(L-R) Ong Chew Yet, Ching Neng Bin and Hong Eng Koi. Returning from the Pulau Sembilan fishing safari with an impressive catch, Mr. Ching secured 4th Prize in the Deep-Sea Trawling Category — a commendable achievement among many seasoned anglers that day.
On 10th August 1996, in conjunction with the vibrant “Pesta Lumut”
celebration, the waters around Pulau Sembilan became the stage for an
unforgettable deep-sea fishing safari. Among the enthusiastic
participants was none other than Mr. Ching Neng Bin, fondly nicknamed
“The Marlboro Man” by friends — then the Manager of Public Bank, Seri
Manjung Branch. Calm, steady, and determined, Mr. Ching ventured into
the open sea with high hopes and a fighting spirit.
The result? A
proud moment that would be talked about for years. Returning from the
Pulau Sembilan fishing safari with an impressive
catch, Mr. Ching secured 4th Prize in the Deep-Sea Trawling Category — a
commendable achievement among many seasoned anglers that day.
The
sea was generous, the competition spirited, and the camaraderie
unforgettable. It wasn’t just about the prize; it was about friendship,
adventure, and the thrill of the open ocean. With a satisfied smile and a
story to tell, Mr. Ching later shared his experience — of early morning
waves, the tug on the line, and the excitement as the catch surfaced
from the deep blue.
Indeed, the 1996 Pulau Sembilan fishing safari was more than a competition.
It was a memory cast into time — one that still reels in smiles today.
Three of us gathered at the Lumut International Yacht Club at 6:00
a.m., the morning air still cool and fresh. Excitement was already
building as we prepared to set off. Our ride was an 18-foot speedboat
owned by one of our team members, powered by a sturdy 75 h.p. Suzuki
engine.
The engine roared to life, and soon we were cutting
across the morning waters. It took nearly an hour to reach Pulau
Sembilan. By the time we arrived, it was almost a quarter to seven. The
timing could not have been better — the sun was just rising, painting
the sky in brilliant shades of gold and orange. It was a breathtaking
sight, one that made the early start entirely worthwhile. 
Seagulls circled overhead, watching us with what seemed like suspicion —
perhaps even worried that we had come to steal their breakfast from the
sea. Their cries blended with the hum of the engine and the gentle
splash of waves against the boat. 
We soon unpacked our gear, checked our equipment, and began preparing
the lines for trawling. The real adventure was about to begin.
A few hours later, at around noon, the sun unleashed its fiery fury upon
us. The gentle morning breeze had long disappeared, replaced by an
unforgiving heat that bore down relentlessly on our backs. The sea
shimmered under the blazing light, and even the horizon seemed to
tremble in the heat.
But to me — the so-called crazy angler —
the whims of nature could never diminish the suspense of waiting for a
strike, nor the thrill of the impending tussle. Every slight tug on the
line sent a jolt through my veins. Every ripple in the water stirred
hope. In those moments, the heat, the sweat, and the glare simply faded
into the background. 
At the White-Rock. There is a saying: “Once a person takes up the rod, he is baited for
life — hook, line, and sinker — defying storms, mosquitoes, and
scorching UV rays for the thrill of the struggle with nature.” How true
that felt under the blazing midday sun. 
And then there is another saying: “If you are a fisherman, you are a
stupid dreamer.” Perhaps that is true too. Because every time we cast
our lines, we are dreaming — dreaming of the next big catch, the next
great story, the next triumphant moment when the sea finally yields its
prize. And in that dream, we willingly endure the heat, the fatigue, and
the uncertainty. For a fisherman, hope floats longer than the boat
itself.
After lunch, just as the afternoon lull threatened to slow our spirits,
we finally got our first strike — a solid 3.4-kilogram barracuda. The
line tightened sharply, the reel sang, and in an instant the drowsiness
of the hot afternoon vanished. It was a fine catch and a welcome reward
for our patience.
But the real drama was yet to come. Not long
after, my line suddenly jerked with a force that felt altogether
different — heavier, stronger, determined. I knew immediately this was
no ordinary fish. What followed was the biggest strike of the day — a
5.7-kilogram mackerel. 
The 5.7-kilogram mackerel proved to be a fierce opponent. It burst from
the water in spectacular leaps, its silver body flashing under the sun.
Then it plunged deep, pulling hard against the drag, testing both my
tackle and my resolve. The rod bent into a full arc as the reel whirred
relentlessly.
For nearly three intense minutes, we were locked
in a battle of strength and patience. It darted, dived, and resisted
every inch of line I tried to reclaim. My arms strained, my palms
tightened, and every turn of the reel demanded focus and control. 
