by R. A. Lang
We always returned with a cooler box crammed full of fish at around four o’clock in the afternoon. Grouper and red snapper were always popular with the Filipinos I worked with, and I was only too happy to oblige them every Saturday afternoon when returning back to work.
Myatt opened my cooler box every Saturday morning, and the ice was still frozen; and she cleaned all the fish before I got up. When I think about it, Myatt was a diamond.
I told her which fish I wanted to freeze for the monthly party and which fish I wanted to give to the Filipinos on site, and then I gave the rest to her to take home. This went on for several months until, one day, she opened my cooler box and found only two little fish.
I was waiting for her to arrive that morning, but kept out of sight. She didn’t know I was listening to her as she made a kind of disappointed moan. Then she saw that I’d taken all the shelves out of the fridge which were leaning alongside it, and she was surely curious as to why.
When she opened the fridge, she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a little scream: there was a forty-seven kilo yellow fin tuna wedged diagonally in my fridge. That was the only way I could keep store it as the cooler box was far too small.
I proudly entered the kitchen, trying my best to resemble a character from Ernest Hemingway’s famous book, but a younger version, and I found her smiling from ear to ear. She asked me how I wanted it prepared, so I asked her to cut it up into steaks. The steaks were so big that we needed to cut them again into quarters, which would still overhang a dinner plate.
While Myatt was busy fighting with the tuna, I went out to the local supermarket and bought the biggest aluminium saucepan I could find which had two handles and a lid. After that, I went to a garage to pick up a sack of ice.
When I returned, I poured some ice into the saucepan, placed the head of the tuna on top of it, and continued to fill the rest of the saucepan with ice until the tuna’s head was fully covered. Finally, I placed the lid on top of the pan.
Myatt asked what I was doing, and I replied, “I’m packing the head for you to take home with you, darling.” Later, Myatt explained that she was able to make Filipino fish soup for an entire month!
One of my normal Thursday night visits to my fishing partner’s compound presented me with quite a surprise. It came as a little, furry, four-legged kitten. My friends’ wife noticed earlier in the day that a black plastic garbage bag was lying on the ground underneath his car. It had been strategically positioned directly again the back wheel of his car but was moving; so she dragged it out to see what was inside.
There were four little kittens inside, which had been strategically placed so they would be driven over. The four little kittens were playing on their living room carpet but one of them seemed to bond with me the minute it saw me, and that was that!
I needed to wait until the next day to take Muffy home with me so I had time to borrow a cat box, buy kitten food, cat litter etc., and also some little toys so she could amuse herself. For a litter tray, I used a large rectangular stainless steel cooking tray, which I had found in a kitchen cupboard.
Muffy was very nervous when she first entered my apartment; she hid under the sofa and couldn’t be persuaded to come out until she became hungry. The drive home probably didn’t help. It was several hours before Muffy came out and she ate everything placed for her. Muffy’s confidence grew quickly and soon she became a wonderful companion to have.
She was certainly a feral cat, always on the wild side. My shoulders were permanently covered in scratches and claw marks because she liked to take rides around my apartment while perched on my shoulders like a parrot.
Her favourite game was helping me when I was rigging more fishing lures. This was quite dangerous once hooks were attached, and we had many a near accident when she came darting out of nowhere to pounce on the lure I was busy rigging. The rigs were composed of a hard plastic head and a soft latex type coloured skirt, totally irresistible to Muffy.
I was coming close to completing my third year in Saudi Arabia, but with all my divorce proceedings wearing me down, I decided not to renew my contract for another year. Meanwhile, my Cornish fishing partner had been busy over the last three months entering us in the annual fishing tournament in Phuket, Thailand, which was held in the first week of November every year.
With my soon-to-have freedom, I left Saudi Arabia in October of 1996 and returned to the United Kingdom for just a couple of weeks to finalise my divorce. Myatt took Muffy to live with her and I replaced the litter tray back in the kitchen cupboard for the apartment’s next occupants to use.
While I was back in Swansea, I decided to get my first tattoo to prepare for the Phuket fishing tournament.
I had a T-shirt with an illustration of Ernest Hemingway’s book, ‘The Old Man and the Sea’. The picture featured a blue marlin caught on an old man’s hand line while on his little fishing boat off Havana. Because time was short, I just had the tattoo artist put the fish on my right calf muscle. I figured I could get the rest done the next time I was back in Swansea, whenever that would be. I couldn’t have guessed that the tattooist would lose his right forefinger later so it wasn’t possible to have it completed.
With my divorce complete, I flew to join my fishing partner, his wife, and their Doberman Sasha in Thailand. They had left Saudi around the same time I had and were already waiting for my arrival in their hotel at the top of Bangla Road in Patong.
Chapter 6
Phuket Fishing Tournament
Previously, while still in Saudi Arabia, we had fishing team T-shirts and baseball caps made in the Philippines by a friend who was visiting his home while on leave from Saudi. We called our fishing team ‘The Hot Rods and Hookers’ for some strange reason.
