It was a struggle hauling a whole sailfish onto Luqman’s kayak.
The South China Sea is a world apart from the Straits of Malacca.
For most Malaysians, who live along the west coast, a journey to Kelantan, Terengganu, Pahang or Johor’s eastern shores can feel like stepping into another country.
Now is the time to go. The inter-monsoon period is here, and next month brings the southwest monsoon, lasting until early October.
The prevailing winds from the Indian Ocean will first be weakened by Sumatra and then by the Titiwangsa Range.
That means the east coast waters will be calm, with little rain to disrupt outdoor adventures.
And if you’re into kayaking, even better.
Many of the beaches here have firm sand, allowing you to drive right onto the foreshore – the part of the beach exposed at low tide.
There’s no need to lug all your gear and heavy kayak across hundreds of metres from the roadside.
Then there’s the water itself.
Unlike the Straits of Malacca’s murky jade-green hue – caused by algae blooms fed by urban and plantation runoff – the South China Sea is blue-black, its depth masking its stunning clarity.
Wade in, and the water is crystal clear.
For kayak-fishers like Luqman Al Hakim, 34, the marine life is just as striking.
The variety of fish leaves west coast anglers envious – and you might even hook a sailfish.
A well-known figure in Malaysia’s kayak-fishing community, Luqman – better known as ‘Vluq’ (pronounced “vlook”) – owns a tackle shop in Kemaman, Terengganu.
Reviving the sailfish by running seawater through its gills.
His online videos sharing fishing tips and adventures have made him a go-to source of knowledge.
A few years ago, while fishing off Kuantan, he landed an unforgettable catch.
“I was aiming for ‘tenggiri’ (king mackerel),” he recalls.
His setup: a spinning reel with 240m of 30lb braided line, a 15m fluorocarbon leader (40lb), and a live bait rig with a 30lb-test nylon-coated steel wire, using one single hook and one treble hook.
Fifteen minutes into dragging his bait between 3km and 5km from shore, his reel suddenly screamed – the telltale sign of a big fish making a run.
The sailfish took the bait and bolted, stripping line at breakneck speed.
Tightening the drag, Luqman soon found himself in the middle of a kayak-fishing dream: being towed by a powerful fish.
“From my GPS console, I saw that the fish pulled me for 2.4km.
“It was so strong that, within minutes, almost all the line on my spool was gone,” he says.
Another fish can still neatly shear off the live bait’s midsection and avoid the two hooks of the rig.
To stop it from completely spooling him, he pedalled hard to chase after it, desperately reeling in line.
Though heavier and less manoeuvrable, a pedalling kayak allows hands-free movement – using foot power to turn a propeller or fins beneath the hull.
This left his hands free to fight the fish.
It took over half an hour before the sailfish tired enough for him to bring it alongside.
Nearly as long as his kayak, its 50cm-long “spear” of a snout was a serious hazard.
When he grabbed hold of it, the rough, sandpaper-like texture tore up his hand.
At around 25kg, it was impossible to fully lift onto his kayak deck.
After a tough battle, he chose to release it, spending another 30 minutes pedalling while holding the fish, ensuring seawater ran through its gills to revive it.
“Don’t bother eating sailfish,” he advises. “Its meat is tough, rubbery and has a strong fishy taste.
“Its value is in the adventure. The thrill of the catch is what makes the east coast special. Fish responsibly; catch and release.”
