Where The Fish Has Great Taste
The Pacu of Semenyih
Brandon Ho FFI CCI
It all started with a short text to Ben Foo, the renowned fly casting instructor on a Thursday afternoon.
“Any recommendations for a fishing spot this Sunday?”
“Could try Fish Valley but need to bring bread for berley.”
“Ok”
“It must be flavoured bun or cakes. Normal bread doesn’t work.”
“Wow!!! The fish got taste!”
On Sunday, Clevin, Nic, Janice and I walked into the Fish Valley Restaurant. It is a covered restaurant overseeing a large pond where some anglers were fishing. The dining area is large and the tables are placed a comfortable distance from each other, a welcome change from some of the restaurants in the city. The main showcase is two large aquariums showcasing some of the local fish species.
I spotted Ben and Otto sitting at the far end of the restaurant, closest to the pond. You can tell the anglers and the non-anglers apart very easily. Even when talking to each other, their eyes never left the pond.
After the customary greetings and handshakes, we chose a table next to the pond under a gazebo and had lunch. It was a simple meal but it was the simplicity that made the meal memorable. The food tasted just as I remembered it: good to the last bite! I was here many years ago, even before I picked up fly fishing.
Under the gazebo with the fan blowing at full speed, we were slow to get up and set up our gear. Clevin took the van key from me and parked it under a tree next to our table. That’s thoughtful. Still, it was hard to get up but we were here for a mission. To catch the pacu!
It was slightly after 3pm when the first bun was tossed into the water. With eagle eyes, we watched for the slightest movement in the water. The first few minutes passed without a single nibble on the bun. It floated gently in the translucent green water. Then, a few small movement, followed by a frenzy of fish attacking the bun. We all got excited but Ben coolly said it was just the small lampans. We didn’t travel here for the tiddlers. We wanted the brute that could bend out wt6 to breaking point and make our reels scream in agony.
We kept throwing buns after buns into the pond. Occasionally, there would be a huge splash and the whole bun disappeared into the abyss. By the time the huge fish appeared, we had almost depleted our supply of bread. Clevin was sent to procure more bread from the nearby shops and he came back smilling with 5 loaves of bread. Ben looked at him, the smile disappeared from his face. “ This is only enough for one hour, max.”
To catch these monster here, distance, accuracy and timing were vital. Once the fish zoomed in on the bread, one would have to read the splash to determine if it was the lampans or the pacus. The huge wake from the pacus would signal the time to cast. With the berley 40 to 50 feet away, you only had time to false cast 2 to 3 times to get the fly out to within a few inches from the commotion. Any further, the fly would be totally ignored. To make matter worst, there was a electric cable behind us and the front was obstructed by a wooden barrier to prevent the overzealous anger from falling into the pond.
With Ben diligently throwing bread into the pond to keep the fish interested, I was instructed to wait for the precise moment to cast.
“Cast now!!! To the middle bread!!!”
It was more than 40 feet away! I picked up my rod, mindful of the wire about 10 feet away, cast into the frenzy.
“Strip the line and little!” Ben coached. “Let the fly sink and leave it,”
With the frenzy around the approximate location of my sinking fly, I knew it would be a matter of time before something swam away with it. The line went tight and I lifted the rod with my right hand while my left hand gripped the line tight. I eased the line, allowing the fish to take the loose line before allowing the drag to do the work. The drag whizzed as the line poured out, reminding me of the run of a bonefish, albeit a shorter run. With the fish slowing down, I slowly pumped and reeled to recover some line. The line took off again and then… the line went slack. The fish had thrown the hook.
Despite losing the fish, the others kept fishing in earnest, catching lampan like there was no tomorrow. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I saw Ben holding a bent rod. The others were rushing over to watch the commotion and Clevin took on the photographer’s job. After an intense but strong fight, the fish was netted and held for a photo session. After releasing the fish, he cast to another frenzy created by a pandan flavoured bun and connecting to a strong pulling fish. Like the gentleman that he was, he generously passed the rod to Janice. She fought the fish with confident and even after being bullied by the brute, she managed to land the fish.
The commotion of the fight caused the pond to go quiet. We took a break under the tree with a cold drink. Otto and Nic were still casting under the hot sun. I wished I had their determination. Their hard work paid off, Nic hooked up to a monster that peeled the line out of his reel and well into his backing. It just wouldn’t stop. We enjoyed the show from the comfort of the shade. Just as sudden as the line took off, the line went slack. Another fish lost!
I stood up confidently to avenge the humiliation Nic suffered. With Ben by my side, guiding and coaching, I was sure I would get another fish. True enough, I got a hook up but the run was so weak, it merely just bounced the rod rather than bending it. It was a lampan. Laughing at my expense, Ben graciously offered me his new Fenlite wt6 rod. The rod was not even launched yet but Ben had landed numerous fish on it. It had to be a lucky rod. The first cast of the rod, I had a hook up. It was a lampan. The fish was quickly released and the line cast out again. Another strike and another lampan. The process was repeated and numerous lampans later, I finally hooked up to a bigger fish. The fish fought hard but not as hard as the one I lost earlier. Rather than fiercely pulling line out, the fish just stubbornly resisted by using it wide body to create resistance. Finally, the fish was landed and it was the skinniest pacu I’d ever seen. It was so thin that the ribs could be seen under the skin. While it was thin, it still gave a good account of itself and the size was commendable. It was quickly released as not to over stress this fish.
Meanwhile on the other side, Otto hooked and landed a grass carp. A very hard fish to catch on fly. Despite only feeding on vegetative matter, it managed to build up its bulk and with the muscle packed into a cylindrical body, the fish was more an explosive torpedo than a gentle grass eater. It was a great fight and in the end Otto emerged the winner, proudly posing with the fish, ignoring the pain and fatigue induced by the meek looking fish. That would be my next target fish in Semenyih.
In the dying moments before the bread supply dried off, Nic managed to land a good sized pacu. I passed the rod to Clevin to have a go, hoping that everyone would have a chance to fight and land a good fish but it was not to be. By 6 pm, we were out of berley and we watched with envy as the other anglers kept landing fish after fish. The hour or so before sunset was the best time to catch them. Without bread, the game was lost. Dejectedly, we packed our gear and we proceeded to the restaurant to have dinner to lift our spirit. We promised ourselves we would be back and with enough bread to feed a starving nation.