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Conway Bowman with mako shark
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Incredibly fast and strong, MAKO SHARKS are bluewater dynamos that provide thrills equal to any in our sport
How fast are mako sharks? Here’s a clue: those that swim off the West Coast are also called bonito sharks, a reference to one of their favorite lunches. They’re very close relatives of the makos found in the Atlantic. Beside bonito, they prey on mackerel, tuna, albacore, and other pelagic species. That’s like finding an animal that runs down greyhounds for snacks.
A mako does not swim with the slow, sinuous movements typical of the sharks we see in nature programs. It swims with a stiffer movement, propelling its streamlined body with compact strokes of a tail built for high-speed, open-ocean work. Unlike the tails of many other sharks, a mako’s caudal fin has two lobes of roughly equal length (homocercal, in biologist’s lingo), much like the tails of the speedsters it eats. Renowned leapers, makos have been reported to jump as high as 20 feet when hooked. They grow to more than half a ton, though one that size is a very rare catch.
Conway Bowman, a San Diego guide who operates Bowman Bluewater, knows many anglers who have had a lot of experience with blue and striped marlin. Makos, these clients tell him, are every bit the gamefish that marlin are.
I’d long wanted to catch one with a fly rod, and finally had the chance last August. My father, brother and I met Captain Bowman before 7 A.M., loaded our gear into his 18-foot Parker, and began the trip out of Mission Bay in San Diego. The sea was glassy smooth that morning, and the five-mile run offshore passed quickly. On the way out, Conway explained that we were going to start by sight-casting to cruising fish.
When the numbers on his GPS unit looked right, Conway pulled back the throttle and we began scanning the water for signs of fish. He told us to look for a small, V-shaped wake with a low dorsal fin and the tip of a tail in the middle of the disturbance.
Within minutes, my brother spotted the first fin slicing the water. I grabbed the 14-weight outfit and assumed the ready position on the bow, Conway positioned the boat to intercept the cruising fish from the port side, allowing me to cast the line and the huge fly over the water and not over the heads of our fishing party.
The fish never broke stride as it quickly came within casting range. I loaded the rod (as much as you can load a 14-weight stick) and dropped the big orange streamer about 40 feet away and 10 feet in front of the fish. Conway told me to let it sink and then twitch it a little. The fish made a pass at the fly, and when I lost sight of the fly in the shark’s mouth I struck hard with my left hand. I managed to get in three good whacks before the shark spun and dove, trying to shake out the size 8/0 fly. I had hooked my first mako, a solid bundle of muscle, cartilage, and protruding teeth.
But the fight didn’t last long. The five-foot fish (about 80 pounds, Conway estimates) surfaced a few times, spinning and rolling. After a few such stunts, it cut the 44-pound test butt section of my six-foot leader with its powerful tail. That’s part of shark fishing. A wire bite tippet might neutralize the beast’s teeth, but there’s not much you can do about a big, abrasive tail repeatedly whacking the leader butt or fly line.
Spouters and Slicks
After tying on a new leader and fly, we slowly motored around looking for more prowling sharks. Our search was interrupted by coma-shaped plume of mist rising from the water about 100 yards away. We thought we’d come across a gray whale. Then another one rose and spouted a short distance from the first, revelaing an immense, rounded back topped with a small dorsal fin a good 40 feet behind the blow hole. We discussed possibilities and decided we were being entertained by a pair of blue whales, the largest creatures on the planet. They came within 50 yards of the drifting boat, close enough to not only hear their breathing but smell it, too. I can attest that they feed on crustaceans and small fish. They vanished, and we resumed our fishing, humbled by the sight.
Conway tied a sack full of albacore remnants over the side. The chum slick would draw sharks and let us keep fishing if the wind came up and made the water too choppy for sighting fish. We quickly spotted another cruising shark, a little guy under three feet long that made a beeline for the chum bag. My brother made several casts as the fish circled the boat between attacks on the bag full of the albacore chunks. We all marveled at the fish’s speed and aggression. The shark was small, but it knew what it wanted. So, we played the classic dirty trick: Conway told my brother to cast as he lifted the chum bag from the water. The shark turned its black eyes on the bright fly, raced over, and inhaled it. My brother struck the fish and it shot into the depths. But a 14-weight rod makes quick work of a 10-pound shark, and we quickly released the fish.
