by Bill Day
17
Herring and Bonito
Mandy takes Penelope between a set of marker buoys and heads straight towards a line of breakers that mark a shallow reef. She throttles back just short of the reef and knocks Penelope into reverse. We come to a dead stop and Lucky drops the anchor.
Lucky hands me a small flick rod. “This is where we catch fresh bait.”
Fingers opens a cooler and grabs a clump of squid. He cuts a few small slices and threads them onto his hooks. He casts out and waits for a few seconds. His line tightens and I can see a small but fast fish ducking and weaving on his line. He brings it close to the boat. It leaps clear of the water and shakes its head. The hook pulls out and the fish dives to freedom. I can see it swim away through the clear water.
He turns to rebait. “Where’s the bait?”
Sarah and Jessica look on the deck and under the bait board. I look towards the bow, where Trotsky is just swallowing the last of the squid. He wanders back and licks the bait board.
“Bloody dog ate the bait!” declares Muscles. He advances murderously towards Trotsky. Mandy swings around on her chair and glares at Muscles. He freezes, turns away from her glare, and looks out to sea. “What do we do now?”
Mandy walks to the rubbish bag and roots around in it. She pulls out a plastic drinking straw and cuts it into short lengths. She grabs Muscles flick rod and threads the straw on the hooks. She casts out and retrieves with a fluid motion. After five cranks of the reel two sleek, blue fish rocket out from the reef and hit the straw aggressively. She reels the two fish in, breaks their necks, and places them on the bait board.
“Blue mackerel. Cut them up. They’re good herring bait.” She resumes her seat on the bridge.
We cut up the blue mackerel and start catching fish. I assume they are herring. In fifteen minutes, we have half a bucket full. We are just about to weigh anchor when I decide on one last cast. As the bait hits the water something large and fast engulfs it. The rod bends as the fish rockets into the distance. I am sure the rod’s going to break so I point it towards the water.
I hear a quiet voice behind me. “Lift your rod tip, Monty. You’ve hooked a nice bonito. Keep your rod tip up and let the line run out.”
I glance over my shoulder and see Mandy behind me. She watches the line slice through the water. The reel spool screams as the bonito takes more and more line.
Mandy coaches me gently. “Wait till it stops. The fish is big for the rig you’re using. You need to be patient. Just let it swim and tire itself out.”
The reel continues to scream as line peels off the spool. Just when I am sure the fish is headed to China the line goes slack. “It’s swimming back towards you. Reel in like crazy Monty.” I reel like crazy. The line comes taught again and I can see the fish in the water. It circles the boat.
“Quick, get up and follow him.” I clamber over seats, dogs, people, and anchor rope to follow the fish around the boat.
Helen rushes in the see what I am up to. The rod tip bends up and down as the fish struggles. She looks at it quizzically and then starts to bark. She fixes her eyes on the flexing rod tip and voices her disapproval with loud and continuous barking. Trotsky runs up to see what Helen’s up to. I try to follow the fish and trip over the big brown bear of a dog. I lie on my back for a second with both dogs licking my face.
“Stop playing with the dogs and get up Monty!” I hold the rod up and scramble back to my feet. The fish is still on.
“He’s getting tired. Just pull back gently then dip the rod and take up the slack. Again. Keep doing that until he takes off.”
I get the bonito close to the boat and it takes off. I don’t think it looks tired at all. Line screams off the spool. I slowly work the fish close to the boat again. I watch it in the water. It seems to look back at me then takes off like a race-car. More line screams off the spool than before. I work it back to the boat.
“Keep it going, Monty. You’re doing fine.” The others in the boat are voicing encouragement. “Fine work Monty, keep it up.” Helen runs up and down the deck barking. Trotsky comes in close and leans on me again. Heavy bastard.
I work the fish close to the boat. It is speeding along the hull about three feet under the water. Mandy grabs a long gaff, plunges it into the water, and hooks the fish onto the boat. It’s just over three feet long.
“Nice catch Monty, on 6-pound line and a flick rod. Well done.”
