On the first day, the sea was flat-calm, no wind at all, and the planet was positively glowing at 30 degrees Celsius. Over dinner I was derided by the group for my weather forecast … However, during the night we were hit by troughs from the two cyclones. Our container was buffeted by gusty winds accompanied by heavy rain, lightning and thunder which lasted for the next 2 days. Certainly not the best of conditions for a fly-fisherman. In between the downpours we were able to get out to the good spots for a couple of hours and blindly cast our chicken streamers and popper flies roughly in the direction of promising marks with the help of 30 knot tailwinds. Unfortunately, it was impossible to cast visually on these two days.

After that, conditions got better from day to day and we started getting some positive catch results. We all caught our fish continuously. On one day I was wading in the flats when suddenly two rays appeared, accompanied by 3 permits. I followed the group for what must have been half an hour and then the rays started burrowing in the sand within casting distance. The permits were looking for food between them. I cast my prawn fly right between the two rays and hoped that I wouldn’t hook either of them. Suddenly a violent bite and the fly line flew off the reel together with its backing. Yeeeeeessss, a hook-up. After a tremendous back and forth came my total disillusionment: I had hooked an emperor fish which I hadn’t seen between the rays and permits. So near yet so far, I thought to myself. I was in complete permit fever.

In the meantime, every one of us had had his personal great moment. Mine was scheduled for the last day. I was fishing with local guide Alex who was born on Praslin and has been a guide on Cosmoledo for nine years. We travelled through the inner atoll to Menai, an island said to be uninhabited, and drifted along the inner side of the atoll in our skiff in search of GTs. Alex was standing on the elevated part of the boat and I was up front in the bows, ready to cast at any GT nearby. It was calm that day with no wind. Suddenly I heard people holding a conversation on the island. How, what, where – nobody lives there??? I turned round to Alex and asked if he could hear it, too. “Yes,” he replied wide-eyed,” but really, nobody lives there”. The conversation between two or three people was loud and clear. Neither of us was able to identify the language they were speaking; it wasn’t Creole or any other language we had heard before. Their dialogue was loud and clear, audible for a good 30 minutes. Nobody was visible on the beach. The voices were coming from the jungle – absolutely eerie I can tell you. I don’t believe in ghosts and assumed there might have been a boat on the other side of the island – but this wasn’t the case, there was nobody there…

Towards noon, just before high-tide, we moved to another spot and decided to walk along the surf-line of the outer atoll and to target GTs coming in with the tide. We waded in knee-deep water along the reef for several kilometres and saw large sharks and several sizeable trigger fish. I had never caught a big trigger-fish so I tried my luck.  After a few casts a fine specimen took my fly and after several runs, Alex was able to land it safely by hand. Great jubilation and I was over the moon.

Then it was time for my two moments of glory. We suddenly saw the GTs surfing in the waves towards the inner atoll. Almost every cast was met by a fierce bite, mostly only a few yards away from us in the shallows.  There was hardly any time to take photos because the fish just kept coming towards us. It was absolutely surreal. Some of the takes were only a short distance from the rod tip. We had just caught a fine, jet-black specimen which I definitely wanted to photograph. Alex was holding on to the fish in the water while I was rummaging around in my backpack in search of my smart phone. At that moment Alex shouted, “Stephan, 5 more coming – cast, cast …” Alex held on to the fish and I hooked another GT with my next cast. In the heat of the moment the black GT slipped from his hands and he then landed the next one. Within 2 hours we had caught eight GTs but then had to return to the skiff due to the rapidly rising water levels. The difference in tide heights at that time of day was over 2 meters and the tide flooded really quickly.

Back at the lodge that evening, Alex told his mates the story about Menai – nobody believed him so I chipped in and retold the story confirming what Alex had said. Everybody laughed at us and reckoned the wind had been playing tricks on us.

On the next day we started our return journey to Astove Island by boat and then to Alphonse by air. On Alphonse we were subjected to a further PCR test and then booked another day’s fishing. I concentrated mainly on the numerous bonefish there and caught 20 ranging up to 50 cm in length. Where else do you have the opportunity to target so many bones?

The rest of the group then returned home. I spent another week on Praslin Island, where our boat “Frency” is berthed. The trip report will follow shortly. You can find information on the boat under www.boundlesscharters.sc or on our website.

By the way, I was having dinner on Praslin with some of my local friends and told them the story of what had happened at Menai. Incidentally, my friends are firmly convinced that Menai is haunted. Mervin told me that he had taken a group to the island some years previously and found a derelict church dating back to colonial times. Inside the church everything was tidy. A candle was burning and there were fresh flowers in a chalice. The lads took the chalice and flowers back to the lodge with them as proof. Nobody was able to sleep a wink that night in the camp and they decided to return the chalice and flowers the next day – the candle was still burning…