My first fishing in the Indian Ocean: memories

A month after my arrival in Mozambique (I had a contract for a year) my colleagues invited me to go fishing. Of course, I could not give up the idea of fishing in the ocean.

The event was agreed with the company bosses: it was Soviet, there was a civil war in Mozambique, so such an agreement was necessary. In addition, the initiators of the event were going to take a service boat.

So, we sailed on Sunday (Saturday was a working day) early in the morning. We were: me and three men. They told me later that my candidacy had been the subject of discussions: I was young, an interpreter, and even a Moscovite. It all caused suspicion among them, workers from the USSR port cities. But then they decided to take it.

I was given a simple tackle: a thick (0.5 mm.) fishing line with a sinker and a large hook. As a bait we used small, finger-sized, shrimp. There was no customary float or lodge, and I just wound the line on my finger so as not to miss the bite. Experienced comrades explained to me that this is wrong: "This is an ocean. Such a one may bite that you will remain without a finger. " After a while I was convinced that they had been right.

According to their example, I wound the fishing line on the leer, in terms of land-dry it was the handrail. It was necessary to wait, hands were free and could fill the first glass - "for successful fishing". While we were drinking, there was a first bite: one of the scaffolds suddenly pulled up and, slightly jingling, burst. I do not know who it was, but I was happy that this line was not on my finger. At one time, two years before the events described, I witnessed how, on a line of such thickness, a log was pulled up to the shore, for which the bait was hooked. So that someone who could easily break such a line, just as easily would have left me without a finger.

Then pecked well. Got in the main fish gram for 300. I do not know who it was. The guys called them "captains". Unfortunately, I have not photographed them.

We peacefully sat, hawked bikes and drank. Then the proverb was confirmed that newcomers are lucky. I caught an eel - this fish was hoped to catch all the participants of the event. Made a solemn photo - the eel I had to take the muzzle pliers to avoid contact with decent size teeth.

I'm with an eel 30 years ago

Then the fish showed considerable dexterity, burst out of hands, and fell to the bottom of the cabin, where it hammered under a wooden lattice lying there. To tackle the sea, we decided to leave the eel there, and get it quietly on the beach. When they walked to the shore, the eel dug its teeth into the helmsman's sandals and snacked one of the straps.

Prepared, the local eel differed from the river, above all, an abundance of bones. But still it was delicious: smoked eel with a
South African beer.