By Scotty Kyle
I am one of the most awesome and feared fish in the world. I am an extremely fast-moving top predator with extremely fierce-looking teeth, and a reputation for being dangerous to humans and even for leaping out of the water to attack tuna pole anglers. I am the great barracuda.
Size and appearance
My body has a hydrodynamically perfect shape, being long, thin and almost cylindrical with a large, pointed head. I have prominent, large round eyes and my vision, in clear water, is excellent. My mouth is big, when open, but closes completely with the lower jaw jutting out in front of the upper, and the upper snugly fitting into the lower.
When my mouth is open, you can see that I have a scattered array of haphazard looking, extremely sharp, very pointed, white teeth. They are scary, impressive, and actually highly effective at grasping prey and snatching chunks out of other fish, or simply biting fish in two to enable me to gulp the parts in.
In colour we are generally blue or grey above and become lighter down our flanks towards our bellies and are almost white below. There are often a series of dark crossbars down our bodies that help camouflage us around structure. Our upper fins are dark, but with lighter or even white tips and smallish, shiny, scales cover most of our bodies.
There are currently 29 species of barracuda unevenly scattered around the warmer marine areas of the world, and mine is possibly the most widely distributed. I am the largest and longest of the true barracudas with recent confirmed measurements of 1.5 m. (4 ft. 9 in.) in length and a mass of 23 kg. (51 lbs.). In the past we were convincingly reported to have reached over 3 m. (9 ft. 5 in.) in length and my ancestors must have been fearsome giants, but overfishing sadly took its toll.
Feeding
We spend much of our time either patrolling slowly looking for food or, my personal favourite, lurking in ambush in likely looking spots. We have evolved to be extremely efficient ambush predators. We are difficult to spot from above, as we present a mottled, darkish shadow appearance, while from below our pale bellies are difficult to distinguish from the sky. As we lurk, our cryptic colours make us hard to see from the sides, and from the front, we present a very small profile and are easily overlooked by prey.
When we don’t lie in ambush, then we patrol the neighborhood until we spot suitable prey. Then move inconspicuously as close as possible or hide in cover and wait till prey comes close enough for our prime move. We can “explode” from hanging stationary in the water in short, directed, bursts of great speed, to surprise and engulf unwitting and shocked prey. Humans have apparently “clocked” us moving at speeds of up to 43 km/h. (27 mph.) and this must be near the record velocity for a fish.
Another feeding method we employ, usually in later years as we gain experience and learn to hunt in packs, is to “herd” shoals of small fish towards structure or shallow water. Several of us often work together in this activity and, once we have cornered and terrified the prey, we can pick the confused fish off one by one at our leisure. We feed almost exclusively on fish but will take a wide variety of species and, while we can swallow small ones in one gulp, we can also cut long ones into pieces and swallow the pieces or just bite chunks out of larger prey or carrion.
Which brings us to our reputation as one of the most feared fish in the ocean. It is true that my teeth look intimidating and we can charge a human now and then. Two deaths were attributed to our species, in Key West in 1947 and 1957. However, no fatal attacks have been proven ever since, so the reality is much less dramatic.
Reproduction
Unlike some other fish, we get our sexes at birth and keep them through our lives, but humans can’t tell a male from a female barracuda unless they kill us and examine our insides. We mature at 3-5 years of age and, by this time, our males are about 55 cm. (22 in.) while the females are larger at about 77 cm. (30 in.).
We spawn at night offshore and so humans know little of our mating behaviour and spawning rituals. The spawning period is believed to be quite long, in the northern hemisphere this is about March to October. Our ladies are not as productive as, say, carp, who can produce millions of eggs; female barracudas only manage about 5 000-30 000 eggs per season.
Small barracuda hatch and spend a short time among the zooplankton in the upper layers of the open ocean and then, by means unknown to man, gravitate towards shallow waters and estuaries, lagoons and shallow reefs. Here we find much more cover than in the often crystal-clear open ocean and also much greater densities of food in the form of many juvenile fish of lots of different species.
We hide in the reeds, or other cover, around the estuary channels through which incredible numbers of small fish have to travel and pick them off as they swim by. There is so much food available that predation on our youngsters, who are usually well hidden and camouflaged, is much lower than on those individuals that stayed in the ocean to mature. We often stay in the estuary or inshore environment for a few years, but then most of us head for the open ocean where we are one of the top fish predators, with relatively few enemies capable of spotting and catching us.
