Sudden thunderclouds—and a lizardfish

On Tuesday, 20 August 2019, we headed towards Shinwa for a dawn session, hoping to catch chinu—black seabream—on topwater lures.

The weather was calm when we left. By the time we had passed the First Bridge, it had changed completely.

Ominous thunderclouds appeared, then spread as though setting off a chain reaction. Before we knew it, the entire sky had turned into a lightning storm unlike anything I had seen.

It was like Geostorm—a slight exaggeration, perhaps—or some other science-fiction film, with a whole elaborate fireworks display made of lightning.

The forecast had shown a closed-umbrella icon for dawn. It was spectacularly wrong.

Waiting, then a few casts

We stopped for a while in an open area just beyond the Otao breakwater and watched the sky.

After about 30 minutes, the thunder subsided and the rain eased to a drizzle.

I was not feeling inclined to walk the rocky shore, so we went to Tate-no-hana to see how things looked.

Then I felt like making a few casts. I put on my rain gear and first went down onto the rocks on the left, exposed at dead low tide.

I went to the tip and made a few casts. Nothing happened. I moved to the far right and made a few more. Still nothing. A few casts from the middle produced, just as expected, absolutely nothing.

We moved on to the Otao breakwater.

I climbed onto the right-hand breakwater near its landward end and fished from the corner at the tip, trying both the inside and the outside.

It looked full of promise. Nothing in particular happened.

Something on the 40 g jig

I decided to head back. About halfway along, I cast slightly towards the rocky shore and gave the 40 g metal jig a few jerks.

Suddenly, the jig felt light. The tension disappeared.

I hurriedly wound up the slack, and suddenly there was weight.

I set the hook and began winding. Oh—that felt quite heavy.

Then the tension vanished again, leaving the line loose and drifting.

Could this be a nerigo—a young greater amberjack? A very appealing possibility.

I tightened the line again. This time, I could see a fish thrashing about just below the surface.

Yes, a nerigo!

For a moment, that was what I thought.

Then I saw what was actually coming towards me, still thrashing: an extraordinarily thick-bodied eso, a lizardfish.

The final scene

I enjoyed the bend in the rod as I drew it in to my feet.

I was a little concerned that the #3.5 leader was scuffed, but I began to lift the fish out anyway.

As I put some force into the lift, the fish turned over.

And… snap.

It had broken.

I looked at the fish. It seemed bewildered, looking this way and that for a while.

Fish: “Could that have been a really frightening dream?”

That was the end of our little movie scene. We headed home.

My wife always does the driving, by the way.

This time, too, she had felt there was little prospect of catching anything and had been fast asleep in the car.

This is the author’s account of the 20 August 2019 trip, first published the following day. Place names and conditions belong to that account. The leader size is retained in Japanese gō notation; its material is not specified. Another early memory: My first time eging.