My partner had the word Captain on his hat and T-shirts, and he arranged for mine to feature the words ‘Master Baiter’. Thankfully, the words were separated by a space. Our team regalia went down very well in Thailand at the bars on Patong Beach!
The tournament kicked off at 6am sharp, so we rented rooms just a five minute walk from the jetty at Chalong Bay to get ready for the early start for the three day event. I met my boat crew at five o’clock in the morning on the first day of the tournament because I needed to know where the hell our boat was out of the thirty-nine other entries.
I hadn’t slept the whole night because I was both excited and unsure how well we’d fare with so many other boats. I walked to the area at the entrance of the derelict wooden pier and was amazed to see how busy it was. Even at five o’clock, the Thai TV crew were already busy filming everything that was going on, including my newly completed tattoo of my blue marlin. The whole place was a hive of activity, and I could feel the immense energy in the air growing by the minute.
I recognised my crew, as they were wearing our team T-shirts and baseball caps. They comprised just a captain and deckhand like all the other entries. They led me to the boat, which I hadn’t seen before, not even any photos. It was a tradition Thai style wooden vessel around forty feet long with a canopy covering the central area of the deck for shelter from both the sun and rain, which later was well appreciated.
I had already rigged my tournament rod days before, which had been custom built in America by AFTCO with a heavy Penn 80TW reel. I dropped it in one of the rod holders at the port side of the stern because I felt it would be my lucky place for the three day event. Our crew had slept on the boat all night, protecting the live baitfish that they had caught the day before. These little yellow-tailed fish were considered the best live bait for the sailfish that we were aiming for, each of which would earn us five hundred points, and they needed to be protected from any potential thieves from the other boat crews.
The event organiser issued us with a disposable camera and necessary paperwork to prove any claims in the event that we were lucky enough to catch a game fish. At exactly 6am, the horn sounded to start the tournament, and with a plume of black smoke and the load roar from its diesel engines off
we went in our old, Thai-style, deep sea fishing boat together with the other thirty-eight contenders.
We didn’t think we had enough of the little baitfish, so we wasted the first hour of the day fishing for more of them before trolling out to the most popular fishing area where all the other boats had already gone.
Half way to the favoured fishing grounds our captain suddenly made a sharp turn, causing all of our lines to cross. This was disastrous because we came right alongside four sailfish, but there was nothing we could do except waste more time untangling our lines. An hour passed, and I was finally hooked up with a good-sized sailfish.
Unfortunately the hook hadn’t gone deep enough into the fish’s mouth, and I only had it on the line for a couple of minutes. I kept the line tight the whole time, but the fish still managed to spit my hook out. This raised my morale, not to mention adrenalin! With no more action on the first day, we sadly turned and headed back to the jetty at Chalong Bay; everyone had to be back before 5pm.
After a rather sleepless night, the second day was more successful. Half way through the day, which was normally a dead time for the sailfish, my reel finally clicked a couple of times. A few moments later, my reel clicked again and then another click: something was certainly interested in my little bait fish swimming around.
My deckhand gently and quietly raised my rod from its stand and positioned himself at the back of the transom. He let out more slack line so the sailfish wouldn’t feel any tension and counted to twenty to allow the sailfish to swallow my hook. Suddenly he shouted, “Now,” and the captain pushed both throttles fully forward, and with another plume of black exhaust smoke and another roar from its engines, the boat lunged forward while at the same time the deckhand slid forward the clutch on my reel and made a few firm smooth strikes to ensure a safe hook-up.
I was already in the boat’s ‘fighting’ chair wearing my fighting belt for lumbar support and we jumped into action. The deckhand carefully handed me my rod without letting my line go slack and I began to play the fish more carefully than I’d ever played a fish before in my life. I could feel the adrenalin pumping through my veins, giving me all the strength I needed to fight a fish about the same size as I was.
Fortunately, there weren’t any other boats obstructing us so it was down to just the fish and me. After just thirty-five minutes of playing the fish, I finally got it to the transom where the deckhand was able to catch hold of its long bill and lift it into the boat for the ‘proof of catch’ photo to be taken. My heart was still pounding with adrenalin when we released the fish unharmed, and we were now back in the tournament. The sailfish earned us our first five hundred points in the competition and putting us on the scoreboard.
Wow, the game is on, I thought. The tournament followed strict rules, and all ‘billfish’ had to be released unharmed. We continued trolling for the rest of the afternoon without any more excitement before it was time to return to the pier. We arrived back at the pier at Chalong Bay just before five o’clock that day and handed in our camera and got another to use for the third and final day.
We waited around to listen to the results for the day and see the points from each boat written on the tournament board. Our five hundred points had earned us fifth place so we had a healthy chance of improving it with one day remaining.
After catching my very first sailfish, I was awake all night. My veins were still glowing with adrenalin, which made any sleep impossible.
Our final day was frustrating and didn’t raise our score. Our total of five hundred points wasn’t enough; so we kept at fifth place out of the thirty-nine boats. We didn’t qualify for any prize, but it was great meeting all the other teams of varying nationalities and listening to the stories they had to tell from fishing all over the world that made it all well worth entering.
