Holoholo: Aim, load, cast, repeat.

Matthew Ikeda started guest posting for us as a 6th grader. He’s our most prolific poster with close to 50 posts so far, and as his shore fishing knowledge has grown, so has ours. Congratulations Matt, on your many high school accomplishments and may God continue to bless and guide you as you go off to college.

Matt: The sun was well below the horizon, and I had gone three hours casting my lure without even a tug. It was so dark that I had no clue where my cast was going, and only muscle memory told me how to work my lure. I thought about packing up – after going through many “whitewash” trips, you sort of know the feeling when you’re not going to catch a fish. But something told me to stay. After all, this was one of my last chances to catch an Ulua before leaving for college. Catching a shore-based Ulua on a lure had been my goal since I started fishing at nine years old. I was now almost nineteen. 

I thought about the real likelihood of an Ulua being around. This summer was one of the slowest I had experienced, with many back-to-back whitewash trips. June, July, and August are generally the best months for fishing in the year, but something was different this year. However, all of my doubts soon vanished. 

A few casts later, I heard an explosion of water and felt my rod almost getting yanked out of my hands. I immediately snapped to attention, jerking my rod to set the hook and planted my feet to brace against the fish’s first run. I knew this was the Ulua I was looking for. 

The fish ran wildly, reminding me of just how powerful Ulua were. Then it stopped. To my dismay, I felt the dreaded feeling of my leader rubbing on the reef. The fish was stuck and not budging. My heart sank. It would really suck to lose my Ulua this way.

Using my headlamp, I could see the rock my line was wrapped around. I opened my bail and frantically ran further into the surf. After taking a couple of waves to the face, I was able to free the line. I immediately started boosting the fish, and after a few smaller runs, I could see the chrome outline of an Ulua in the water. I knew I was close but I knew I couldn’t rush the fish, not wanting to pull the hooks loose. 

I kept steady pressure as the Ulua stubbornly resisted, using its full body to ride the strong current. But it had reached its limit, and I could see just how exhausted the fish was. It gave a few strong kicks before finally coming to the surface just a few feet away. I grabbed the Ulua by the tail and quickly retreated to a safe area. I was stoked. 

Looking at the Ulua on the rocks, I couldn’t help but think how amazing of a fish it was. This was a fish that had tormented me over the hundreds of hours I spent learning how to catch it, requiring tens of thousands of casts and many, many fishing trips over the years. I had hooked a few in the past, but every one found a way to get loose. But now it was all over. 

However, the action was not over. A couple of days later I was lucky enough to land a Pao pao Ulua while sight fishing on the flats, a true rarity and a fish that I never thought I would even get a shot at catching.

Shortly after, I landed a nice 8.5# white Papio and then another Ulua to cap off the most insane two weeks of fishing I’ve ever experienced – a great way to wrap up my time in Hawaii. 

As the first to learn fishing in my family, it was never easy. This Ulua is just one fish that represents a lifelong journey of learning, failing, and trying new things. While fishing has been difficult, I’ve never been alone. I started writing for Scott when I was in sixth grade, and I’ve always been grateful for the people I’ve met and advice I’ve received through this site. Thank you to everyone who has supported my passion for fishing over the years. It’s hard to capture in words how much fishing has meant to me, but I’ll always remember the good times we’ve shared together. Until we meet again🤙.

“Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day, teach him to fish and you feed him for a lifetime”