Extreme Fishing (28 page)

Suddenly a soldier, who’s spark out across a row of chairs, sits bolt upright and does a quadruple take: ‘Fuck me, it’s Tucker!’ I automatically put my hands up in
surrender. ‘Is this heaven?’

‘No, welcome to hell, my friend.’

The incident wakes up many of the lads; just what I didn’t want to happen. Spot the odd one out. I can tell what they’re all thinking: ‘Here’s a reet pansy who thinks
he’s a hard man.’

Come on, Robson, man the fuck up. You’re a well-respected actor, singer and presenter – a pillar of the community.

Pillock of the community, more like.

I hate my internal monologue. Of course, I have nothing to worry about: all the guys and girls are brilliant and a lot of them turn out to be fans of
Extreme Fishing
– well,
they’re only human.

Things are getting weird. It’s time to depart but not by military plane, as I’d assumed – no, by Air Seychelles. As I board the aircraft I discover it really
is a completely normal plane with seats, overhead lockers and no leg room. Unthinkingly I ask the air hostess where business class is located and all the soldiers look at me like I’ve just
burnt down their houses and peed on their children. I’m escorted to the front of the plane by the base commander and offered the best seat in the house – next to the pilot. I’m
living the dream. Take-off is my favourite part. It’s exciting, especially when you’re near all the knobs. If I were eight I’d now be swinging my legs in my chair, humming in
contentment.

I’m looking forward to the adventure ahead. The first time I ever heard of Ascension Island was during the Falklands War, when Britain used it as a military base to fight the Argentinians.
I don’t think many people knew it even existed until then. Well, apart from the Portuguese, who discovered it on Ascension Day back in 1501. They owned it until 1815, when the Brits stole it
off them, and Ascension has remained a British territory ever since. Today the island is still used by the RAF and US Air Force as a strategic outpost and communications base.

As we land I swallow hard: the runway is only a mile long and is cut into a mountain that we’re approaching very fast. World War II pilots named the airfield Wideawake because they had to
be wide awake to find Ascension in the first place, and then seriously alert to land there safely. There’s no second chance. Mercifully our pilot’s a pro and I’m right behind him
if he needs me. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon by the time we land. It’s been a thirteen-hour flight but there’s no time difference from the UK, so at least I
won’t be hit between the eyes with jet lag. As we disembark, the base commander asks if I would like to sing for the people of Ascension. I pretend not to hear him.

My first thought as I step off the plane is
Shit, I’m tired
. My second is
I’m not fucking singing
. I’m scooped up by the welcoming committee, who think the
Beatles have finally arrived, but instead it’s some dog-tired Geordie they’ve never heard of. I follow them into the airport, if you can call it that – it’s more a shed. The
whole population of the island is out to greet me – all seven of them. Although the island has no indigenous population, it is home to 900 residents, who are a mixture of UK and US military
personnel and St Helenians, known locally as the Saints. As I make my way through the ‘crowd’, I am honoured that the governor of the Falklands Islands and the garrison commander have
come out to greet me.

On the way to the hotel, I survey the scene. Ascension is a cross between Thunderbird Island and Los Cristianos in Tenerife, albeit without drunken Brits doing ‘The Birdie Song’ or
‘Agadoo’ by that really annoying band. The strange volcanic landscape is littered with cutting-edge
Star Wars
technology: giant golf balls protrude like cysts out of mountain
tops and spider webs of wires form listening devices to communicate with anything from space stations to nuclear submarines. NASA even tested their moon buggy here – I can see why: I think
I’ve landed on a different planet.

I loved
Thunderbirds
as a kid. Those were the days before political correctness when puppets could drink and smoke as much as they goddamn liked. And they smoked ALL the time. Lady
Penelope was a forty-a-day girl – she must have stunk like a bad kipper. Apparently when
Thunderbirds
was rebroadcast on the BBC ten years ago,Lady P was criticised for smoking,
wearing furs and shagging in the back of her car without a seatbelt on. How times have changed.

I drop my luggage off at my accommodation, and I use the word ‘accommodation’ loosely. It’s a horrid pre-fab building that reminds me of a place called Killingworth in
Newcastle, now condemned. There is nothing starry about the aptly named Obsidian Hotel.
Bear Grylls would definitely complain
, I think to myself – it would be too much like camping for
him. Not that complaining would do him any good; it’s the only hotel on the island.

