The magic lure

The writer with the fish of his dreams – a monster roosterfish, caught on the ‘magic’ lure (seen here hanging from the reel handle).

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Generally I’m not the sort to get too fussed over what lure is on the end of my line.

Sure, certain lure types suit certain situations and certain colours work better in particular light conditions etc. But when it comes to brands, special scented formulas, paint jobs that would be at home in an art gallery, and stamps indicating a lure is handcrafted in Japan and so on, I don’t get too excited. I’ve always believed any suitable artificial presented in the right manner (even if it’s an old sock with a hook in it) will catch fish.

In short, there is no such thing as a magic lure.
Here’s where I have to confess a recent exception to this stance. You see, there was one lure in my tackle arsenal I grew particularly fond of. It went by many names, including: ‘Favourite’, ‘The Slayer’, ‘Deadly ol’’, ‘Lucky’ and, as much as I hate to admit it, near the end it of its life the words “Magic Lure” may have been uttered on occasion.

It all started in small tackle shop in Costa Rica (a place that has been my home away from home for the last few months). This lure wasn’t anything particularly special. Produced by a major tackle brand, I’d seen it at home in New Zealand before, where it never really grabbed me. But since coming to Costa Rica my popper and stick-bait supply had been thoroughly cleaned out, and I was desperate for whatever I could find.

Like I said, the lure was nothing special. It wasn’t really a popper or a stick-bait – more of a hybrid. It wouldn’t pop like a popper or swim like a stick-bait. Rather it did its own thing – kind of a stick-bait swim followed by spin, pop and gurgle with the occasional skitter thrown in for good measure. What it did do, though, was catch fish – and remarkably well, I might add.

It seemed almost every new spot I tested this lure, it was met with savage explosions of white water and a solid hook-ups, while all manner of other artificial offerings – poppers, stick-baits and soft-baits – cast in the same direction, generally yielded very little.

One of the issues with using this lure (if you could call this an issue) was that at around 40 grams it was far too light to be fished effectively on the popping outfits I had with me. Instead, I had no choice but to fire it out on what was basically a soft-bait outfit. Consequently, every chase and hook-up was a nervous moment…

How big was this fish? Could I stop it on this gear? Might it break the rod? God, I hope it won’t reef me!”
I pushed the gear well beyond its intended operating limits, and somehow managed to survive the dogged fights of various species of trevally and the blistering runs of several roosterfish on every occasion.

Perhaps what was more amazing than not losing this lure to a sportfish in the reef was not losing it to toothy critters. In Central America there is no shortage of things with teeth. Some days tropical barracuda can be a real nuisance, and there are also spotty mackerel with teeth like razor blades. Then there’s the dreaded needlefish – imagine a piper that grows to a metre-plus in length with a mouth like a crocodile! As a result, a brand-new lure can be snipped off before you’ve completed the first retrieve. So how this lure managed to survive their almost daily attentions was nothing short of a miracle, especially considering it was mostly fished on a 15kg (30lb) mono or fluorocarbon leader. Every time a needlefish came grey-hounding out of water with my lure stuck in its face, I thought it could be the end. But time and time again, the lure came back to me, albeit minus a bit more paint.

While this lure was irresistible to a huge number of species, its appeal to roosterfish in particular meant it was my go-to lure for most occasions. Roosters are a spectacular fish, both in terms of physical appearance and fighting ability. They are similar to our kingfish in many respects, but different in so many others. Roosters are a fickle fish, notorious for chasing surface offerings without biting. But this lure succeeded where others failed. Practically every rooster it raised also bit!

One of its last victims was perhaps the most memorable. It was an hour before dusk, and I made a cast into a swirling current edge just wide of a rocky point I’d cast at thousands of times before over the last few months. Two turns of the reel’s handle had the lure doing its thing across the surface – the pop, gurgle, skitter, swirl thing. The lure dipped under a wave and in its place, seemingly out of nowhere, appeared a huge dorsal comb and black-silver back. No eye, no head and no gill plate was visible, and no swirl or white water. The bite seemed to have happened in slow motion, yet if you’d blinked you would have missed it.

Then everything came tight and I was hooked up to the fish of my dreams – on a snapper soft-bait rod!
Similar to kings, the harder you pull with roosters the harder they pull back. I knew there was no chance of stopping the fish or even slowing it on this gear, so immediately reduced drag pressure. This saw the fish just slowly plodding around mid-water, completely unaware it was hooked. I could feel it shaking its head, perhaps wondering what was attached to its face; I prayed the hooks had been set well enough to hold with so little initial pressure.

Very slowly, using the softly-softly approach so effective on kings when hooked on light gear, we managed to coax the rooster out into deeper water. Here, it finally realised it was hooked, and all hell broke loose.

Fortunately, we were far enough away from the shallower bricks to be in with a chance. Even so, for the next 45 minutes I barely made an impression on the fish, despite having as much drag as I dared on the gear and gently palming the spool when possible. Instead, the fish did what it liked and we followed it all over the ocean. It seemed like there would be no end to the battle.

At around the hour mark however, I began to gain more line than I was losing, and 15 minutes or so later the beast was in my arms. Completely exhausted, I couldn’t even stand up for the photo.

Having never weighed or even seen many roosters before, I have no idea how big the beast really was, though we have caught a number to 25 kilos since, and this specimen was bigger by a fairly significant margin.

After that fish, I quite honestly considered putting that lure in a frame and sticking it on the wall – but what the hell, I was on a roll, so why stop?

For the next week that lure just kept on catching, much to my fishing buddy’s disgust. I started taking it for granted, firing into all sorts of dangerous looking places. The ‘magic lure’ wasn’t just magic, but invincible too – until a small dog snapper around 6 or 7 kilos nailed it.

Confident I could make short work of the upstart, I got stuck in, trying to hold it above the foul. But one run later and I felt that terrible sensation of line grating over rock, and next moment it was all over. The lure was gone. It was a weird feeling, almost as if I’d lost an extension of my body. I tried to console myself with the fact it was inevitable, but in reality, saying I was a bit gutted would be an understatement!

I did consider ordering a crateful of them off eBay that night, and got as far as hovering my finger over the ‘purchase’ – then the Internet connection timed out. I haven’t been able to find the lure in stock anywhere since. Perhaps that’s a good thing. After all, there’s no such thing as a ‘magic lure.’

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