SQUID don’t fight like a fish does. No doubt they have the same urge for freedom as a fish but they lack the apparatus to gain it.
It’s not their fight that we’re after though. It’s usually their high quality as both bait and food, or the appeal in hunting a creature with the ability to change pattern and colour like a chameleon, and which uses suction to cling to its prey – something bred into us as children as the trait of monsters. Squid are a most unusual animal and so are those who chase them.
When fresh and lively out of the water, each squid is unique. They can come out of the water yellow or dark brown, matching the kelp or weed below, then instantly turn translucent, or when laid on barnacled rocks become speckled and multi-coloured in an effort to camouflage themselves. It’s pretty cool!
Cuttlefish and octopus, also in the cephalopod family have the same unusual abilities but are not as good on a plate, nor as plentiful. Cuttlefish have lower edible value (unless you’re a budgie, who just love a cuttlefish bone). The big purple occies we sometimes find around Sydney don’t have many enemies other than seals and mulloway, though they still need to beware of us humans. Some locals have learnt a Mediterranean way of turning them inside out and slapping them on the rocks for half an hour to soften them up. It’s a lot of effort for a somewhat questionable outcome. I’d always considered octopus as more appropriate for jewie bait, rather than dinner plate.
I consider eating big sloppy occies as a little crazy. But it takes one to know one and there’s an element of craziness in chasing squid too, rather than fishing for actual fish like a normal person. When hard-fighting fish are bypassed in favour of such a timid target, then I too must be a bit of a squidiot.
Living near the water, an excuse to go and walk our dog often means I can grab a small back-pack on my way out of the house which contains a telescopic rod, some plastic keeper bags and a few jigs. On the hound’s usual path we pass by a couple of likely squid haunts near home, in southern Sydney. A few flicks will usually indicate whether it’s worthwhile hanging around, as the local squid can be extremely fickle. While my dog is briefly tied up to the post next to me at Gunamatta Bay baths, I can spend a few leisurely casts with the telescopic and hopefully pull in a squid or two for her to sniff suspiciously. Usually she can manage to stay out of the way of the inevitable ink squirt as they are laid down on the deck nearby but she’s not always so lucky and the poor bugger becomes very confused when occasionally these things spray black ink toward her.
Certainly there are better places to concentrate on squid, often much larger than those found here. Bare Island and Inscription Point, near the northern and southern headlands of Botany Bay respectively, hold large squid within casting distance of the shore. Most of the shallow kelp or seagrass beds around the clear mouths of all of Sydney’s estuaries tend to hold squid, particularly in late autumn and winter when they prepare to spawn.
When out fishing in my small boat, we’re often on the hunt for old green-eyes for fresh bait right on dawn as we’re en-route to our planned fishing spot or as a last gasp option on our way back in. With space being of high importance, an extra rod for each angler ready for squidding is not room easily afforded, so I have a couple of those same little telescopic rods stowed away which already have a jig rigged and ready, protected in a small, capped container to avoid hooking onto things, and then bound to the collapsed telescopic rod with a hair-tie. These rods come in most handy as they are packed out of the way and allow us to do other things, with squidding being the sideline.
In both cases, out in the boat or walking the dog, squidding is rarely the focus of these outings, but a bonus to it. Every fisho will still have the odd “duck-egg” session, drawing a big, fat zero, but a last minute squid-flick on the way home can bring you back to life and end the day positively.
On the other hand, when they are on, they can be addictive. As a result, serious squidders abound in Sydney and somewhat of a cult following has developed. They go nuts for it! There are multiple squidding social-media pages here that specifically concentrate on the pursuit of the tentacled jig-swipers. A lot can be learnt from those pages about local methods and following these forums is good sustenance for the strong appetite of the mad squidder. Some of the typical discussion points are included below and new ideas or theories are always worth consideration.
Egi tackle – Japan remains a step ahead with squid jigging technology. Egi rods are longer and ultra-light (and expensive!). In situations such as squidding ocean rocks, being able to flick a jig well beyond the wash has distinct advantages. Thin, stiff rods not only whip a lightweight jig a fair distance, they also help impart action and keep line clear of waves.
