I grew up in Fiji, from age 8 to 15, then another few years from age 17 to 21.
I can't find a dedicated fishing sub-forum, so here seems a reasonable place to post some fishing stories, framed as Pacific Islands experience.
A bit of background first. At 15, I was sent to NZ to live with my grandparents and go to school, because the boarding school I was at was horrendous (that's a whole other series of stories). I had to go to boarding school because my parent's copra plantation was too isolated to be able to commute each day. (Google Maps -16.724473, 179.910500). Taveuni (where the school was) was approximately 7 miles across open water.
My story starts early 80's. After I finished 7th form in Auckland, I went home for the holidays. Fully intending to go to varsity, this was just a 6 week holiday. It was then announced that Mum had breast cancer, and so she had to go to NZ for treatment. As a consequence, Dad would have to go also to get a job to pay for everything. We, as copra plantation owners, were merely subsistence farmers.
This meant abandoning the farm. My parents planned just to lock everything up and go. All stock was free range, so they would be ok.
I volunteered to stay and keep the farm going, but my parents wouldn't have a bar of it. It's far too isolated a place for a 17 year old boy to stay alone. No telephone, no road. They had a point.
When the next door labourer boy swung by in his boat inviting me to a wedding at the Tuvaluan village on Kioa Island (where he was from), I went.
Long story short, I got myself married (seriously engaged actually, but such a strong commitment that it was tantamount to thinking as married) that weekend, and returned to tell Mum and Dad that there's no more worries as I wouldn't be living alone. Arguments, tears, discussions, tempers.... They had no choice but to leave me to my destiny.
So.....I took over the farm with my Polynesian princess bride, also 17.
The Tuvaluans bought the island in 1945 (circa), organised by a guy named Kennedy. Long story short: Kennedy had ideals of forming his own little kingdom and got a group of 12 Vaitupu families to invest in buying Kioa. I happen to know the price, because my grandad had first option to buy and turned it down; 5000 pounds. Kennedy was finally kicked off when they saw through him.
Anyway, that's another story....
The Tuvaluans were seamen. Excellent fishermen. They fished from one-man dug-out outrigger canoes (paopao). My FIL cut down a wirirwiri tree (on the plantation) and made me a very nice, largish, canoe.
Then he taught me what fishing was about.
I'll start small.
Of course I knew how to fish. I had started fishing as a youngster off the jetty at Careel Bay, Avalon, Sydney. I had spent thousands of hours fishing the reef around home, and further afield. My dad had a commercial fishing venture and would do two week tours out to Na Qelelevu and surrounds. I went a couple of times during school holidays. Untouched bountiful sea. Fisherman's paradise, but it was just a job.
I knew how to fish, and loved it.
When FIL started to teach me how to fish, I knew I knew nothing about fishing.
The first thing he showed me was that when making lures, the colour and shape of the feather was paramount.
Neck feather of a white hen. Just one, tied with black cotton to a #4 size hook (I can't remember the size, but I do know the hooks we got in Fiji started at #1 being the biggest, whereas in NZ #1 is the smallest. Here I'm using NZ sizes as it's the easiest to google).
Light line. Maybe 10 kg. Here I should point out that all fishing was with a handline.
Off we go in our respective canoes, a couple of lures each.
Full moon, high tide over the home reef (about 1.5 metres deep). Let your lure over the side, about 5 m of line let out. Hold the line with one hand, and paddle slowly with the other. Slowly. Quietly and gently draw the paddle, with a slight twist at the end to compensate direction.
Strike! A small, (let me call it a red schnapper, but I don't think it is) about 15 cm long. A keeper. Go again...3 or 4 one-armed strokes, strike! Again, strike within seconds. And again. Several species caught, all edible and food.
Keys: Hen neck feathers. Small hook. Full moon. High tide. Slow. Quiet.
The serenity of this style of fishing, with the moon glistening off calm water, and the only sound is the drips off your paddle, made this a warm and fuzzy way to fish for food, and I did it as much as weather allowed and if not much fish was forthcoming from other fishing excursions. Never catch anything to write home about, just small fish for the table. But enjoyable fishing.