2000fish's Blog – Steve Wozniak's hunt for fish species

DATELINE: JULY 27, 2022 – IKPENG VILLAGE, RIO XINGU, BRAZIL

No one sleeps well the night before a big trip starts, and we were all up early and into the dining tent for breakfast. No savage wildlife had attempted to enter my sleeping quarters, and for this, I was grateful. Not to give out a spoiler here, but nothing uninvited entered my tent the whole week, except for smells, and even the showers had only the occasional small spider. (On the 2001 trip, a bird spider invaded our lodge bedroom. It was the size of a kitten and twice as hairy.)

We discussed plans for the day as I consumed my REI oatmeal. (To the great curiosity of the staff and the light-hearted mockery of the New Mexico crew, who chided me about my delicate constitution.) In truth, the camp cooking was delightful – I’m just a wuss. The guys enjoyed hearty pork chops, plenty of fresh fish, and all kinds of other side dishes. I did supplement my own food with their beans and rice, which is always a safe choice with enough hot sauce.)

The desserts also looked appealing. Jello and fruit cocktail is universal.

There were plenty of fishing spots on the main river, and also a few hike-in lagoons where they had pre-placed boats. The lagoons were supposed to be hotspots for peacock bass and – please hear me out – electric eels. In talking to Ian-Arthur online, he had mentioned that these eels were common in the region and are an open IGFA world record. I pictured them as 3-4 feet long, and I imagined a scenario where I could drag one on to a sand bar with a heavy rod, get it to a scale using a lot of towels, and, with a great deal of help from the camp guys, get it weighed and released.

That first day, Fabio and I were paired up.

That’s Steve, Fabio, and Mega, in the dining tent.

Sammy and Johnny head out on their boat.

We drove down the main river with one of the local guides, keen to get some lures in the water.

Roaring down the Xingu.

We anchored above a structure-filled pool, and cast away. Fabio got a few jacundas and small peacocks, while I got nothing. My attention span being what it is, I quickly decided to put some bait in the water. Moments later, I got my first solid fish of the trip – a nice tiger sorobim. Sadly, this is one of the two members of this genus I already had, but it pulled hard and I was thrilled. 

Not a bad start.                         

After a couple of hours, we motored back to camp, and while the rest of the guys enjoyed what I’m sure was some delightful local cooking, I raced through an REI beef stew and got down to fish at the landing. There was one new critter to report – a pacu known locally as a tinga.

Eight for the trip.

That afternoon, they introduced me to one of the villagers, a man named Mau. Mega explained that Mau, a lifelong local fisherman, knew where a lot of the local odd species were, and that Mau would be my personal guide for a few days. We ventured out together right after lunch, and made a short run to the other side of the river, where he tied us off to a tree so we could cast out into the current. I tried a few lures, but Mau pushed me to use live bait – some small eels that they had apparently gone to a great deal of trouble to obtain.

That’s Mau – constantly optimistic, always cheerful, and an excellent angler.

On my PR844 3C, I tossed the bait out into the current. Seconds later, something took off with it. I let it run a moment, then locked into a big fish. It pulled drag for a moment, then jumped – I could see it was long and silvery, but it dove again before I could get a better look. Minutes later, Mau put the Boga on a knifefish, a toothy speedster that I had caught smaller versions of in Argentina years ago.

It was a thrilling photo upgrade.

Casting again, I got another quick run and hooked up a heavy fish than dug hard for the bottom. Mau said “Corvina!” I had forgotten that there is indeed a croaker species that lives in the Amazon, and I was hoping frantically that’s what I had on the line. It was. 

Species #9 of the trip.

We stayed out another hour or two, getting more corvinas and a couple of payaras – variously known as a cachorra or Brazilian tigerfish. I had caught these in 2003, but there is no thrill like seeing a set of teeth like that come out of the water.

My big payara for the trip – caught on a diving plug I bought in London.

Do NOT put this in your pants.

I also added a micro to the species list – the blacktail hatchet characin.

These were hanging out on the surface near the boat – the kingfishers were swooping down and eating them now and then. I was up to 10 species on the trip.

There was a stunning variety of avian life in the area, but kingfishers are my favorite. Blazing-fast flashes of brilliant color, they would stop on nearby branches and watch for baitfish.

I tried and tried to get a photo of one, but all I got was stuff like this.

Luckily, I ran it through AI and got results like the two below.

These do look like the species we saw.

Or they’re random internet photos. You be the judge.

We decided to spend the evening chasing wolffish – trihera – on surface lures. I have accumulated a giant assortment of topwater plugs over the years, but Jonah at Hi’s Tackle Box insisted that I buy one new lure for the trip – a white “Whopper Plopper.” The lure bite was off that night, but we didn’t bring bait, because we were lure fishing, dammit. A couple hours in, I thought of Jonah and tied on the plopper. You can guess what happened.

This is why you ALWAYS take Jonah’s advice.

Another thing you should NEVER put in your pants.

This was the same species of wolffish I had caught on my 2001 trip – the one where the amoebas did the macarena through my intestinal tract for three days. But, as it turns out, the trihera from 2003 were a different species – the blackspot –  and so I racked up another one, even though it was actually caught on December 7, 2003. It always pays to look over old fish now and then. Thank you again, Dr. Carvalho.

The fish from 2003. I was up to 11 for the trip, even if it took me 19 years to figure it out. Oh, I long for those days when I could tuck in my shirt.

Motoring home at sunset.

