Fishing on the South China Sea

April 8-10: A water taxi, known as a wala-wala, takes me to the fishing boat docked off eastern Hong Kong Island.

I meet Mr. Choi’s fishing buddy, Mr. Chiu, who owns the company. Mr. Chiu captains boat #1, and I’m on boat #2. We leave Victoria Harbor and disappear in the inky night.

After the city lights disappear, we near a bait boat, which approaches both boats. We stock up on small fish and squid. Our boat seems to be mostly Hong Kongers, with one man originally from the UK, who I speak with often throughout the trip (he’s lived in Hong Kong for 25 years and is married to a local).





The expat, a frequent customer of Mr. Chiu, says that many boats around Hong Kong have crews from mainland China. These crews are prohibited from leaving their boats, he says.

I brush my teeth as the South China Sea gently tosses Big Fish Boat #2. A fisherman fusses with the squids. He holds one in his palm. It bites him. “AH!” He shoves the squid in his mouth and gulps. “Ho mei-ah,” I say (tasty). “You wanna try one?” he asks in perfect English? As far as I can tell, he’s the only person on the boat who is relatively fluent in English (aside from myself and the expat).

After nine hours, in the morning, we stop at an oil drilling platform. The crew docks up against one of the platform's legs with a thick rope, and we begin to fish.

Half of the fishermen use electric rod and reel combos. The other half use giant spools of heavy line. The expat is the only fisherman using a manual rod and reel (for sport).

“It’s carnage,” he says. “Everything that hits the deck dies.”

I choose the electric combo.

A bird lands on my rod. So far from land, I wonder where it came from. It looks drunk swaying in the wind. A bad omen maybe? It flies onto the ship. The captain picks it up and poses for a photo. He throws the bird in the air and it flies straight into a wall. It disappears shortly.






I’m not catching anything. The local on my left is doing okay. Not terrific, but decent.

Around noon, I hear a loud clanging noise. I look up at the oil platform. Bits of lunch rain down. Smells awful. Stinky tofu on my face. The whole boat laughs. One of the crew sings, “Jingle Bells. Jingle Bells,” in heavily accented English. I’m guessing he thought the vomit-inducing rain resembled snow.

More clanging above. More lunch falls. The workers on the platform are targeting our ship. The crew spends an hour cleaning the boat before we leave for the next oil platform.

Everyone naps on the way. At the second location, I immediately catch a small red snapper. At least, I think it’s a snapper. I’m not sure.

Most of the boat gathers around the back. I grab a smaller rod and follow suit. With shrimp on hook, I fish well for the next two hours or so. I pull up at least 30 fish between 11-20 inches, which we’ll use for bait. I keep 15 and the rest go in a communal bait pot for catching really big fish. I notice that some of the men are stashing all of their bait fish in coolers.

Again, no one makes a terrific catch at the location.

The fisherman who offered the squid is cutting fish for sashimi. My snapper disappears for the cause. While working, he and a friend dip squids in wasabi and snack. He finishes the sashimi, and the boat crowds the plate (everyone except the expat). The captain offers me a piece on a toothpick. Very tasty. I say, “Ho mei-ah.” Everyone laughs.





Dinner proceeds. The best meal I’ve ever eaten on a boat – then again, it might be my first. I never would have suspected such a measly stove could have produced such a cornucopia: fresh chicken, fresh fish, pork, rice, beef, congee, fried vegetables – all prepared in a variety of sauces.

We arrive at the third location at nightfall. We dock between two oil platforms. I immediately get a big fish on, but a huge tangle ensues, and my line breaks. This location offers a lot of tangles, and good fishing for most of the boat. On the other hand, there’s me. I can’t seem to catch anything.

Half an hour before we leave, around 5 a.m., I catch something. Finally, I pull it aboard. Eel. The expat says it’s no good. We toss it over so it isn’t killed pointlessly (I’ve eaten eel before and liked it, but I’m not sure how to prepare it. Little do I know, Mrs. Choi knows the perfect recipe!).

Dead tired. I pass out in the cabin. Wake up. Watch Hong Kong approach from the distance.




We pull up to northern Hong Kong Island. A wala-wala picks up all passengers except me. I go back to the boat’s mooring. Alongside the wife of Mr. Chiu, Joyce arrives on another wala-wala.

Joyce is a far better fisherman than I. All she has to do is smile. The crew hands over a medium-sized barracuda (still giant by my standards) and two other huge fish. We pose with the fish, and the crew member who caught the barracuda scales it and cuts it into smaller pieces.





After climbing from the wala-wala onto Hong Kong island, I’m happy with the trip. Altogether, it cost me $1,350 HK, a huge discount from the normally priced $1650 HK (not including $500 HK for gear rental). My expense is less than $200 US.

Back at Joyce’s home, her mother prepares amazing fish congee, and her father prepares tasty sashimi. I share my pitiful trip with her father. He laughs, “Hong Kong fish don’t bite for foreigners.” I think I just need more practice.