Out There: Tucanaré, the exploding fish
The water beneath the lure erupts and, suddenly, it appears,
shaking its head like a dog with mouth full of porcupine quills.
Such is the strike of a peacock bass from Brazil's Rio Negro
By Keith "Catfish" Sutton
Its flanks are gilded with lustrous, golden scales slashed with bars of ebony. The crimson fins along its belly glow hot, like iron on a blacksmith's forge.
Such a thing seems insensible — a camouflage of vivid hues. But in a world illuminated by dancing rays of Amazon sunlight, the fish's metallic complexion is the perfect cloak.
Minutes earlier, a red-bellied piranha was its breakfast hors d'oeuvre. Now the fish waits, hoping to be served an entree. Its sanguine eyes probe the crystalline water from which its meal will come.
When Walter Delazari casts his lure to the treetop where the fish lays hidden, he senses the unseen creature's presence. "Senor Peixe Gato," he says, gesturing with a tilt of his head. "Tucunare is there. Prepare yourself."
| The huge peacock bass sees the lure the instant it touches down and charges it like a cheetah after a gazelle. | ||
I raise my camera and try to focus on Walter's dog-walking "isca" — a four-inch Brazilian stickbait, much like a Zara Spook.
The lure is much smaller and less noisy than those employed by most peacock bass anglers, but in the skilled hands of the pescador from Sao Paulo, it proves once again an irresistible enticement.
The huge peacock bass sees the lure the instant it touches down and charges it like a cheetah after a gazelle.
Briefly, I can see its wake as I look through my viewfinder. I press the shutter. The camera fires a rapid burst of continuous frames.
The water beneath Walter's lure erupts and, suddenly, the invisible fish is visible.
It seems suspended, momentarily, three feet above the river's surface, shaking its head like a dog with mouth full of porcupine quills. Then it plunges headfirst back into the river.
It is, indeed, a gigantic peacock, and it fights gigantically.
Walter struggles to keep it from its treetop lair. His rod bends so much I fear it will shatter, and the shrapnel will kill us both.
I move away and crouch in the far end of the boat, watching … mesmerized by the horrific battle. Never have I witnessed a more violent struggle between man and fish.
The tucanare takes to the air again and again, soaking us with spray as it tries to shake the hook. It surges away, peeling line from the pescador's reel.
In seconds, the spool shows through the few wraps of line that remain attached. Then I hear a sickening crack, like the report of a small rifle. Walter's line is gone, trailing behind the one that got away.
Walter reaches for another rod, and quickly casts to another treetop. There is no time to worry over lost fish. In the Rio Negro, peacocks this size are as common as bluegills in a farm pond.
Two weeks pass before I view the photos. One among the hundreds stands out. It is a photo of Walter's grande striking the lure.
| If you're going | |
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Peacock bass outfitters, specializing in the waters Brazil's Rio Negro |
In the center, against a dark background of slick water reflecting green foliage, is a washtub-sized hole ringed with white spray, as if someone had just tossed a boulder off a bridge.
The focus is a little soft; the dark background made the camera select a sluggish shutter speed, and the violent action captured on the slow film makes the final product a little fuzzy.
I treasure the photo, however, because I know what it shows. The washtub-sized crater wasn't the result of a boulder splashing down, but rather of a peacock bass attacking Walter's surface plug.
In the frame that follows, shot one-thirtieth of a second later, the peacock is frozen in mid-air, head down, mouth wide, gills flared.
As the fish thrashes, water droplets shoot in all directions, like the remnants of a rocket exploding during a Fourth of July finale.
The frames around these two show nothing. I was too slow; the fish was too fast.
There are others, though — many others — that show Walter smiling as he cradles a nice peacock bass in his hands after a battle that ended successfully.
The fact is, during the two days I fished with him, Walter lost few of his skirmishes with peacock bass.
The clash described above, however, is the one I remember most, for it is the only one where I was able to capture the moment of truth — the exploding fish — on film.
You've probably heard of peacock bass. Some of the luckier among you have fished for them. And those of you who have know what I now know: Once you've seen a 10-plus-pound peacock explode on a topwater lure, you're ruined for everything else.
Even the small fish (5- to 8-pounders are considered small on the Rio Negro) will knock a lure clear out of the water when they hit it. They don't just strike a lure; they try to rip the hooks out of it.
Jim Spencer, my boondocking buddy and friendly competitor in the writing business, accompanied me on my trip to the Rio Negro.
After our first day of fishing for peacocks, he noted, "The only freshwater strikes I've seen that were anywhere comparable have come from schooling striped bass.
"And judging from what I've seen of both species, the strikes of a 40-pound striper and a 10-pound peacock are about equal … except that after the strike, the 10-pound peacock will fight a little harder than the 40-pound striper."
Peacock bass aren't related to the largemouth and smallmouth bass of North American waters, but comprise a genus within the cichlid family, a diverse group of tropical freshwater fishes found primarily in Central and South America, Africa and Asia.
While four distinct species are generally recognized, some ichthyologists suggest that a dozen or more might exist throughout South America.
Almost all peacock specimens, regardless of species, have a circular black "eye spot," or ocellus, on the tail. And it is this spot, resembling the spots on the tails of peafowl, that gave the fish their common Spanish name "pavon," or peacock.
Brazilians know the fish as tucanare, a word derived from the Tupi-Guarani Indian language.
Transplants to Panama and Hawaii have been successful, and I'm told you also can catch peacocks in the drainage canals of south Florida where they were introduced in the 1960s.
I've seen many of those canals, though, and I imagine fishing for peacocks there would be like eating a gourmet meal in a storage shed. It might be delicious, but the ambience would suck.
For the true peacock experience, you must visit the jungle waters of South America.
During our two days together, Walter and I saw many unforgettable things on the Rio Negro.
Scarlet macaws flocking to a roost like blackbirds to a rice field. Giant catfish and freshwater rays. Fifteen-foot anacondas. Five-pound piranhas. Bare Indians. Jungle villages. Howler monkeys and pink dolphins. And exploding fish — tucanare.
I will always remember all these things, but, thanks to a single photograph, I will remember most the tucanare.
To contact Keith Sutton, email him at catfishdude@sbcglobal.net.
