20 Pound Bass

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/11/sp...1outdoors.html

Peacock bass, but still.

--
Ken Fortenberry

"Ken Fortenberry" wrote in message
t...
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/11/sp...1outdoors.html

Peacock bass, but still.


Its a Peacock Cichlid. LOL. Sunday I am going to fish a tournament for
largemouth and smallmouth sunfish (or perch if you will).

I find it absolutely amazing how the perch family filled so many natural
niches in the eastern US that are filled by cichlids in South America and
Africa.

I wonder what fileld those niche in the west before the introduction of LMB
& SMB. In the north it was salmonids mostly, but down here in the desert
those guys don't survive.

P.S. Could not read the story without logging on.


--
Ken Fortenberry



--
Posted via a free Usenet account from http://www.teranews.com

Bob La Londe wrote:
"Ken Fortenberry" wrote:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/11/sp...1outdoors.html

Peacock bass, but still.

Its a Peacock Cichlid. LOL. Sunday I am going to fish a tournament for
largemouth and smallmouth sunfish (or perch if you will).

I find it absolutely amazing how the perch family filled so many natural
niches in the eastern US that are filled by cichlids in South America and
Africa.

I wonder what fileld those niche in the west before the introduction of LMB
& SMB. In the north it was salmonids mostly, but down here in the desert
those guys don't survive.

P.S. Could not read the story without logging on.

Sorry about that, being registered I forget. For what it's worth
I don't think I've ever been SPAMmed as a result of registering
to read the Times online. And it's free. Here's the article:

November 11, 2006
Navigating the Amazon to Catch a Big One
By KEN SCHULTZ

TAPAGEM, Brazil — Early morning is the finest part of the day in
Amazonia. The air is sweet and dewy. The temperature is as cool as it
will get for the next 24 hours. Freshwater dolphins breach the calm
surface water. An assortment of tropical birds calls raucously. And,
each day, a pink-to-orange rising sun ball bathed the rain forest in
warm mellow colors.

On this morning, the fourth on a weeklong trip, Darrell Vore and I are
headed up the Rio Igapo-açu, the “river of the big-flooded forest,” and
a three-times-removed tributary to the mighty Madeira River. We are a
25-hour boat ride from Autazes, the nearest city.

Igapo-açu is a term that could apply to a thousand tributaries here.
Northern Brazil’s major rivers are the equivalent of America’s
superhighways; its major tributaries are like our state highways, and
its thousands of smaller tributaries and flooded passageways are like
our county and small-town roads. It is impossible to comprehend how vast
this water world is without seeing and exploring it.

Our destination is a lakelike area in the midst of Cunhã Sapucia, an
indigenous reserve where the only village, Tapagem, contains 81
residents who live in stilted thatched-hut housing and use hand-carved,
low-to-the-water dugout canoes for transportation. The village chief has
granted permission for us to catch and release fish, principally peacock
bass, or tucunare, in the reserve.

Unrelated to the sundry popular species of North American bass, tucunare
are the largest-growing member of the cichlid family of fish and a
predator that can sometimes be seen chasing harried baitfish, especially
long and slender sardinata, into the shallows and pinning them against
the shore. They occasionally cause fleeing prey to skip across the
surface like flying fish, sometimes landing on the bank.

The day before, in a large lakelike area about 20 miles away, Vore and I
caught peacock bass until our arms and wrists were weary. None were
large, however, so we vowed to use only big lures this time and to
concentrate on catching some of the fish in the 15- to 27-pound class
that draw several hundred avid anglers here each year during the dry and
low-water season. Access to these areas is gained via a yachtlike
shallow-draft mother ship, the Amazon Santana, which tows its fishing
boats, moving daily to new areas and allowing guests to eat and sleep in
comfort each evening after spending a dawn-to-dusk day casting, catching
and profusely perspiring.

We stopped to cast to the edge of a point of flooded trees, but left
shortly after seeing other predators at work. A pod of dolphins, which
had surfaced behind us, swiftly came to the point and stampeded down the
edge of trees chasing fish.

Freshwater porpoises, or dolphins, called botu, travel in pairs or small
groups throughout the Amazon River and its tributaries. In previous
days, we observed dozens of them, or heard them puffing through
blowholes. Amazonian natives say that botu, which exist only in
freshwater, eat peacock bass among other fish, and that whenever
dolphins are around, peacock bass move into the thickly tangled flooded
rain forest to escape them. At this location, the dolphins seemed intent
on doing their own bass catching.

Soon, at another point, Vore caught a 12-pound peacock bass, which our
guide, Wilson Rodriguez de Lima, was unhooking when my large propellered
surface lure, ripping across the surface, was stopped by a thunderous crash.

“Grande, grande,” Rodriguez shouted excitedly. Then, more softly, “Ohhh,
grande.”

As I held on to the hard-pulling fish, Rodriguez, who speaks as little
English as I speak Portuguese, suggested that I be careful. “Easy,” he
urged softly.

It was unclear whether Rodriguez was telling himself or me to stay calm,
but I was in a struggle. The worst that can happen is for a large
powerful tucunare to turn and charge back into the flooded forest. Once
there, the chances of landing it are remote, because the fish pulls the
line around trees or snags the hooks on objects, and in either case
breaks free.

This peacock bass made two strong runs at the trees, getting within a
whisker of them once, but I was able to steer it into the open and later
direct it into an outstretched net. Rodriguez whooped, and I stared for
several moments at 20 pounds of gleaming yellow-green fish with
orange-tinged fins and a mouth the size of a cantaloupe.

After the bass was unhooked and quickly photographed, it was returned to
the water, splashing the boat with a strong tail thrust as it departed.

Vore resumed fishing. Rodriguez performed tackle maintenance. I sat for
a moment to wipe off the perspiration, drink cold water and reflect on
my good fortune to start this day in this way, in so unique a place.

Rodriguez soon brought the incongruity of his world and mine into focus.

“Where you live?” he said out of the blue.

“New York.”

“Near Miami?”

“No. Not near Miami. Not near grande tucunare, either.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, nodding. “Too bad.”


Copyright 2006 The New York Times Company