A handful of intrepid anglers ventured there before us, so we can make no claim to having discovered the place, but that in no way diminished the thrill of our recent visit to Ambafao, the newly established fishing camp at Nosy Be in Madagascar. Forgive the clichi, but this really was the ultimate adventure, the experience of a lifetime. Not simply because of the fishing, which was superb, or the similarly superb food that came out of the camp's rudimentary bush kitchen, but also because of the beautiful beachside setting of the camp, the gentle Malagasy people who worked there, and the lovable little lemur who, to the delight of the visiting fishermen whose beer and booze she drank with impunity, also made Ambafao its home.
Madagascar as a geographical oddity spun off from continental Africa, featuring arid deserts, high plateaus and orchid-studded forests, the latter increasingly threatened by slash-and-burn cultivation and the demand for ever more rice fields to feed the country's ever-growing population. The place is so forbidding that it seems to have achieved an isolation from the rest of the world matched only by Burma, Mongolia and Tibet.
If the prospect of traveling to Madagascar lent a great sense of excitement to the days preceding our departure, we must confess, too, that the smattering of quasi-data we had gleaned from a hotchpotch of sources imparted a slight sense of foreboding as well. Yet, as we came to realize shortly into our trip, there was no need for apprehension, for the only real concern we had throughout our entire stay in Madagascar was the fear that we had not brought enough film.
If This Is the Slow Season ...
The fishing camp that lured us to this part of the Southern Hemisphere is located on the largest of a chain of lush, tropical islands that lie immediately off Madagascar's northwest coast. An hour's flight from Antananarivo (or Tana, as the capital of Madagascar is called), Nosy Be (literally, "the Big Island") has the distinction of being home to the extremely rare ylang-ylang tree, whose blossoms gives the place its local nickname, the "Perfumed Island." The ylang-ylang and other unusual plants flourish here because Nosy Be boasts a near-perfect micro-climate, the sun shining throughout each day, the rain confined to late afternoons or evenings, and warm days and cool nights prevailing throughout most of the year. Perfect weather for fishing, too.
Hugging the shoreline close to the northernmost tip of Nosy Be, the secluded eight-tent camp at Ambafao can only be reached by boat from Hellville, the capital of Nosy Be. The track that once ran the full 15-mile length of the island is so overgrown with foliage that it is now impassable. A former colonial outpost, Hellville was named in honor of a 19th-century French admiral, not (as we initially had feared) to describe the quality of life there.
The boat ride from Hellville to Ambafao aboard one of the camp's three 22-foot outboard-powered catamarans takes about an hour - slightly longer if the "queen of the fleet," the 38-foot Mauritian-built. Whatever the case, the run to camp traverses what must be one of the richest marine feeding grounds in the world, a body of water so prolific with life that hardly a minute goes by without one seeing, in virtually every direction at once, school upon school of bonito killing shoals of baitfish on the surface.
Stepping ashore on the otherwise deserted and perfectly pristine beach at Ambafao, we were met by camp manager John Peluffo, a latter-day Robinson Crusoe with such a winning personality and such a wealth of experience to share that we stood in the ankle-deep water talking for a good 30 minutes before realizing that we should simply get back on the catamaran that had delivered us and go fishing with him. And less than an hour later, we were trolling four belly strips about 5 miles due north of the camp. Several minutes later, two sails hit our baits at the same instant, and before long we tallied our first double-header, with both fish released in quick succession. After a short break to run back to the reef to catch a few small baitfish, we soon had another double strike.
The group of five South Africans fishing aboard Clementine was also connecting with one sailfish after another. Then, as we watched from a distance, they hooked into a 300-plus-pound black marlin, which they fought for perhaps 10 minutes on 20-pound gear before it made its last of many spectacular leaps and broke free. Yet despite all this action, Peluffo was apologetic, expressing disappointment that we had arrived "between seasons, when the fishing was slow." At the height of the season, he said, 20 strikes in four hours is not uncommon.
The sailfish season at Ambafao begins in earnest the first week of June and continues through September. In early October, the Varatrasa, a wind from the east, pushes the bait out for about three weeks, and with them the sailfish. At the end of October, however, the fish return and, though fewer in number, stay until January.
Though they are not often targeted by the light-tackle anglers who frequent the camp, black marlin also make a strong appearance off Ambafao. These are found in greatest abundance from April through August, but they, too, stay around throughout the entire sailfish season, feeding in the shallow water close to camp as well as at the first drop-off. Lures have proved less effective than rigged bonito in raising these fish, which generally range in weight from 200 to 400 pounds.
We enjoyed five days at Ambafao, much of that time spent fishing with Peluffo, two young but extremely skilled local tribesmen who served as skipper and deckhand, and a police inspector friend of his from home. A member of a special anti-Mafia squad in Genoa, Gerry (we were requested not to use his full name) had hunted down many a gangster in the course of his career, but this was the first time in his life he had ever gone in pursuit of billfish. Needless to say, he got his first sailfish almost as soon as we put our baits in the water and was as thrilled at the feat as if he had just thrown the Godfather himself into the slammer. The fish, however, without posting bail, was released unharmed.
"This Is a Billfish Camp, Not a Five-Star Hotel"
The camp has now been in business almost three years, its clientele consisting primarily of knowledgeable French and South African anglers. Chasse et Pjche, one of Europe's foremost fishing outfitters, is responsible for the overall administration of the camp and its back-up services in Hellville, such as the boat maintenance and tackle repair shops.
"This is a billfish camp, not a five-star hotel," says the 35-year-old Peluffo, with a two-year-old lemur named Maki draped affectionately around his neck, angling for a sip of his beer. "Because it's so basic, it may not be for everyone, but it provides a clean, comfortable environment, good fishing, good food and good companionship. What more could a person want?"
