Cape Verde, the paradise of fishing

Lovefish tells the story

I went to Cape Verde, and the very first thing I thought once we headed out to sea was that the ocean there is still alive. It’s not just a feeling—it’s something you immediately understand. You see it in the water, in the feeding frenzies, in the sheer number of predators around. Today, Cape Verde is one of the richest fishing grounds still left, not only because it remains relatively unspoiled, but because for a long time it experienced far less fishing pressure than many other areas. The currents do their job here, the ocean drops off into deep water just a few miles from shore, and nutrients rise from the bottom. The food chain is still intact—and when a food chain works, there are fish.

In recent years, however, things have begun to change. Tourism has increased significantly, and industrial fishing in particular is starting to make itself felt here as well. There’s no need for controversy—just look at the sea: more boats, more nets, more exploitation. Some seabeds are already showing clear signs of stress. Cape Verde remains a living sea, but it is not immune to what is happening everywhere else.

From a species point of view, it’s astonishing. There are fish that simply don’t exist in Italy, and others we know well, but here they are more numerous, larger, and far less wary. That’s the difference between an overexploited sea and one that is still able to regenerate.

Fishing is almost always done from a boat, and the main technique is offshore trolling. It’s not complicated fishing, but it does require a minimum of method, because here the setup matters more than many other factors. Typically, seven rods are used: one works very far back, with a teaser and a Kona, and it’s often the one that triggers the action. Then there are two long-distance rods with smaller, faster, more aggressive Konas; two mid-distance rods with large Konas, perfect for sailfish; and finally two rods very close to the boat’s wake, almost in the bubbles, rigged with large Rapala X-Raps that imitate an injured fish in the chaos of the propeller.

It’s a simple but effective spread, covering all distances and all predator behaviors. When the conditions are right, there’s no downtime. The main targets are yellowfin tuna, sailfish, and wahoo—and it’s the wahoo that impressed me the most.

The wahoo is an incredible fish: long, powerful, and incredibly fast. It has a terrifying set of teeth—real blades—which is why you always fish for it with serious steel leaders, at least 120 pounds. It’s not a technical preference; it’s a necessity, if only to avoid losing every lure it strikes.

The strike always comes without warning. The boat is moving, the lures are working, maybe you’re talking about something else, and suddenly a rod explodes into action. The drag starts screaming immediately—loud, relentless. Line pours off the spool at an insane speed and doesn’t slow down. When it happens, you know right away it’s not a tuna: it’s a wahoo.

This fish doesn’t fight like the others. It doesn’t dig in or circle under the boat—it runs straight and fast. And while it runs, the boat has to maneuver: the skipper turns, accelerates, tries to follow it to reduce the angle of the line. In those moments, you realize that boat fishing is always a team effort. The wahoo often slows down, but not because it’s tired—it’s just a pause. You gain a few meters of line, and as soon as it sees the shape of the boat, it takes off again, with another sudden, violent run and the drag screaming once more.

During the fight, it constantly shakes its head. Its mouth is extremely hard, with a thick bony plate, and that’s exactly why losing the hook is always a real possibility. Even when you think you have it, you never truly do until it’s on board. When it comes close to the boat, it’s still stunning: the characteristic dark stripes along its body are clearly visible, but once it’s brought aboard, they begin to fade within moments. It happens every time, and it’s one of those details that really sticks with you.

Fighting a wahoo is one of the most exciting experiences you can have from a boat. It’s never predictable and never under control until the very last meter, and that’s exactly what makes it so thrilling. From a culinary point of view, it’s an exceptional fish: outstanding raw, simple, with no need for elaborate preparation, and when cooked it remains firm, flavorful, and clean. It’s one of those fish that truly shows how closely the sea and cuisine are connected, when you start with genuine raw material.

Alongside wahoo, yellowfin tuna are commonly encountered in Cape Verde—powerful, tireless fish that fight in a completely different way: longer battles, more consistent, less explosive, but incredibly tough. And then there are sailfish, spectacular especially when they rise to the surface before attacking. Sometimes you can see them follow the lure for meters, swimming alongside it, studying it, as if deciding whether it’s worth the effort.

Fishing in Cape Verde is an incredible experience, but it also leaves you with a sense of responsibility, because a sea like this is no longer the norm today. It’s something that can change quickly if pressure becomes too intense. I came back from Cape Verde with great memories, beautiful catches, and a lot of satisfaction—but also with the awareness that these seas must be enjoyed with respect and restraint. Because today they still offer real emotions, but tomorrow will depend largely on how we treat them now.

In the end, this is what I try to convey with Lovefish: fishing, living the sea, and never taking anything for granted.