Going into this trip I promised myself a perfect day and an “insane catch” — what I actually got was a forgotten paddle, soaked pants, and almost three hours without a single bite. But it was exactly where the outing seemed to be going nowhere that I found a school of horse mackerel, and it reminded me why you should never give up on a fishing day too early.

Tuning, a forgotten paddle, and nasty cross waves

Before heading out I glued down the front hatch with thread-lock and tightened the rear steering cables — they had been so overtightened that the kayak barely responded to the rudder, like the cables were about to snap. Out on the water it turned out I’d forgotten the paddle anyway, and the first wave soaked me up to the waist — I joked on camera that I need fleece-lined rubber pants for autumn. The wind was blowing offshore, and waves were crossing at different angles into those “square” waves that rock the kayak and push it sideways. Far off I spotted a yacht — only the sail was visible, the hull already below the horizon — and joked that the earth really is round after all.

Jig versus flies: don’t touch what’s working

My first rig was the classic setup: a 40 g pilker with two flies. The pilker — nicknamed “the chaser” among local anglers — is bigger and about three times cheaper than the flies, but in my experience it’s the flies that provoke horse mackerel strikes more often. I thought of the old joke about the programmer’s son asking why the sun rises at the same time every day: once you’ve found something that works, leave it alone — though never changing anything at all is its own trap. The first serious bite was strong, and the fish got off right at the kayak — a yellowish tint, species unknown. I ran through guesses — tuna, barracuda, bluefish — but never figured out what it was. A double kayak, longer than mine, cruised past in the meantime, and it broke my assumption that a longer boat is less stable — turns out it’s the opposite.

Fifty grams and the “Chinese killer”

Once it was clear the 40 g pilker was doing nothing but acting as dead weight — not a single strike on it directly — I switched to a 50 g lure the crew calls the “Chinese killer.” I considered retying a fresh one since the tinsel tabs on the old one were tearing off, but its results were so much better, tangling aside, that I stuck with it. That lure found the school: horse mackerel started hitting one after another, and I came up with a small lifehack — holding an open bag under the rod so fish falling off the hook would land straight inside. A couple got away back into the water on the drop, which is fine when a school is actively feeding — not worth losing time untangling gear over. Oddly, I didn’t land a single mackerel all day, even though it usually goes for the small pilker — instead I pulled up a couple of small silvery fish I couldn’t quite name.

The lesson of the day: keep searching, don’t get discouraged

The first half of the trip was rough: barely any bites, and almost no other boats or anglers around — I was nearly ready to turn back. But then I noticed the water changing color and debris drifting on the surface, a sure sign of a depth drop-off. That’s exactly where I stopped forcing the big flies and the heavy pilker and found the school. Around midday the bite shut off right on schedule, the wind flipped from offshore to onshore, and it started pushing the kayak back toward land — I could just sit there and cast, knowing I’d eventually drift ashore anyway. People say Spain runs on its own relaxed rhythm, no rush, it’ll all work out — and today even the sea seemed to follow that rule.