It was a hard-fought contest before I could finally bring the fish close
to the boat. As it surfaced, still thrashing in defiance, there was a
surge of relief and triumph. With one final steady pull, the
5.7-kilogram mackerel was secured. In that moment, the heat, the
fatigue, and the long hours of waiting were forgotten. The sea had
answered.
All in all, we managed about a 21 kg catch. On our return
trip, we talked about how we were going to cook the fish and decided
that we should have fish and chips and make the remainder of the fish
into fish-balls.
Ching Neng Bin with the 4th Prize 5.7-kilogram mackerel in the Deep-Sea Trawling Category — a commendable achievement among many seasoned anglers that day.
A report by Ching Neng Bin
On 10th August 1996, in conjunction with the vibrant “Pesta Lumut” celebration, the waters off Pulau Sembilan became the stage for an unforgettable deep-sea fishing safari.
Three of us gathered at the Lumut International Yacht Club at 6:00 a.m., the morning air still cool and fresh. Excitement was already building as we prepared to set off. Our ride was an 18-foot speedboat owned by one of our team members, powered by a sturdy 75 h.p. Suzuki engine. The engine roared to life, and soon we were cutting across the calm morning waters.
It took nearly an hour to reach Pulau Sembilan. By the time we arrived, it was almost a quarter to seven. The timing could not have been better — the sun was just rising, painting the sky in brilliant shades of gold and orange. It was a breathtaking sight that made the early start entirely worthwhile. Seagulls circled overhead, watching us with what seemed like suspicion — perhaps even worried that we had come to steal their breakfast. Their cries blended with the hum of the engine and the gentle splash of waves against the boat.
We soon unpacked our gear, checked our equipment, and began preparing the lines for trawling. The adventure had begun.
A few hours later, at around noon, the sun unleashed its fiery fury upon us. The gentle morning breeze had long disappeared, replaced by an unforgiving heat that bore down relentlessly on our backs. The sea shimmered under the blazing light, and even the horizon seemed to tremble.
But to me — the so-called “crazy angler” — the whims of nature could never diminish the suspense of waiting for a strike, nor the thrill of the impending tussle. Every slight tug on the line sent a jolt through my veins. Every ripple in the water stirred hope.
There is a saying: “Once a person takes up the rod, he is baited for life — hook, line, and sinker — defying storms, mosquitoes, and scorching UV rays for the thrill of the struggle with nature.” How true that felt under the blazing midday sun.
And then there is another saying: “If you are a fisherman, you are a stupid dreamer.”
Perhaps that is true too. For every cast carries a dream — of the next big catch, the next great story, the next triumphant moment when the sea finally yields its prize.
After lunch, just as the afternoon lull threatened to dull our spirits, we got our first strike — a solid 3.4-kilogram barracuda. The line tightened sharply, the reel sang, and the heat was instantly forgotten.
Not long after, my line jerked violently with a force that felt altogether different — heavier, stronger, determined. What followed was the biggest strike of the day — a magnificent 5.7-kilogram mackerel.
The mackerel proved to be a fierce opponent. It burst from the water in spectacular leaps, its silver body flashing under the sun before plunging deep again. The rod bent into a full arc as the reel whirred relentlessly. For nearly three intense minutes, we were locked in a battle of strength and patience. It darted, dived, and resisted every inch of line I tried to reclaim. My arms strained, my grip tightened, and every turn of the reel demanded focus and control.
It was a hard-fought contest before I could finally bring the fish close to the boat. As it surfaced, still thrashing in defiance, there was a surge of relief and triumph. The sea had answered.
By the end of the day, we had managed a total catch of about 21 kilograms — a respectable haul by any standard. Returning to Lumut, tired but exhilarated, we talked animatedly about how we would enjoy the fruits of our labor. After much enthusiastic discussion, we agreed that some of the freshest cuts would be turned into classic fish and chips, while the remainder would be made into homemade fish balls.
The Pulau Sembilan fishing safari was more than just a competition. Among many seasoned anglers, Mr. Ching Neng Bin — then Manager of Public Bank, Seri Manjung Branch, fondly nicknamed “The Marlboro Man” by friends — proudly secured 4th Prize in the Deep-Sea Trawling Category during the Pesta Lumut celebration.
Yet beyond the prize and the 21 kilograms of fish, what remained most valuable were the memories: the golden sunrise, the circling seagulls, the relentless midday sun, the fierce three-minute battle with the mackerel, and the camaraderie shared among friends on open waters.
Pulau Sembilan gave us more than a winning catch.
It gave us a story — one cast in 1996 and still worth retelling today.
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