The next morning, Fabio, Owen, and I spent the day in one of the lagoons. The main target would be peacock bass on lures, but there would also be some wolffish, some assorted micro species, and a good chance at an electric eel. We ran the boat a few miles downriver, then parked and unloaded our gear. Mau pulled a wheelbarrow out of the bushes and piled it with about 100 pounds of trolling batteries, oars, and other supplies. He then set off at a light trot through the jungle. It turns out he is right about my age, and there’s no way I could move that load at his speed.

Even with our lighter loads, we were hard put to keep up with this amazing ball of energy.

Interestingly, none of us would set foot in the water, even puddles, because we were all terrified of candiru. I am not going to describe this horrifying if possibly mythical fish here, but please do Google it, although not while naked. 

Jaguar claw marks. Translated from the jaguar alphabet, this inscription means “I wouldn’t fish here at night if I were you.

We got to the lagoon and piled into a small metal boat. Casting lures, we got an assortment of small striped peacock bass – another new species – and smaller wolffish.

The striped peacock – 12 for the trip and 2092 lifetime. We had numerous doubles on fish this size, and note that something took quite a bite out of mine at some stage in the past.

Wolffish were also there in Numbers. Fabio’s fish is over 10 pounds – my personal best was around four.

We decided to throw some live bait for bigger wolffish. As I was rigging up, I had one of those rare moments in life where I was terrified and humbled at the same time. I saw what I thought was a tree stump – roughly a foot in diameter – rise almost to the surface and then sink back down. I pointed it out to Mau – I figured it must have been some loose wood. “Electrico.” he said plainly.

I nearly wet myself. It was an electric eel. It was as big around as my leg, and all of eight feet long, which would make it an easy 60 pounds of solid muscle. That, and the prospect of 700 volts, immediately put any thought of catching the creature out of my mind permanently. So perhaps, at age 59, I was maturing enough where I wasn’t going to risk my life, and the lives of others, for a single world record. 

The guys started tossing live bait after the trihera, and they caught some BEASTS. The bidding started at 10 pounds, and quickly went to 15 and then close to 20. I kept throwing lures and got a few nice ones as well.

I upped my personal best to eight pounds. Yes, Jonah. It was on the Whopper Plopper.

This one was just under 10.

Owen was having the time of his life battling these monsters on a light spinning rod, and Fabio was getting some good fish with his lures. In the meantime, I pulled out a light rod, a float, a #12 hook, and some earthworm. Casting to the brushy banks, I ran up four quick and lovely species.

The southern pike-characin.

Gotta love the teeth on these.

The blackspot earth-eater. Close relative to a fish I wasted hours on and never caught in Singapore.

The silver matrincha.

And finally, the pinktail chalceus.

I was now at 16 for the trip and 2096 overall.

Some of the wildlife was stunningly beautiful.

The photo doesn’t show how blue this thing was. It was the bluest thing I’ve ever seen.

I now fully believed 2100 species was going to happen. Mau grilled fresh peacock bass for everyone while I quietly ate my REI chicken gumbo, and as soon as we got back to the fishing, I decided to try for a couple of trophies. I rigged up the LR 844 with a big, live bait, and then one of my heavier spinning rods with a slab of cut fish. The live bait went first, and whatever ate it had no interest in meeting me. It peeled a lot of line off that heavy reel, but I stayed with it and steered it to open water. After about 15 minutes of back and forth, it surfaced. It was a wolffish, between 15 and 20, by far my personal best. I was ecstatic.

Mind you, this is about half the size of some of the Arotegui world records.

Just as I was taking photos, the line on the other rig started easing off the open bail. I let it run for around a minute, closed the bail, reeled down, and set. It stopped me dead, and I was worried for a moment I had gotten an eel. But then whatever it was took off, in a fast, pumping run for the trees. With only 30# braid, I leaned as hard as I could, and the fish finally turned back into open water. Then it just stopped. I could feel it there, but it was content to bury in the bottom and kick up huge clouds of mud. It was a freshwater stingray, a fish I had dreamed of catching for years, and all I had to do was not screw it up. Ten minutes later, they landed it. I had my ray, lifetime 2097 and a memorable trophy.

It also turns out that this species – the bigtooth river stingray – was an open world record, but because I had my ID wrong, I didn’t take measurements. Oops.

One of the rarest doubles I will ever have in a boat.

The rest of the day was a blur of solid peacock bass and occasional bicuda and pirahna on lures. They were picky – only the really nice Yo-zuris and Rapalas would do, so most of the plugs that came 7000 miles with me never got wet, but it was a blast of an afternoon. 

My first decent striped peacock.

Another one – same species. Their color patterns are highly variable.

A bicuda – they get bigger, and they are aggressive predators.

And of course, plenty of piranhas. They seem to love destroying expensive wooden lures.

Unknown to me at the time, my lure fishing for the trip was mostly done, all because of a single word that passed between myself and Mau.

Steve and Mau celebrate the end of a successful day.

Sunset over the Xingu.

I was asking him about varying kinds of fish we might see in the river. I would say “Jacunda?” and he would nod yes. I would say “Piaba” and he would shake his head no. And then, just for the hell of it, I mentioned an old enemy. “Corimba?” I asked. “Si, si.” said Mau. Incredulously, I repeated “Corimba – the rare creature I’ve been trying to catch for years?” Smiling, Mau said “Si, si. Muitos muitos corimbas aqui!” Most of you can guess how I spent the next two days.

Steve

 

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