Mandy unhooks the fish and Trotsky dives on it. He holds it by the head and starts to pull it into the bridge. Mandy looks him in the eye and holds up one finger. He drops it and looks apologetic. She picks it up, kills it, and puts it on ice. “Nice sashimi fish. Now, let’s drift for a few squid.”
18
Squid Wars
Mandy motors a short distance clear of the breakers. She cuts the engine over a bed of seagrass. Fingers, Lucky, and Muscles uncoil some coloured jigs on hand lines and drop them over the side. The jigs don’t have hooks, rather just a circle of backward-facing sharp pins. As Penelope drifts along on the light breeze they jerk the line so the jigs move up and down in the water. Fingers’ line tightens and he gently pulls it in, hand over hand. Muscles’ and Lucky’s line tightens and they pull in steadily as well.
“Hey Monty, come and look at this.”
I stand behind them and watch as they ease the line in. I can see the three squid coming to the surface. They are translucent, brown spotted with big eyes. The eyes of the first squid seem to stare at me. As it breaks the water the squid shoots a jet of black slimy liquid straight onto my chest. My shirt is covered in black slime. It drips down my front and runs down my legs. I stand in shock. I look back to the water just in time for the second squid to unload. I duck and the jet hits my hat. The brim fills and drips slime slowly down the back of my neck. It’s cold and I involuntarily hunch my shoulders. These two attacks were the distraction. The third squid breaks the surface and erupts a monstrous jet of ink straight into my face. I cry out in surprise and stand, blindly dripping slime onto the deck.
Lucky, Muscles, and Fingers fall on the floor and giggle like kids reading Hustler magazine. Sarah and Jessica join in. Only Mandy keeps her composure, confining her mirth to a smile.
“You wankers!” I bubble through a mouthful of slime. “I’ll get you. Don’t ever relax you bastards!” Their laughter doubles.
I wipe my eyes clean and grab a squid line. With vengeance in mind, I lower it over the side. It drifts down towards the seagrass. After thirty seconds it tightens. I pull it in gently. As the squid comes to the surface, I angle it towards Lucky. Nothing happens. I have caught a dud squid. I pull the squid over the gunnel and hold it up. It hangs from the jig. I have no idea what to do with it.
I look around and see a black stained bucket. It has an equally stained lid. My squid is getting agitated. I can see its tentacles writhing and fins vibrating. I carry it to the bucket, lift the lid, and lower it down.
Now what? The squid clings to the jig. There seems no practical way to get it off. I give the line a little jerk but the squid sticks fast. I look down into the bucket just as the squid decides it’s had enough. It unloads ink straight into my face. Enough is enough. Enraged I drop the whole arrangement, squid, jig, and line, into the bucket and spin around in frustration. There are howls of delirium all around me.
Lucky has another squid on. He pulls it in and it sprays ink as it breaks the surface. Lucky ducks and Muscles dodges to one side. The jet arcs upwards, reaches its zenith and descends with a splat over Jess and Sarah. They squeal in amused annoyance.
I watch as Lucky carries his squid to the bucket, lifts the lid, and turns the jig upside down. The squid drops off the jig and lands in the bucket with a splash. I should have figured that out myself.
Muscles pulls in another squid and a jet shoots Lucky as his back is turned. “Bastard”, he cries.
Lucky walks over and drops his jig back into the ocean. He sits down dripping ink onto the deck. Soon he pulls up anot
her squid, which he aims at muscles. His aim is awry and the inkjet slams into Finger’s left ear. “Shit!” he yells. He scrapes a handful of slime off his collar and flicks it at me. I dodge and it sprays over Helen. She looks at me sadly.
Jessica gets out of her chair. She reaches into the bucket and picks up a now dead squid. Holding it by the long tentacles she swings and slaps Fingers across the back of his head. “Don’t stain the dogs!”
“Bloody hell Jess!” He turns and she squids him across the face just for good measure.
Not to be outdone, Sarah creeps up behind Jessica, squid in hand, and slaps her across the shoulder. Jess turns to face her aggressor only to receive a second slap across the cheek. Jess sees red.
“Oh like that is it?” She advances on Sarah with squid dangling from the right hand. Sarah backs away, swinging her squid around defensively. Jess charges and swings high at Sarah’s head. Sarah ducks and swings low and leaves a black squid mark on Jess’ shorts. Jess emits a battle cry and they engage, squids flying - hit after hit.