Conway requires his anglers to use barbless hooks and maintains a strict no kill policy. He takes care not to harm the fish or himself by unhooking each shark with a four-foot-long pole equipped with what looked like a modified eye bolt on the end – a long-range hook disgorger. There’s no holding a shark to unhook or revive it, unless you’re eager to come home short one appendage.
Minutes after we released the little shark, another turned up. This one looked to be about 45 pounds. Once again, Conway positioned the boat to give me a good shot at the approaching fish. I watched the big, bright orange fly sink, and saw the light blue, pointy-nosed fish turn and focus those bottomless black eyes on the fly. You can get mesmerized by those eyes.
The fish ate the fly, I struck, and then I held on as the shark sped into the depths, easily peeling off 50 yards of heavy backing from the Abel 4 Big Game reel. The fish took me on three tours of the boat as I scrambled between bow to stern to keep the line from fouling on anything. It was not a big bonito shark, but it fought all out of proportion to its size. After 15 minutes of hard pulling with a 14-weight rig, I brought the shark to the boat. Conway employed his homemade unhooker, and we watched the fish swim away.
An Aerial Display
By then the wind had kicked up, creating a small surface chop. Conway announced it was time to change tactics. We motored offshore and drifted with the current, making a slick with our bag of chum, now housed in a plastic crate so that a shark couldn’t tear it open with a sneak attack. After drifting for a while, we ran back to the head of the slick and started again.
Two small blue sharks spent most of the afternoon circling the boat and nosing around the chum box. They’re just as beautiful as makos, but they do not move with the same compact power.
Although none of the fish we hooked put on the aerial show for which makos are renowned, we still got a sample of what they can do. As we drifted, waiting for something to appear in the slick, an eight-foot-long missile shot from the water and turned a couple of cartwheels about 15 feet in the air before landing with a crash. I’d never seen any fish do that. But it was nothing new to Conway, who mentioned that mako sharks frequently leap when they cross a chum slick. We waited for the fish to appear again, eager for a shot at a big shark that liked to jump, but never got another look at it.
Those astonishing leaps are best enjoyed at a safe distance. Conway told us about an angler he’d kept from casting when a big mako – 150 pounds, he reckoned – appeared within 10 feet of the boat. Had that fish jumped when it felt the hook, it might well have come aboard. That’s an awkward situation. Do you stay in the boat with 150 pounds of very upset mako shark, or do you go overboard and take your chances in the chum slick?
We hooked one more mako and a blue shark during the afternoon, and headed back to San Diego a happy crew. The makos had lived up to their reputation. They are superb fly-rod fish, strong and fast, and they provide sight-fishing thrills equal to any in the sport. They don’t require the stealth that tarpon demand. And like most sharks, makos touch our primeval core. If the sight of those black eyes and protruding teeth closing in on a fly doesn’t get your adrenaline flowing, you need help from a doctor.
As a bonus, you can diversify the southern California experience by trying for other fish, such as Pacific bonito (every bit the fighters their East Coast cousins are), Pacific yellowtail, and Pacific barracudas. Fine fish, every one. But once you’ve cast to a mako shark, you might have trouble getting worked up over other fish, at least for a while.
Mako Tackle
You need a powerful rod to subdue a mako. I brought my Sage RPLXi 12-weight rod, and alternated between it and Captain Bowman’s 14-weight. You also need a lot of backing. We used Abel Big Game 3 and Big Game 4 reels with more than 400 yards of gel-spun Spectra.
Makos seem to prefer a fly within two feet of the surface. A Rio floating tarpon line with a clear, 15-foot intermediate tip and a slow-sinking fly made for an ideal presentation. The line’s floating body also simplified picking it up.
With a clear-tip line, you don’t need a leader longer than about six feet. Use two to three feet of 40- to 50-pound butt section, a 20-pound tippet, and a wire bite tippet. I had good luck with orange flies tied on debarbed, size 10/0 hooks, but sharks will take a variety of big streamers, as long as they sink slowly. When in doubt ask your guide for help with rigging and flies.
Conway Bowman operates Bowman Bluewater. His contact information is listed in the Links section of this website.
Reprinted with permission. Article originally published in Saltwater Flyfishing, June/July 2002; pages 30 – 33.
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