Catching barracudas
Humans love to catch us, initially for food, but now also for fun and excitement, and they use a wide variety of equipment, methods and baits to try and outwit us. I should probably not let potential fishers know this, but we really are greatly attracted to brightly coloured, moving prey. We just can’t seem to resist an opportunity to gobble up a nicely presented, moving, tasty-looking morsel no matter how full we feel.
Unlike our freshwater cousins, the pikes, our sense of smell is poor and dead bait, no matter how smelly, does not appeal to us. We are rarely caught, or even present, in murky water as we can’t see potential prey. Bait fishing, where the bait is left on the bottom to await a fish coming along to find it just does not really work for us. Drifting a bait works better, but most of my species that are caught by recreational anglers fall foul of spinning or fly-fishers.
Shore or boat?
In suitable places, such as lagoons and estuaries, shore fishing can work well as the angler is often able to “sneak” along the shore and cast carefully towards likely-looking spots such as solid structure of weed beds. He or she can also wade along channels and carefully cover a lot of ground. Our excellent eyesight and the fact that we choose to spend our time in very clear-water conditions, allow us to spot danger at quite a distance and so a high degree of stealth in the approach of an angler may yield improved results.
Most of my species, however, move out of estuaries and shallow coastal waters as they grow and mature, so boat fishing is often the best way to get to where we are. We rarely stray into deep sea areas as we love some cover and true open ocean conditions often contain relatively few fish for us to eat. Charter boat fishing allows game fishers the best and often most productive opportunities to catch the great barracuda.
Trolling, with medium to heavy spinning equipment, is probably the easiest way to have a good chance of catching one of us. You can cover vast areas, patrol around reefs and structures where we love to hunt, and the always moving bait appeals to us. We tend to prefer large, brightly coloured lures.
Get wired!
Whatever lure you use, our sharp teeth will easily sever almost any nylon if they brush against it and we know this. Some anglers, when trolling in areas where my species is present, shun metal wires, as they may deter some other species from biting, but it could result in many “cut-offs” and lost lures. Here to use a metal wire or not is a trade-off that should be seriously considered.
With targeted great barracuda fishing, you must use a devilishly thin, but strong, wire trace. Even fly fishers need to adopt this approach as we fight strongly and aggressively and throw our heads around. Right at the end of a fight, as we are pulled alongside a boat, our last attempt at attaining freedom is one final desperate violent twist of the head that can instantly sever any nylon trace and…. we’ll be gone in a silver flash.
Fly-fishing for barracuda
Fly-fishing is becoming increasingly popular for great barracuda, and it is very easy to simply troll, using a fly rod, instead of endlessly casting around. In many areas, such as most of the Caribbean Sea and around north Australia, nearshore fishing trips will have the boats troll from the harbor out to reefs and wrecks and then anglers cast towards and around the structure. We will often feed near the surface and a lure or fly rapidly retrieved, possibly with some splashing, will often prove irresistible to us.
While we feed throughout the year, we often move around from area to area, and may be only present or actively feeding in some or other parts of our habitat depending on the season. At some times of the year, for example, we may favor different kinds, styles or colors of food or bait. Local knowledge is essential, and if you hire a reputable charter boat, the skipper will usually have the knowledge, experience and equipment to maximize your chances of catching a large great barracuda.
In conclusion
Hooking a “decent-sized” great barracuda should be well within the potential of most sport anglers where our species occurs. To land a really good specimen, however, is quite an achievement and will usually follow a considerable investment in time, learning and also false hopes and lost fish. We fight right up till the last second and the line can part at any time, especially with a large specimen. We ensure that, should you be fortunate enough to hook one of us, playing us is a heart-thumping, adrenaline-pumping, very special event and the outcome is undecided right up until the unfortunate fish is in the boat.
Next in “Life History of a Fish”
Life History of a Fish: Atlantic Tarpon
By Scotty Kyle
They call me “Silver King”, and I am one of the most sought-after species for sport fly-fishers anywhere in the world. Human scientists named us “Megalops atlanticus,” the “big eyes of the Atlantic”. I have no teeth and, apparently, don’t taste very good, but fanatical sport anglers literally go to the ends of the world and spend massive sums of money for an opportunity to do battle with my species. I am Atlantic tarpon. CONTINUE READING.