We call encouragement. “Go Jess!” “Ohh, nice hit Sarah.” “Great shot.” “Jess is ahead on points!” And so on.
A short but vigorous battle later they look at each other and crack up laughing. They walk back to their places, sit, and bask in each other’s company.
Helen looks at the black stain on her white fur, sniffs, and begins licking herself clean. Trotsky emerges from his hiding place and looks for any stray morsels of squid to eat. Lucky slops buckets of seawater onto the deck to clean away the black scum as Mandy guides us away from the shallows and out to sea.
The real fishing is about to start.
19
Tetraodontidae and Dogs
We motor further out to sea towards deep water. Penelope rolls over the smooth swell. Everyone chills out. Helen and Trots go quiet.
Without warning, Trotsky arches his back and vomits on the deck. He staggers away from the mess, stops abruptly, and vomits on Sarah’s feet. The recently consumed squid flows between Sarah’s toes.
Sarah leaps up flicking her feet. “Is he seasick? Do dogs get seasick?!”
“I think they might,” replies Jessica as he hacks up a pile of breakfast.
Helen jumps up next to Mandy. She is having nothing to do with Trotsky’s antics. Sarah continues to flick her feet and sprays squid around the boat. Trotsky walks in circles and makes deep gurgling noises. He vomits every 30 seconds. He staggers over to Jessica with his muzzle dripping and wipes his mouth on her leg.
“Ohhh disgusting dog. Monty, do something about Trotsky.”
I try to grab him but he arches his back and starts hacking again. I retreat as he unloads semi-digested squid into Jessica’s carry bag. “You bloody oaf!” she cries. She’s about to slap Trotsky but glances over at Mandy and stops. She looks sadly into the bag at her squid stained floral pattern latex bathers. She mutters to herself. “Stupid animal.”
Helen gets bored and stands on the bow. She barks loudly and continuously into the wind. Mandy looks adoringly at Helen. The rest of us want to drop her over the side.
Trotsky feels much better. He looks about and spies squid strewn about the deck. He sets about cleaning it up. He starts with Sarah’s feet.
“Stop, ewww. Oh no. Stop, it tickles. Stop!” Sarah rolls to the deck and spins around. “Not my feet. Stop him. It tickles. Tickles!!” Trotsky ignores her and finishes his meal. Sarah sits down, her feet clean and face flushed.
Trotsky moves to the pile near Jessica. Helen stares intently then moseys over for a snack. She muzzles Trotsky aside and licks at the pile of half-digested squid. Trotsky tries to assert himself. She nips him on the nose. He yips and moves over to find other tasty morsels.
Mandy cruises out to sea until the land is just a strip on the horizon. I can just make out Seabreeze standing prominently on top of its hill. She cuts the engine allows Penelope to drift on the breeze. Thick 100-pound hand-lines are baited and run out to the bottom. We wait. The boat rocks on the smooth swell. The sun is soft and wonderful.
The dogs finish with the regurgitated squid and get bored. They start to leap at each other and prance about like puppies. Helen leaps over Muscles as he sits holding his hand line. Trotsky tries to leap after her but doesn’t make it. He lands on Muscles.
“Bloody hell Monty can you control your dogs!”
Helen is sprinting away and looking back at Trots. She careens into the squid bucket. It falls with a glug. Squid and slime spill along the deck and over Lucky’s feet.
“Monty! Grab Helen before she wrecks the place.”
“They’re not my dogs! When did they become my dogs? When’s bloody Gerro coming back?”
Lucky looks surprised, “Gerro is doing twenty years for fraud Monty. I told you that.”
Of course you did.
Mandy looks over her shoulder. “Monty! Trotsky and Helen are your dogs. Get over it.”
“See Monty, if Mandy says it is - then it is. Get over it.”
Fingers grins, “Hey, Two Dogs. Two Dogs Monty!”
Muscles laughs, “Two Dogs Monty! I love it.”
