Brazilian Redtails
 |
| Brazilian Redtails |
On the ocean, perhaps, such a scene would not be unusual. But we are not on the ocean. We are on the Rio Negro, deep within the heart of Amazonas, Brazil. The aquatic mammals around us are river dolphins, or botos, which spend their entire lives in freshwater.
The botos differ considerably from their marine counterparts. For starters, they’re pink. Vivid pink. A flamingo would envy their rosy hue. But only the adults are so colored. The newborns and adolescents are bluish-gray.
Also curious is the boto’s bulbous forehead. Imagine a cartoon dolphin whacked on the noggin with a baseball bat and you’ll have a good picture. This fleshy “melon” assists with echolocation, to help the dolphins find catfish, crabs and other foods in the dark world beneath the river’s surface.
Surprisingly, the botos are not the only dolphins around us. The 6-foot, 300-pound pink dolphins share their freshwater world with speedier gray tucuxis, pint-sized dolphins 3 to 4 feet long. A big one weighs 110 pounds.
Unlike botos, which tend to be solitary, tucuxis are gregarious, often appearing in pods of 10 or more. The botos rarely leap, but we watch the tucuxis shoot high above the water—rolling, somersaulting, even back-flipping—as they run the river chasing fish.
As we take in this freshwater dolphin extravaganza, I learn another difference between tucuxis and botos. The miniature cetaceans show no affection for humans. The botos, on the other hand, seem to enjoy our company.
“Some people say the botos take the shape of handsome young men,” says our fishing guide José. “Then they come ashore at night and seduce people’s wives and daughters. Perhaps they have seen your long hair and believe you are a woman, and that is why they toy with you.”
José laughs as I drop a weighted piranha into the water and a boto picks it up. It is the third consecutive time this has happened. The clicker on my reel buzzes loudly as the dolphin swims rapidly away. I am tempted to set the hook to see what it’s like to battle a mini-sub the color of Pepto Bismol. I resist the urge, however, remembering José’s warning that it is bad luck to harm one of these playful creatures.
One hundred yards away, the boto surfaces, my catfish bait clearly visible in its long toothed snout. The creature seems to be smiling. It drops my piranha, dives, then rises beside us again seconds later. It waits to play the game once more—“Snatch Senor Catfish’s Piranha.”
My fishing companion Bill Skinner has not been invited to play. He casts a live piranha into the river, then holds his rod tip high so the bait will be carried toward shore. The current pushes the lively fish beneath bushes cuffing the bank. The dolphin seems not to notice.
The 6-inch piranha struggles, vibrating Bill’s line. Then, suddenly—wham!—Bill’s rod tip takes a nosedive. He rears back on the pole. Water boils beneath the bushes.
José quickly repositions the boat in deeper water. The fish must be brought away from the dense cover and fought in more open water. But the fish is not persuaded to follow this plan. It surges deeper into the thicket, spinning rapidly as it goes. Bill’s line is wrapped around a dozen branches.
Another angler in this situation would give up. But “surrender” is not in Bill’s vocabulary. He leans back hard on the 7-foot rod and puts pressure on the fish. He turns its head. Then, amazingly, he drags it clear of the bushes.
The fight now begins in earnest. Bill gains a few feet of line. The fish takes it back. Bill reels some more. The fish surges away.
Minutes pass. But finally Bill brings the fish close so José can net it. The Brazilian grabs the fish by its stout pectoral fins and heaves it over the transom. The fish is gorgeous, with broad stripes of creamy white and chocolate brown, and a fiery reddish-orange tail. It is a redtail catfish, just what we’ve been hoping to catch.
I will remember forever what happened next. We are looking at this incredibly beautiful fish in the bottom of the boat, and suddenly it makes the most ungodly sound you ever heard. A booming sound. A guttural sound. A booming, guttural … well, belch.
Bill, who at that instant was reaching out to touch the fish, clutched his chest and fell back in the boat. José screamed. I spewed an expletive … or 10.
A BELCHING CATFISH. I’ll tell you, friends, there’s not much that can prepare you for that.
Legend has it the redtail catfish originated when a scarlet macaw was turned into a fish. Brazilians call it pirarara, the macaw fish, or simply guacamayo, the macaw.
It is aptly named. The pirarara’s tail and the tips of its fins glow with the vivid scarlet hues of the macaw. On some individuals, the upper body has a rich olive tone. On others, the color resembles dark chocolate. This contrasts with the creamy yellow belly and flanks. People who say catfish are not beautiful surely never encountered this strikingly marked species.
It is not beauty alone, however, that attracts an increasing number of anglers who target this South American sportfish. Its size lures fishermen, too. There are verifiable reports of redtails weighing 176 pounds, and 30- to 60-pounders are amazingly abundant in many South American waters. The all-tackle world record, a 123-pounder, was caught in the Amazon River in Brazil in 2010.
Fighting a heavyweight redtail could be compared to battling a monster blue cat you’ve snagged in the tail. If you’re sitting when you hook it, your adrenaline will spike when you’re wrenched upright and Mr. Pirarara does his utmost to snatch you into the murky piranha-filled depths. Catching a big one in the heavy current where redtails usually lurk requires an extra measure of fortitude and determination. Should your tackle have even a minor flaw—a nicked line, a poorly made rod blank, a weak hook—your opponent will reveal the imperfection in a lightning-fast explosion of fury, and the battle will end before it’s really started.
These things together—the redtail’s size, beauty and power—make it a highly celebrated opponent. Add to that the fact that you must visit remote jungle waters in South America to catch one (redtails are native to the Amazon, Orinoco and Essequibo river basins), and it’s easy to understand why increasing numbers of anglers are traveling to South America not just for peacock bass, but in hopes of boating a giant redtail.
Redtails are challenging to catch as well. The one Bill Skinner caught was landed after we had fished five days, 18 hours a day, attempting to hook one. I had nearly given up hope of catching one at all when José and I, motoring into a tributary to fish, saw a man standing in a long slender dugout. He was holding a handline, and the water before him was boiling. For several minutes, he fought the fish he had hooked and, finally, he pulled it into his boat. It was a redtail!
“Grandé!” José shouted. I guessed the fish at 60 pounds, and as we pulled alongside the man’s dugout, we saw he already had caught a smaller redtail.
I cannot speak Portuguese, but José talked with the man who obviously was pleased with his catch. José told him we, too, were hoping to catch a redtail, and the man motioned me to hand him my fishing pole. He replaced the cut-bait on my hook with a live piranha. Then he cast the bait right in the middle of some bushes next to the bank. Fish on! Another nice redtail.
“The pirarara is like the arara [macaw],” the jungle fisherman said as José translated. “It loves trees. That is where you must seek it.”
And so, having left the deep water where we thought the redtails lived, Bill and I fished in the bushes edging the river. And after Bill had landed five redtails—19 to 37 pounds—I finally figured out a way to trick the dolphin that was playing with my bait. I waited until he was turned away, then cast far downriver. My bait was in the bushes before he could reach it. And as soon as the piranha reached the bushes, a redtail attacked. That 23-pounder, hard fought and fairly landed, was the first of many I have caught since then, each as beautiful and powerful as the last.
When we returned to the mother ship that night, José did not tell everyone about the nice redtails we had caught, but chose instead to relate the story of the pink boto toying with my bait.
“I believe the boto sees Senor Catfish’s long hair and thinks he is a woman,” he said, laughing. “Tonight, perhaps, the dolphin will leave the water and come to seduce his lover.”
I turned in early but couldn’t sleep. Good thing, too. When I took my morning walk, I swear I found flipper tracks in the sand