The end of the tournament was held at the Holiday Inn, situated on Patong Beach. The Holiday Inn had organised an amazing night with food and entertainment, which I’ll never forget for the rest of my life.
Each winning team was announced, and the trophies were awarded. I sat patiently waiting for mine. I knew all the prizes stopped at fourth place, but I was told to expect some kind of acknowledgement because it was my first tournament on the island and also my life but sadly, that recognition never came.
Anyway, I was in a very nice and relaxing part of the world so what did it matter? The glory was simply being a part of the tournament and not winning it. In February of 1997, whilst chilling on a Thai beach around the coastline away from all the noise of Patong, the same Japanese company I’d worked for in Iran called me. They asked me if I would be interested in re-joining them in Venezuela to build the very same direct reduction iron ore plant that I had been involved with building in Iran.
Venezuela? I thought. And then I thought: salsa; merengue; tambor; hola, mi amor; ¿qué quieres, chicas? I did not need to think any longer; immediately, I asked, “When do I fly?”
The company were keen that I join their team as soon as possible so I had to end my relaxing little stay in Thailand and get back to more serious times ahead, and fly back to the UK to arrange a work visa in London.
Chapter 7
First Time in Venezuela
Sadly, back in the United Kingdom I wasted no time in taking my passport to the Venezuelan consulate in London for a work visa. The Japanese firm had already sent a letter of invitation, so the process was quick. I submitted my passport on a Monday and collected it again that Friday. My flights were arranged for the following Monday, so I had the whole weekend to prepare for the trip.
Because there were no rotational leaves in my Japanese contract, I needed to ensure that I didn’t forget anything. I had no idea at the time when I would be back in the United Kingdom so I needed to pack for all events.
I flew out from Cardiff Airport towards the end of February of 1997, but again, I was delayed due to bad visibility. That time of year always posed problems with the early morning flights, as heavy mist and fog seemed to loom around that area of South Wales so consequently, I missed my connection in Amsterdam. I took a later flight, which eventually arrived in Caracas, where I needed to change to a domestic flight down to Puerto Ordaz. Unfortunately, the Japanese company hadn’t been notified of my belated arrival time, which meant there wasn’t anyone to meet me at the airport in Puerto Ordaz.
I didn’t know I wouldn’t be picked up, so I continued waiting at the airport for someone to collect me … all the while turning down local taxi drivers and chancers hoping to get the job. Eventually, there was no one else around. The airport was closing for the night, and it was too late to get a taxi, thus, I began to walk.
I was in a hot country, but I was dressed in winter clothes. The sweat was pouring out of me. I wasn’t aware how much danger I was putting myself in by dragging my suitcase behind me.
I must have walked over three miles in the dark before I came to a military installation where I found two guards waiting at their post. Without any Spanish, it was almost impossible to make them understand that I needed a taxi. One of the guards went off and brought back his superior a few minutes later who could speak a little English. I asked him whether he could help me get a taxi to a hotel. He understood my request and helped me out.
Because I was European, I ended up being taken to the Intercontinental Hotel in a beautiful part of Puerto Ordaz. When I got there, I checked in and went straight to bed. The next morning, I called the office to let them know I had arrived in the country, much to their surprise. I was picked up an hour later before being charged for a late checkout.
I was first dropped off at my apartment for a few minutes so I could drop my luggage off before proceeding straight to the site office.
The office was just a twenty-minute drive away, and upon entering, I was amazed at how many beautiful women the Japanese had employed; I wasn’t complaining. The piping engineer who had called me in Thailand was the only one I knew from the previous project in Iran, and he had been promoted to c
onstruction manager.
I was introduced to all the staff, including the quality manager. If first impressions count, I found him to be a rather inadequate man, someone not to be trusted.
I was later taken to the contractor’s office to be introduced to the managers based there, including their quality manager called Hector. Luckily, he spoke perfect English. I was not aware at the time, but I was going to spend a lot of time with Hector because he didn’t really have a clue what he was doing as it was the first time he’d worked in such a position.
He seemed desperate for my help, so in order to make my job easier, I gave him all the help and support I could.
Nobody thought to tell me that it was ‘Semana Santa’ (Easter) in just three days, and everyone had no choice other than to take those days off.
That same day, one of the Venezuelans in the office called Jorge came to me with a distraught look on his face and asked if I had any spare cash. When I asked him why, he explained that his five-year-old daughter needed an emergency operation or she would die. Naturally, I didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but I didn’t want to hear later that she had died because I didn’t give her father any money. Thus, I loaned him the only money I had.
The day before the Easter holidays, I was dropped off at the apartment and told that they’d see me in three days. “Three days?” I asked. “Why?” Only then was I told about the holiday. Great, I thought, not knowing where the nearest ATM was, where to shop, or where to eat; I was lost for words.
The next day, I walked around for a couple of hours in the heat and humidity before finding an ATM. I didn’t know how dangerous the place was at that time, but kept myself aware of other people’s movements the whole time. Fortunately, I didn’t have any problems – they would come later – and eventually I found a place to eat. Back in the safety of my apartment and without having any mineral water, I proceeded to boil water for twenty minutes and put it in the fridge.