent to the feeding frenzy.
Martin whips his line back and forth then lands the fly close to the action. Wayne grabs a rod and tries his luck too. They cast their lines in many times without success. Gradually, the water goes off the boil, the birds fly away and all traces of the recent mayhem vanish.
About five minutes later, Wayne spies birds dropping and once again we speed over. And on it goes. Exciting, thrilling but still no fish.
By now Martin has stopped talking about the romance of fishing. "C'mon, take it, take it!" he cries to the thrashing school. Wayne continues fishing and even I'm at it now – spinner in hand. The thought strikes me that it'd be pretty funny if I, the guy who's barely caught a fish in his life, am the one who catches today.
Martin's eyes narrow. He gives me with a knowing grin. Having tied a new fly on to the line, he unleashes a new assault.
It's April, the end of the prime fishing season in the UAE and the last of Martin's guided fishing trips. Wayne suggests I return in October or later in the year, when the cooler waters attract various fish. Depending on the season, you can hook queenfish, kingfish, barracuda, rainbow runners, sailfish and various types of tuna.
Eventually, I put my rod away and enjoy the scenery. With the Hajar Mountains on the horizon, the salt air in my lungs, I begin to appreciate the simple joys of the experience.
Meanwhile, Martin's gone all philosophical again.
"This place has changed," he says. "I first came to Dubai 16 years ago and couldn't believe the fishing opportunities here. Then about
10 years ago the fishing dried up near Dubai, so I went along the west coast then came around to the east coast. I'd go to Khorfakkan and go fishing on the beach and off the rocks and stay there till deep into the night. I'd fall asleep under the stars. Then I'd wake up and do it all again.
"While I was here fishing, I'd often meet the locals; sometimes I'd even go to their villages up in the hills and have a chat. You know, using sign language. Then I'd go fishing again."
Prior to venturing to the east coast, he would fly-fish on Dubai Creek, attracting crowds of 50 or so people who were mesmerised by his curious way of fishing.
Today Martin attracts a different audience: beginners wanting to
learn the craft or hone their skills. Based out of the Le Meridien Al Aqah Beach Resort in Dibba, he also leads fishing tours for those who are capable fly-fishers, ably assisted by Wayne and other skippers.
For five years, he has taught punters how to tie knots and flies for different conditions then helped them master casting techniques. No doubt, they will also hear a few of Martin's tales too. Like his bear stories.
"Once I was fishing for pike in Canada and I went to a bush for a pee and ran straight into a bear – there was only a bush between him and me. I took a few shots of him then left!
"Another time we were fishing on a river and we ran into a mother and her cub. They just ambled down to the river to fish themselves, so I said, 'That's alright; this is their patch of river – we'll move on to ours'."
But some of his fondest memories are of England, where he learnt to fish. As a four-year-old he caught his first fish in Kent while WWII bombers were flying overhead on an air raid. Since then he's fished across the world – "from Sweden to the Amazon" – and earned the Lord Mason's Illuminated Scroll, the most prestigious award in the world of angling.
He also runs programmes in the UK for needy and troubled children, where he exposes them to the English countryside. "We will shoot a rabbit, skin it, then cook it in the ground. Of course, we teach them how to fish too. It opens a whole new world to them; most of
them only know about cities and television."
But today there's no trophy fish, nor any fish for that matter... just a few bites. Yet Martin vows to return at the year's end for more action. "I guess we'll call it a draw today," he quips.
But to my mind the score was fish 1, humans 0.
