American Angler in Australia (1937) (2 page)

Peter called our camera-boat the Tin Horn. Its name was really Tin Hare
,
but it pleased his sense of humor to call it Tin Horn. She was long an
d
well built, and appeared to be a most satisfactory vessel for takin
g
pictures. I would not have fished out of her under any circumstances
,
because the cockpit was too far back, and therefore the fishing-chair
s
too far from the stern. You would have to fight a fish from either side;
a
nd when a swordfish ran under the boat, which is a likely occurrence, i
t
would be just too bad. Australian anglers, after the manner of Ne
w
Zealanders, run their boats while they are fast to a fish, usually in th
e
direction the fish is going, and less often away from him. My method i
s
to stop a fish after the first hard run, and fight him.

My camera crew, Bowen, Anderson, and Morhardt, experienced and cleve
r
as they are in photography, were utter novices in big-game sea-angling.

The Warren Brothers, Ike and Bill, market fishermen and good fellow
s
hired as crew of the Tin Hare, had no understanding of our methods. I
f
elt a grim amusement when I realized what the Tin Hare was in for; an
d
also, a keen relish in prospect of fun and sport and disaster and hazar
d
on board the boat. Such things always promise the incidents that make fo
r
good stories. Bowen had conscripted or shanghaied his pretty wife, Marge
,
for script girl; and I certainly felt concern for her.

We put out the teasers and Peter handed me a rod: "All set, sir," h
e
said. "Might as well troll to and fro, going to that island. We'll pic
k
up a big fish some day."

Peter and I had the same reactions to fishing, except in extraordinar
y
cases. I sustained an old familiar tingling as I settled down into th
e
fishing-chair, rested the rod on the gunwale, took the line in my hand
,
and set my eyes upon the bait. It was a mullet and small. Now mullet ar
e
indeed tidbits for all kinds of big sea fish, but they do not troll well.

It is impossible to watch a bait all the time. Nevertheless, you mus
t
almost do that if you expect to see a Marlin or a mako or a broadbil
l
flash up out of the depths. If you see him first you have the advantage.

I have often wondered how many fish I fail to see, as they go by. Man
y
and many a one, I know. It is a mistake to imagine that even half of th
e
fish you raise come for the bait, and it takes years of practice t
o
discern them, except those that come close or strike. Raising a fis
h
means drawing it up from the depths somewhere by the use of teasers.

I took a quick glance at bait and teasers and then at the long windin
g
white shoreline, the dark range of mountains, the sea all around, an
d
then my eyes returned. This is a continual process. A good angler shoul
d
see everything, which is impossible. But particularly he must not mis
s
fins on the surface, dim shapes of gray or green or purple in the swells
,
birds and their actions, and splashes of fish near or far.

The water of this Australian sea is dark in color, darker, I think, tha
n
that of New Zealand, though this seems unreasonable. Flash of the weavin
g
teasers would not show one-tenth so far as in the crystal waters of th
e
South Seas. Fish here could not possibly have the range of vision tha
t
they have in tropic seas. We had to find out what teasers worked best an
d
how to manipulate them.

It took two hours to run out to Montague Island, but the time seeme
d
short. Islands always fascinate me. How many lonely lighthouses have I
s
een! Somehow this one reminded me of Alacrans in the Caribbean Sea. Tha
t
one was so lonely, so seldom visited, that more than one lighthouse-keepe
r
had gone insane. Montague is a barren rock rising like a hump-backe
d
whale. Tufts of green-yellow grass seem its sole vegetation. But fo
r
the most part bare rocks rounded by wind and sea led the gaze to th
e
tower standing on the summit, apprehensively facing the sea. There wa
s
an attraction about Montague which I may define later.

For bait we caught small kingfish, or yellowtail, Cereola dorsalis, whic
h
is the proper name, and a small mackeral which the boatman called bonito.

This species looked more like a skipjack; a bonito has fewer stripes. I
t
was a pretty, shiny fish.

We trolled bait of this kind around the island and then ran out a mile o
r
more. Gulls were few and far between. I sighted one shark fin cutting th
e
water. Outside we ran upon the Tin Hare performing some remarkabl
e
evolutions. Emil (Morhardt) had hooked a hammerhead shark and was havin
g
his troubles. The shark was heavy and Emil had forgotten to put on th
e
harness. This fact, coupled with the movements of the boat, made him
a
rather helpless, ludicrous picture. But he was enraptured. In fact the
y
were all excited. They yelled at us, "Whoopee! We've got one on!"

I hung around them for a while, watching, and resisting my strong desir
e
to yell, "Stop the boat and fight the fish!"

