Make it Curacao !
By
Jan Stephen Maizler
As was my custom, I did a great deal of research prior to traveling to Curacao for an exploration of its inshore and offshore fisheries. Yet whatever facts and images I’d assembled in my mind did little justice to the striking features and experiences this novel island would offer me.
My first three days on this island were especially memorable. After a flawless two and one half-hour flight, the jet I was on made its approach to Hato Airport along a vista of wind-tossed sapphire seas on its port side and cactus-covered rocky bluffs towards the starboard. As we began touchdown on the runway, the brisk easterly winds jiggled the fuselage in a way that was reminiscent of running a skiff over a stiff chop.
Gathering up my baggage and rod tube and getting through customs went quickly and without incident. What was especially delightful was entering a Caribbean island where the first languages that met my ears were Dutch and Papiamento.
After picking me up, my hosts Anthony and Jose pressed me for a tour of the island that afternoon. I opted to postpone that adventure in favor of an early dinner and bedtime, since I had a dawn rendezvous with some hoped-for schools of snook and tarpon in Willemstad Harbor.
As we awaited a traditional rijst tafel (Rice-TA’-fel) dinner of rice served with various bowls of meats, seafood, and vegetables, I lounged on the spacious open-air porch of the home that was, in effect, my Dutch Caribbean fishing lodge. The afternoon was windy and hot, yet the air was dry and quite tolerable. Amidst the melodious sounds of doves and tropials, the sun slowly set and gave way to a nighttime sky with a countless firmament of stars you’d only expect in the wilderness. The dinner was delicious and sent this angler to sleep in a state of gratitude for his first hours in Curacao and excitement for the morning that lay ahead.
My first night before fishing in a new destination runs the gamut between mere moments and an eternity: this evening was somewhere between those extremes. As the alarm rang, I popped up and began preparations.
Anthony was already waiting by the small Fiat parked outside. I filled the vehicle with a spinning rod, plug rod, fly rod, and tackle box and off we sped into the darkness. Since we had an hour before dawn, he took us on a route that included the colorful storefronts of harbor side Punda, the famous floating bridge, and Fort Amsterdam. Even in the inky hours of the night, they made wonderful sights.
I told Anthony to head for a road that was bounded on two sides by saltwater lakes about two miles from an industrialized area. My research had turned up prior reports of great catches of tarpon and snook at this juncture- particularly at the openings of the underground culverts under this road that joined the two bodies of water.
As a few lemon-colored rays of sunshine appeared in the east, Anthony parked the small car along the roadside. I got out and quickly found one of the culverts not so much by sight, but by the popping sounds of feeding fish! I pulled the tackle out of the vehicle and ran towards the melee.
I flicked a root beer-colored Cotee jig into one particularly foamy pop. I barely had a chance to sweep the rod before it doubled over with a powerful strike. I struck back hard and a snook of about six pounds thrashed through the surface of the tea-colored water. In sixty seconds, the powerful twelve-pound plug outfit had done its work and the snook came alongside me to be released. I quickly followed up with four more snook of the same size. After that, the action on this uptide side of the culvert seemed to die down.
After looking out for vehicular traffic, I crossed the thirty foot-wide road for a look at the “downstream” opening of the huge pipe. I was pleased to see plenty more linesiders- but this time, the snook were finning out on the surface and picking off the minnows, rather than exploding on them from below. Since these predators were higher in the water column, I quickly stepped back from them to keep a semblance of the stealth mode. In that mindset, I opted for an eight-weight fly rod with a very long fluorocarbon leader of twelve feet. I attached a bite tippet of thirty-pound fluorocarbon and loop-knotted a white Clouser to the business end. This tackle and strategy did the trick, as my results for this spot was another six snook to ten pounds released.
By now, the sun was fully risen. Its radiant glow echoed my feelings about the superb action I’d experienced. However, there were still more culverts to explore. Anthony and I loaded the car, and we headed for another spot about two hundred yards down the road.
When I started on the uptide side of this new pipe, I encountered a sight I’d never seen before. The opening of the culvert was absolutely glutted with black mullet, some of which had to weigh six pounds. Suddenly, a huge silver flash dispersed the mass of huge baitfish and a tarpon of over one hundred pounds came into view. As the silver king turned before slipping into the culvert, it veered sharply back into the darkness of the open lake. A minute later, a smaller tarpon half the size of its predecessor swam into view, but the giant mullet seemed less frantic as they packed into a blackish silver ball in front of the pipe’s opening. Anthony mentioned that these big tarpon gathered at the floating bridge every night: if the weather was right they could be taken on mullet chunks. I decided to leave that method to other anglers since the heaviest line I fish is twelve-pound test and I prefer lures if possible. Still, the prospect of fishing the waters between colorful Punda and offbeat Otrabanda was intriguing.