Sizes and colours – most times you pay a little more for a jig with an appropriate weight for it’s size in a natural colour such as mottled brown, pale blue or green. In most situations, small natural coloured jigs will out-squid the brighter colours, but having said that, swapping to the other side of the spectrum, going big and lairy has its time too, particularly in bright sunlight. I’ve had an angler right beside me brain them on a crazy, fluoro-orange, oversized two-dollar job while I plugged away squidlessly with the little natural-coloured jigs I carried at the time. We call these excessively bright jigs “Charlies”, after Charles Darwin, since anything that eats them is proving natural selection by weeding out the stupid squid.
Multiple/Set lines – having a spare rod or two out the back of the boat with a jig down deep and just sitting in a rod holder adds an extra line in the water while you work your main, hand-held rods. The rocking boat gives the jig some action and is kept away from the bottom and away from your attended lines being jigged out either side.
Jigging action – how to tease them is a big part of the riddle. Often a short tug or two, then a long, slow draw is a nice action, then let it sink back down, draw the line tight and recommence. The opposite works too, a slow draw with sharp tugs at the end. When things are slow, mix it up – try a fast whip, then allow the jig to sink, either with complete slack or against a taut line. Many of the jigs we use seem to look nothing like a prawn, yet the action of a prawn flicking up off the bottom and/or returning to the bottom is what we’re trying to replicate. Try to imagine your jig near the bottom, drawing out of the weed or darting in panic, before settling back down again. The squid startle and withdraw when the jig is whipped but it also enthuses them. When the jig slows and begins to sink again, they zero quickly back in and strike with their candle.
Braid – comes in very handy when jigging, as you can clearly watch the slack line, striking sooner than relying on feel alone, while also enhancing that feel. 4lb braid and a Uni knot connection to 6ft of 6lb fluorocarbon trace is suitable inside the estuary; a little heavier for ocean rocks.
Conversely, I love to chase the local tackle-smashing estuary kingfish, yet still get a great thrill out of pulling in a lump of protein that fights like a wet sock. It doesn’t make much sense. But hooking into a good squid and feeling the slow bump and draw is very satisfying nonetheless and I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating why.
Firstly, they are often seen first. Their shapes materialise seemingly out of nowhere and they stalk the jig, like the predators they are. Most times they’re wary and follow the jig at the same speed, a safe distance behind. You can see them actively make the decision. They may choose to fall back with uncertainty, in which case another cast swung back over them will usually get them excited again. You tend to get a couple of cracks at each one before they become suspicious.
Alternatively, they might make a lunge. The amazing thing here is they are actually lunging in reverse. Rather than pulse in the direction their head is pointing, they pounce with their feet! I find this in itself amazing.
In that split second of impact, they open their tentacles showing the star shape of their pale underside and shoot out their candle like the tongue of a gecko. It sticks on the jig and they pull themselves down on it, closing their tentacles around it. This is the time for a definitive strike to set the barbs into those tentacles, then maintain a tight line until landed. Since they also have the same chameleon abilities as a gecko, perhaps we should call them “the geckos of the sea”.
The other thrill is how I can’t believe I’ve actually caught something on such an unlikely imitation. All lure-casters and fly-fishers understand there is something about fooling a fish with an imitation which the mind finds satisfying, and squidding with jigs is no exception. Perhaps more-so, given how few of these jigs actually resemble their intended subjects.
I’ve caught a few on paused surface stickbaits. I have even had them attack my blackfish floats, which certainly had me questioning their intelligence. That act of fooling them with your deceit provides immense satisfaction at the moment of striking into weight and feeling the squid pumping away at the other end.
Finally after all this contemplation, it occurred to me there’s the boyish anxiousness of avoiding the squirt. In a boat it’s best to net them underwater and keep them there, let them squirt merrily away, then lift the net. On land, lay them down facing away from you and let that mess spray away from your direction. Even still, sometimes they are fully loaded up with a belly full of water and make a late, maniac twist that propels a sticky black storm which you just can’t escape from. Funny when it happens to you. NOT funny when it happens to me.
When a mate’s pulling one in, I’m almost hoping they’ll get squirted. Their face dripping black spit, their clothes turned into an impromptu camouflage uniform that will remain forever stained. Instant safari clothes for their next calamari safari.
When it happens to me I can deal with the humiliation and the ruined clothes. I just hope it washes off the dog.