I shrug and watch my dogs leap about like idiots. I never really wanted dogs. Helen is chasing Trotsky now and he is doing a good job keeping out of her way. In a moment of inspiration, he turns sharply around the fish esky, leaps over a bench seat, and lands on Muscles’ hand line. It loops around his back leg. He pauses and stares at it with a look of confusion.
Helen spies him not moving and seizes the day. She leaps onto Trotsky and they both go down in a writhing heap. Brown and white legs flail about in a flurry of activity. Playful growls fill the air. Everyone just stares open-mouthed at the two dogs as they become more and more entangled in Muscles’ fishing line.
Muscles watches his line become more and more tangled. “I told you to control them, Monty!”
Now, they are wrapped up like Egyptian mummies. Trotsky and Helen realise their predicament and start to panic. Trotsky pushes against Helen. Helen pushes against Trotsky. Both writhe about trying to create some slack in the line. Helen, being thinner and more agile, wiggles through a loose coil. With a backward look, she sprints away to the shelter of Mandy’s gentle attention. Trotsky rolls about kicking his legs in the air for a few more seconds. He works his body free. He pushes with his considerable strength but his back legs tangle. I move to help Trotsky but he’s in a total panic now. He thrashes about like a goanna in a trap until he finally pops free. I am relieved when he runs away unhurt to join Helen and Mandy.
The line now looks like a dozen wrestling octopus. Muscles looks forlornly at his tangled line. He sits next to me and begins to untangle it, muttering about “fuckin dogs”.
I feel a tug on my line and start pulling the fish in. It’s heavy but comes up easily. It breaks the surface. It’s an oddly shaped, colourful, striped fish. I give it a mighty pull to clear the gunnel. It flies through the air and lands on Muscles’ left thigh.
He screams “My leg. It's stuck in my leg. Get it out! Get it off!” At that moment the fish inflates like a Mae West. Its eyes pop and spines stick out all over it.
“Shit, shit, shit. What is it? It hurts. It hurts. Get it off!” Muscles’ leg starts to swell.
Lucky gets in close and stares. “Anyone know what kind of fish this is?”
“A spangled balloon fish?” suggests Sarah.
“It can’t be spangled.”
Sarah stares at Fingers. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not spangled.”
“Why isn’t it spangled?”
“Spangled means that it has flecks of colour. It has stripes.”
“Owwwww. Get it off. Get it off.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s a striped balloon fish then.
“Or a spiked balloon fish?”
“A striped, spiked balloon fish?”
“Ahhhh, who cares? Get it off me. Owwww.”
Jessica leans over a
nd inspects the fish. “I can see flecks of colour. I think it is spangled. It’s a spangled, striped, spiked balloon fish!” She chuckles.
“Bastards! It hurts. It hurts.”
Lucky looks closely, “It definitely has stripes. It’s possibly a banded balloon fish. I am not sure I want to touch it.”
Muscles just whimpers, “Please take it off me.” His eyes water. His leg takes on a strange red colour.
“Can it be banded and spangled at the same time?
“I don’t think so.”
“Surely it can. What if the bands have flecks of colour in them?”
“Who bloody cares? Shit! Just get it off me. It hurts. My leg, my leg.”
“Muscles, stop screaming like a baby and drink this.” Mandy throws him a bottle of brown liquid. He drinks it and quietens down almost immediately. She looks at his leg. “We better get him back. It is some kind of Tetraodontidae. A pufferfish. They’re all poisonous.”
“I’m going to die. I am going to die.” Muscles moans through half-closed eyelids.
Fingers chips in, “You can’t live forever old chap.” Muscles moans forlornly.
“Just don’t eat it Muscles. I think you are in for a few day’s pain is all.” She pulls on a pair of gloves, slides the pufferfish off Muscles’ leg, and tosses it overboard. It flaps its little fins and dives. I watch it slowly descend out of sight.
Trotsky feels seasick again. He staggers up and vomits on Muscle’s left foot. Muscles sighs and his eyelids close. Lucky looks at Mandy quizzically. “I don’t need it anymore, Lucky. Can you take over?”
Lucky nods and takes Mandy’s place on the bridge. Mandy heads to the bow and sits in the sun with Sarah and Jessica.
Muscles sleeps soundly with only the occasional muted moan.
We quietly drift on a rolling ocean.
20