I watched this spectacle occur every five minutes, but my fishing time was evaporating like the dawn’s coolness and besides, my tackle or lures were no match for these predators. It seemed like a better idea to cross the road again and hope for more humble possibilities. The other side did reward me with some smaller tarpon rolling on the edge of a mud flat just before the drop-off of the hole caused by the culvert’s current. These fish seemed to be no bigger than fifteen pounds and a perfect match for my fly tackle. I retied the bite tippet with fifty-pound fluorocarbon material and loop-knotted a silver-black Deceiver-type fly. By the time an hour had elapsed, I’d jumped seven fish and released three, which was about the usual jump-to-catch ratio for tarpon. By then, I was exhausted. I asked Anthony to return me to the guesthouse where a shower and lots of cold drinks awaited.
My second day was caught up in the pleasures of snorkeling the clear waters off Seaquarium Beach, but my angler’s muse tugged at me for today to end and tomorrow
to begin, as day three was to be my first exposure to Curacao’s adventurous high seas blue water fishing.
I knew this island had excellent offshore action- so much so, that there’s an annual Blue Marlin Release Tournament that’s held on the full moon every March. One of the major reasons that the action could be superb is Curacao’s proximity to the very same La Guaira Bank that Venezuela’s sport fishermen target. Getting to the grounds is easy enough. Many boats leave the main harbor and head to the island’s east end and begin trolling about four miles offshore.
Since my trip to the island was during mid-May, I was open to catching any pelagic fish. I was fortunate in that Anthony knew an amateur offshore angler known as “Oom” (uncle) Hans. I gave him a call to inquire about his vessel and tackle. He had a thirty-five foot cabin-style cruiser that featured a large aft cockpit, long able outriggers, and a brand-new rocket launcher. His tackle included four fifty-pound Penn International outfits, as well as two eighty-pound outfits. Hans said –in good English, I might add- that he fishes with large ballyhoo topped with blue tuna skirts and that these rigs seemed to catch all the island’s pelagic gamesters.
When the dawn of day three finally came, Anthony drove me down to a seawall in Willemstad Harbor. Han’s vessel was neatly tied off and I got aboard. It wasn’t long before we had cleared the harbor entrance and headed east. Hans remarked that the seas were perfect today with the cobalt-colored waves running around three feet. Hans asked me to take the helm as he put out three outfits into the wake at approximately fifty, seventy, and one hundred feet.
As soon as the rods were placed, he grabbed the helm and pointed about one hundred yards to the east, where the sea seemed alive with loads of airborne “flyers.” As we approached the area, two rods went off. As the rods doubled over, two large dorado went aloft. I said, “slammers!”, and pulled out a rod and struck hard. Hans grabbed the other rod and struck hard as well. In ten minutes, we had two large dolphin flopping in the box. As I reeled in the third rod, I had a hard strike, which I missed. As we headed into more schools of flying fish, we only put out the two outfits. Within a minute, we were hooked up again with large dolphin. The action went on like this for two more hours and our fish box was bloated with the rainbow-colored battlers. I was astonished to be so exhausted from fishy action only hours into the trip. Hans smiled at me and said, “Had enough?”. As I nodded, he turned the vessel around for port.
As we tied off to the seawall, we each enjoyed an ice-cold Amstel beer. After a deep swig, he asked me what I’d be doing next. I told him that the next day involved a dawn date with some snook and tarpon I was getting to know…then in the afternoon, my friend was taking me to climb Mount Christoffel one hour to the west of us. As Hans smiled back at me, I looked up into the sunny blue skies over Curacao and thought, “who could ask for more?”
CONTACT DATA:
www.curacao-tourism.comwww.curacaoboating.comwww.letsfish.netImportant Facts About Curacao:
Population: Over 175,000.
Capital: Willemstad.
Language: Dutch and Papiamento, but English and Spanish are spoken by Curacaons.
Size: 37 miles long and 7 miles across at its widest point.
Currency: The guilder, but dollars are widely accepted.
Geography: Located 35 miles north of the coast of Venezuela, Curacao is the largest of the Netherlands Antilles. It is also the “C” of the ABC Islands (Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao).
Airport: Hato Airport is served by American Airlines, KLM, and other major carriers.
Documents: Going to and from the U.S.A. to Curacao requires a valid U.S. passport.
Weather: Average daily temperature of 81 degrees with dry climate and brisk trade winds.
Activities: Curacao has some of the best snorkeling and scuba diving in the Caribbean- check out the Curacao Underwater Park. Shoppers will love the elegant colorful stores of Punda for great duty-free bargains. The sightseeing is first rate either downtown or in the countryside.
Outstanding Lodgings on the island:
Marriott is a great location not far from Willemstad.
Hotel Kura Hulanda is located downtown, but is wrapped in an ambience of private elegance. (
www.kurahulanda.com)
Lodge Kura Hulanda is located on the scenic west end of the island about 45 minutes from the airport. (
www.kurahulanda.com)
Lions Dive Resort caters to travelers that come to dive Curacao’s striking sea. (
www.lionsdive.com)
I have been a Spro (http://www.spro.com/ ) bucktail devotee for years now. As I've said before, the life-like pulse of the skirt dressing, realistic head and huge eye, hookeye placement, and razor-sharp Gamakatsu hook make this lure the "leader of the pack."