Spear Fishing

There are only two sports boats on Ascension; one is owned by a German called Olaf Grimkowski, the other by South African Colin Chester, who I’m spear-fishing with
today. I’m going deeper than I’ve ever gone to get a fish. We head out in his boat, the
Wide Awake II
, to Boatswain Island, which is a bird sanctuary. It’s also a major
fish attractor. There’s a funny smell in the air and I discover from Colin it’s bird guano – that’s bird poo to you and me. It smells bad up top but looks beautiful down
below, as the water is gin-clear. According to Colin it’s the most spectacular spear-fishing on earth, and he should know as he’s a spear-fishing champion. I’ll be starting with
fish such as black trevally or black jack.

I’m actually very nervous about diving down so deep – we’ll be going down a full fifty feet – and we have to prepare our bodies properly to be able to free dive in one
breath. I start holding my breath for ten seconds, fifteen seconds and then twenty seconds. Then I repeat the exercise holding the spear gun. After an hour I manage thirty-three seconds, which
doesn’t sound a lot but when you’re holding a spear gun, diving down and moving around you get through a lot of oxygen. If I were going down under any other circumstances I could hold
my breath for two minutes.

We clean out our masks and get ready to dive down. I watch Colin, who makes it look effortless, but it’s deeper than I’ve ever dived before and with the adrenalin pumping it feels
like your lungs could burst. The waters are choppy, which doesn’t make it any easier. I’m bricking it.

Colin explains what I should do when I spot my target: ‘Take a few deep breaths, go down and approach the fish. Your natural instinct will kick in. You point the spear where you want to
shoot it and your finger will do the rest.’ Simples.

No sooner have I put my head under the water than I spot a black jack – my heart is thundering in my ears. I hesitate. I’m so glad Colin’s with me as he’s such a relaxing
influence.

‘Take it easy, Robson, just dive down and fire,’ he says.

The spear gun is heavy and the recoil great. The trick is to aim at a fish ten metres away or nearer. I take three big breaths and follow Colin’s advice. He’s right: my hunting
instincts kick in and I quickly pursue the grey pocket torpedo. A black jack’s turn of speed is phenomenal, so the secret is to get close and hover, like a kestrel over a vole. The knack is
to let the fish come to you, and to my astonishment it glides towards me, then turns profile on and I fire. To my utter amazement it’s a direct hit.

Even though I train hard every day, running and resistance training to keep fit for this job, I can’t believe how truly exhausting this is. However, I feel very comfortable in
Colin’s company. Psychologically he is a safety net and somehow any sense of fear melts away. The breathing definitely helps, too – when you breathe in and out properly or concentrate
on your breathing for an extended time you achieve a Zen-like state. Omm . . .

Colin spots a fish – three breaths and he’s down. His lungs are champion-sized, he is a natural hunter and is totally in tune with the ocean environment and his prey. He brings a
healthy-sized black jack to the surface. Colin is doing something he was born to do. When I watch Rooney play football, I never worry what he’s going to do with the ball; I’m always
excited. Many other players are scared and unsure in the arena whereas Rooney belongs there; he was born to play football. I feel the same about Colin and fishing. I really envy his inner
contentment with who he is and what he is doing. Too many people leave this life with a bewildered look on their face, unfulfilled and having done something they hate for too long. Colin’s
one of the lucky ones.

Colin’s down again. I watch through my goggles as he strikes a medium-sized blue fish. Suddenly, his catch attracts a Galapagos shark. It propels itself towards Colin and from where
I’m positioned it looks as if the shark is trying to remove his hands.

I start yelling: ‘There’s a shark eating Colin, there’s a shark eating Colin!’

I splash around like a lunatic and, like the true coward that I am, hurl myself into the boat, leaving Colin for dead. I gingerly peer over the edge before Colin emerges without his blue fish
but with both hands. Hooray! He thought it was wise to give that particular fish away.