Presently we raised a hammerhead. This species of shark is probabl
y
nearly the same in all waters. But this one had a lighter and more curve
d
dorsal fin, and the way it cut the water, as the big fish came weavin
g
and dashing after us, was something worth photographing. A hammerhead ha
s
poor eyesight. He trails his prey by scent, and his peculiar weavin
g
pursuit is wholly due to that. The most remarkable feature about th
e
hammerhead, Squalus zygaena, is the long hammer-like head, on the extrem
e
front of which runs a deep little groove leading to the nostrils at eac
h
end, This has been developed to catch more scent in the water. His eye
s
are also located at each end.

We enticed this fellow to follow the bait. When a second and larger on
e
appeared I had to draw the bait in to keep him from getting it. Th
e
savagery of the sea is exemplified in the fierce, swift action o
f
sharks. I hate sharks, and have killed a thousand, and have an inklin
g
that I'll add another thousand to my list here.

We ran over to watch Emil, who in the meantime had conquered hi
s
hammerhead. They hauled it on board. Soon after that we headed bac
k
toward Bermagui. I noticed birds working in shore, and running over w
e
found shearwater ducks (mutton birds) and gannet working in a tide-ri
p
where patches of bait showed. A big commotion a mile away looked like
a
swordfish splash, so we ran down. I often raise and catch swordfish tha
t
I sight at a distance. We could not locate this one, however, though w
e
kept trolling around.

Presently the other boat flagged us, and we ran over to find that the
y
had seen an enormous black Marlin rolling around in a patch of bait. W
e
trolled there for an hour without results. Both the Warrens and my me
n
claimed this Marlin was huge, fully sixteen feet long. At least it wa
s
the largest these market fishermen had seen.

There was nothing more that happened that day, except a silver pall o
f
rain shrouding the mountains. I called it a good day.

There is always the next day to lure with its possibilities. No two day
s
are alike. The following morning we were out bright and early, trollin
g
the baits we had left from the preceding trip. Hungry swordfish will tak
e
anything, but you need a live bait for some of them. Fish that are no
t
hungry at all will rise to follow the teasers, sometimes for miles. Thes
e
are the aggravating ones. But I have so often teased and provoked one t
o
strike that I generally work with them till they go away.

A big long swell was running, the kind upon which you don't want the win
d
to work further. It was clear and sunny, though in the southeast ther
e
loomed a cloud I did not like. I had an idea the wind would come, bu
t
straightway forgot it.

Four miles out I sighted a long sickle fin cutting through a swell. Did I
y
ell, "Marlin!"? I certainly did. An instant later Peter sighted anothe
r
farther out, and this tail fin belonged to a large fish. I could not tel
l
whether or not it indicated a black Marlin. It stood up three feet o
r
more, and that much would make a tail spread of over six feet. Thes
e
Marlin were riding the swells and they were moving fast. The tails woul
d
come up out of the top of a swell and cut the water at more than
a
ten-knot speed. Then they would vanish. It is always necessary to run th
e
boat in the right direction to head the fish off. The Avalon is fast--sh
e
can do eighteen knots when opened up--but we could not catch up with th
e
big fellow.

We did, however, show a bait to the smaller Marlin. He saw it flash fro
m
over a hundred feet distant. When he swirled with that unmistakable fli
p
of his tail I yelled: "He's coming, boys. Look out!"

And I'd hardly uttered the words when there he was shooting like a hug
e
purple bird for my bait. I let go my line even before he reached it, an
d
then as the reel whizzed I pressed my gloved hand down to prevent a
n
overrun. You handle every strike of a Marlin differently. In this case I
d
id what would be right in most cases. When he felt the hook he came out
,
a long, lean fish of some three hundred pounds, and he threw that bai
t
thirty feet. From the feel of the action I judged the hook had caught o
n
his long jaw and did not penetrate. I have caught Marlin, though, wit
h
only the point of the hook in the bone, not in to the barb. Peter gav
e
vent to some thoroughly American language, which he had learned from m
e
and which would not look so well in print.

"Only an incident of the day, Pete, old top," I said. "Put on anothe
r
bait."

"But it's the first day, sir," he expostulated. Peter and my other me
n
wanted me to make the first catch for 1936.

We ran on. I trolled that bait clean to Montague Island.

There were birds to the eastward, and I gave that stretch a going over.

Six of them were albatross. This was my very first time to fish righ
t
with these falcons of the sea, and I watched them till they sailed away.

Next day there were three other boats already at Montague. One of thes
e
passed us and kindly threw us a yellowtail bait, but it fell short int
o
the water. Off the north end of the island, after some time trolling, w
e
managed to catch a few bait. And we were scarcely two hundred feet fro
m
the rocks when we put these smaller fish on and started to troll.

We had not passed the corner of the island when I saw a blue flash and
a
ragged fin coming from the left. It was a Marlin and he took my bait wit
h
a rush. At the same time I saw a sharp bill back of Gus's hook. I
s
houted: "Look out! There's another!" This one got Gus's bait and h
e
pulled it off for the simple reason that Gus was so scared or excite
d
that he held on to the line with grim tenacity. I made a remark. Gu
s
said: "Was that your fish?"