Giant trevally (GT) fanatics have a reputation for being crazy sadists, the kind of people who would pay a leather-clad dominatrix with rusty-metal-spiked stilettos to torture them, just for the pleasure of the pain. Real sickos. But it’s not like that at all. Well, I suppose I can’t speak for everyone. I once fished with a guy who thrived on the lactic burn one endures when fighting GTs. He taunted every hooked GT from behind his sweaty tomato-red face and gritted teeth, his top lip curled and spit flying as he trash-talked each opponent, “C’mon ya b!&#, is that all ya got?” He was a bit weird. The anger came from deep down.

Anyway, that which lurks in some fishermen’s closets aside, the true GT attraction is the difficult angling challenge this war-mongering fish presents, not the physical torment. There’s never an easy win. GT success is part physical, yes, but also a big part tactical. It’s part fiscal, too, if you consider the potential for lost expensive poppers.

I think every angler should add the GT to their Bucket List to truly appreciate other more sedentary fishing styles. Few fish mock serious tackle and an angler’s best efforts with the same ferocity or theatre as a big GT. And there’s no better stage on which the GT displays its talents than the trevally-laden seas surrounding New Caledonia.

‘New Cal’ is only 2.5 hours flight from east Australia. I didn’t know much about this cigar-shaped, French speaking island nation before my visit, other than legends told of exceptional popper fishing. Such tales drew me there and New Cal lived up to its reputation for massive GTs in horrifying fashion. It put on an impressive show and with more than one star, the rich waters flaunting a wealth of species and an average fish weight I haven’t experienced in any of the other nine countries I’ve fished.

I suppose it was ironic we didn’t land a GT on the first day. Yet come sunset I already had enough photos and material from a variety of other species, reef and pelagic, for my feature article assignment of the time. The days that followed were a luxury, in many ways. My ‘trip highlight’ began later in the week when two massive GTs suddenly appeared in a race behind my popper, which was by then within five metres of the boat. The bigger fish won by a nose, smashed the lure amid a liquid explosion, then my rod and I synchronised in oppressed curves over the gunwales. I was on.

Pulling a big GT away from a reefy bottom against its will is as much a violent smash-and-grab affair as is prison romance. Unfortunately this fish caught me off guard while I was metaphorically tying my shoelace and in a twist it was I who was being tormented for much of the fight. The GT’s strength and stamina could have made a piano mover teary-eyed. The deckie—I suspected for his own amusement—cruelly positioned the boat directly over the stubborn GT, ignoring my plea to reposition for a more advantageous line angle, and so I travelled the hard road of the pump-and-wind stalemate versus a big fish pulsing side-on with an eye for the depths. One stage required such effort to prevent the fish reaching the reef that I sat with my bum on the deck and feet pushing against the very low gunwales—using a posture, breathing technique and cursing frequency usually reserved for women giving birth—I was fighting for every centimetre of line. The battle wore on and as lactic acid built throughout my body to such levels that I started to wonder if my clothes would also cramp, the Fish Gods showed mercy and the GT threw in the towel.

I admired the 36kg fish as the photos were taken—a capture earned. I was genuinely tired as we swam the fish prior to its release and when the ‘catchee’ kicked away at speed—looking much fresher than the ‘catcher’—the pain subsided and the GT buzz took over. Good fish don’t come easy in this challenging environment and a healthy release of a magnificent opponent is a moment to savour.

That was one highlight among a remarkable week’s fishing that included scores of GTs—big and medium—plus wahoo, yellowfin and dogtooth tuna, surprise attacks from black marlin bursting through the surface slashing at trolled lures, Spanish mackerel up to 25kg, huge cod, red bass, coral trout, amberjack, rusty jobfish and an assortment of other reef species. The most incredible catch was a colossal wahoo that measured 1.86m and an estimated weight of 60kg—the biggest any of us had seen.

A week wasn’t long enough to sample even a fraction of what’s on offer in New Cal. It never is in such places. We didn’t fish the bonefish flats, the creeks, the open offshore waters or the shallow reef lagoons. They were just distant billboards advertising the copious fishing potential that’s yet to be fully realised.