After twenty minutes the sharks have vanished and I’m back in the water. I’m ready for my next fish and this time I’ve got something bigger in my sights – much bigger.
One, two, three, I suck as much air into my lungs as possible and propel myself down after the fish like an ancient hunter. I shoot, I strike, I score. The speared fish bolts for the rocks,
followed by dozens of hungry trigger fish after a meal. Colin dives deep to bring up my prize. I’m exhausted and gasping for air but I can barely believe what I’ve caught. It’s a
dog snapper – named because of its extraordinary canine gnashers. These fish are ambush predators that lie in wait for their prey to glide by and BAM! Their iridescent blood-orange colouring
is surprisingly perfect camouflage, as the colour red is taken out of the white light spectrum as it hits water, so they appear almost invisible to unsuspecting bait fish. Rather like Jean Reno in
the movie
Leon
, dog snappers are silent assassins.

At twenty-two pounds, my beautiful fish is easily the biggest I’ve hunted with a spear. Colin is thrilled and convinced I’ve smashed a spear-fishing record.

‘Now, that’s a fantastic fish. A winning catch, Robson!’ he says.

It’s all down to my tutor. Colin has the experience and knowledge of a true expert; he is a special person who cares deeply about what he’s doing and wants to do it as well as he
can. Some people have a notion that we don’t belong down there in the world below, but I think as a species we are naturally drawn to water. It’s not so much the need to escape or get
away from it all, but perhaps more a need to get back to how it was. My father swam in the North Sea most of his life. Maybe he was subconsciously freeing himself from chains of oppression. But one
thing I know is that when you enter water you cross a border, one that is mysterious, sometimes dangerous, but in the end always magical. Whatever it was he was always happy and now I’m
ecstatic.

As we head back we are in agreement that there’s no harm in casting a line. Immediately we’re in – it’s a yellowfin tuna
and
it’s a
ninety-pound monster. It’s the biggest yellowfin I’ve ever seen, let alone caught. The lack of pollution and water temperature, which is about 17 degrees, makes conditions perfect for
pelagic species, such as tuna, dorado and marlin, to thrive. I give the yellowfin to Colin’s deckhand – at that size it should last him and his family a couple of years!

What better way to end the day than by eating what we caught? Our piscatorial smorgasbord comprises blue fish, black jack and dog snapper – it’s an anglers’ version of a
Renaissance feast.

Kenny G

Today I’m taking part in a ‘fish fry’, which is basically a local knees-up disguised as a fishing competition. We meet at the Saints Club in town –
the Saints (St Helenians) love to fish. My teammates are Justin Wade and Adrian Henry, known as Kenny G. Not the cheesy 1980s sax player, but hopefully a great fisherman. They are both sullen-faced
and kicking their heels; as it turns out they have been reluctantly shoved into something they really don’t want to do. To them, fishing with me is worse than national service, being made to
dress up as women or being sent to Rochdale. I say, ‘You guys really don’t want to be here, do you?’ They shake their heads miserably. OK, so I’ve got my work cut out today
to jolly along two kids who don’t want to play with me. I tell them that losing is NOT an option. We are Team Extreme, living the dream – yes, I am as cheesy as my pop career and Kenny
G suggest. Cue 1980s sax music as we walk down towards the ocean as Team Extreme.

As the ice starts to thaw between us – and believe me, I expelled a lot of hot air to achieve the melt – I realise their initial reluctance was actually a case of shyness. They were
both completely star-struck . . . No, not really, but incidentally I am well known on the island of Saint Helena. Many women approached me (yes, they were older; they’re always older) and
showed me their VHS recordings of
Soldier, Soldier
and Catherine Cookson’s
The Gambling Man
. DVD players haven’t quite made it to these parts, but I have.

We head down to the coast. We’ve got three hours to fish for our target: grouper. There is a prize for the biggest, smallest and largest number of fish caught.

‘I see we’re using snapper as bait, Justin.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘They’re squirrel fish.’

‘What have you been smoking? They’re snapper, matey.’

These boys may have highly qualified jobs as marine engineers but they just make things up as they go along. As we arrive at Justin’s favourite fishing spot there’s a problem as we
discover another team has nabbed it. One of them is Justin’s girlfriend, and seeing as she’s no stranger to the sweet trolley there’s no arguing. We are left with a small pier to
fish off. The boys handline and I have a rod. I’ve never won a competition before. I’m not the competitive type, but today I’ll make an exception.