by Bill Day
“She taught me to fish as well.” Without thought, I blurt out, “Do you want to go fishing?”
Gail smiles, “I’d love to.”
“We love fishing.” Mary and Sonia have come up behind me. “Can we come?”
Flick senses something is going on and ambles over.
“Mum, Monty is taking me fishing.”
Sonia chips in, “And we’re going to.”
“Fantastic! Do any of you have a boat license?” We all look at each other blankly. “Then you had best stick to the land. You need beach fishing gear.” Flick takes Gail’s hand and they stroll away to chat with Sarah’s mother.
With a savage glare, Mary and Sonia turn and walk away. I hear Mary mutter, “fucking blondes”.
I go over and quietly pat the dogs for a while.
24
Monty at the Tackle Shop
I am going fishing with the girls tomorrow so I drive to the nearest fishing tackle shop. It is an old place set in a ribbon of shops that run along the main road. The entry is partly blocked by a display of new bicycles. Bikes and fishing seem a strange combination. I walk inside. Half the shop is given over to fishing. The other side is cycling. I head over to the fishing side. Fishing rods stand upright in rows. Fishing reels sit in glass cases. Along the wall are brightly coloured fishing lures, hooks, and other fishing paraphernalia.
“I need stuff for beach fishing.”
The sales assistant looks at me blankly. “I’m cycles.”
“Cycles, I need some stuff for beach fishing.”
“My name’s Cyril. I am a cyclist.”
“You work in a fishing shop.”
Cyril points to the rows of bicycles. “That’s my side.”
“You’re on the wrong side, Cyril.”
Cyril just stares blankly.
“So tell me, Cyril, is there someone here who knows about fishing?”
“I’ll get Burt. Burt! There is someone here for fishing.”
Burt rolls out of a back room. He wears a lycra fishing shirt with a picture of marlin on it. The marlin distorts as it stretches across Burt’s vast stomach. He wears a red cap with “Penn” emblazoned on it. It sits on his massive head and makes him look rather like Humpy Dumpty.
He looks at me as he lumbers across the room. I try to look assertive and knowledgeable.
“How can I help you?”
“I need some beach fishing gear.”
He looks blank, “What are you after?”
“Um, you know, rods, reels, hooks, and stuff. For beach fishing.”
“No, I mean what are you chasing?”
“Chasing?”
“Yes, what type of fish do you want to catch?”
“Um, what types are there?”
Burt sighs and shakes his head, “Where are you going?”
“We’re going to the beach.”
Burt looks slightly irritated. “Yes but what beach? There are a lot of beaches. Which one are you fishing at?”
“Aren’t they all the same?”
“Are you taking the piss? There are deep beaches, rocky beaches, surf beaches, shallow beaches, sheltered beaches, and open beaches. There are beaches you fish on an East wind. There are beaches you fish on a West wind. There are even dog beaches. So, what type of beach are you fishing at?”
“How about the beach down the road?”
“Ah, a surf beach. So, you will look for holes and gutters to cast into.”
“Gutters and holes?”
“Yes, gutters and holes in the sea bed. That’s where the fish are. You can’t just cast out anywhere and get fish.”
He reaches to a bookshelf and grabs a book titled, Beach Fishing for Dummies. “Read this. It will get you started.”
I abandon my attempt to look assertive and knowledgeable.
“Look, there are loads of Kahawai being caught close by. Why don’t I get you rigged up for them?”
“Kahawai?”
“Yes Kahawai, some people call them Salmon but they aren’t Salmon - if you get my drift.”
“I like Salmon.”
“Yes, but they’re not Salmon. You need to listen. People call them Salmon. They don’t look or taste like Salmon. Kahawai are Arripidae. Salmon are Salmonidae. Get it?”
“They aren’t Salmon?”
“I did say that, yes.”
“And they don’t taste like Salmon?”
“That is correct.”
“So, what do they taste like?”
“I don’t know. Fish, they taste like fish.”
“And they don’t look like Salmon?”
Burt sighs and rubs his forehead. “No, they don’t look like salmon.”
“So, what do they look like?”
“Fish! They look and taste like fish. Look fella, are you going to buy some fishing gear or what?” You’re fishing for Kahawai at a surf beach. What’s your budget?”
“Budget?”
“Yes, how much do you want to pay?”
“I know what a budget is Bert. I just hadn’t thought about it. Why don’t I take a seat and you grab me what I’ll need? Let’s not worry about budgets just yet.”
Burt shrugs and walks over to the rods and starts to mutter. “You look like a man that appreciates quality. You will need a seven-foot one-piece rod and a reel to match. This reel has seven bearings. I use one of these and love it. I can load it with 14-pound braid for free.”
“That seems a very short rod.”
“It’s perfect for where you’re going. I could explain the mechanics behind using a short rod but I am not sure you’re up to it. Just set the drag so the fish can run.”
“Drag? Run?”
“Just read the book fella. It’s all in there. Trust me, the rod is perfect.”
“Okay.” I just sit and watch.
You will need a rod holder, small esky for the bait, a larger esky to drop the fish into. Kill them quickly and keep them cold. You’ll also need a spool of line for leaders, sinkers, ganged hooks, swivels, a knife set, and Ikejime spike.” He looks over at me. “That’s for killing the fish. I have a YouTube channel that shows you how to use it. It has videos on rigs and knots too. You will have to learn all that before you go.”
I just want to get to know Gail. Now I have homework. I look at the growing pile of equipment. I should have set a budget.
“You will want a nice chair to sit on. Oh, and a filleting glove and fish scaler, and a tackle box to put everything in. Choose one of those while I load the braid on your spool.”
I peruse the range of neat tackle boxes. I like all the draws and compartments. I pick one that looks useful and compact. Bert comes back with my reel all spooled up. He takes the tackle box off me and looks at it.
“That’s too small. Here take this one.” He puts my chosen tackle box back on the shelf.
Bert passes each item over the scanner. The running total seems to rocket up with each item. Fishing is expensive. “That will be $1,405 today, make it $1400. Anything else I can get you?”
I definitely should have set a budget. “No that’s fine Bert.” I pull out the latest wad of Lucky cash and peel off $1400. Bert gives me a hand to carry everything out to the van.
I feel quite happy with my purchases as I drive home. I have 24 hours to learn how to catch Kahawai in holes and gutters at a surf beach.
No worries. Any fool can catch fish.
25
Kahawai from the Beach
I am the first here. I am waiting in the beach car park for Mary, Sonia, and Gail. My eyes are red from reading “Fishing for Dummies” and watching Bert’s videos. I can now tie a range of fishing rigs, pick out holes and gutters on a surf beach, set the drag on a reel, and a heap of other things. I am a fishing expert.
I see Mary and Sonia drive up in one of their company vans. They climb out.
Mary doesn’t seem to be dressed for fishing. She is barely dressed at all. She wears the briefest of bikinis with an almost transparent lace-like top over her
shoulders. She is all curves and dark cascading hair. I feel a pang of jealousy as every male close-by turns to stare.
In contrast Sonia wears Lycra shorts and top. I try not to stare but her swimsuit highlights muscles I had never noticed before. I can see they are twins but Sonia must work out a lot. Her figure is every bit as stunning as Mary’s but in a more powerful way. She radiates strength. Sonia walks confidently without the flamboyant stride of her sister. She scowls at the men who ogle Mary.
A white Toyota Corolla pulls up and parks behind the van. The Corolla opens and Gail steps out. She is another contrast. She wears shorts and a Lacoste polo shirt. I can just see the straps of a black bikini under her collar. Her thin frame and sweeping blonde hair also turns heads. She sees us standing together, waves, and smiles. Her smile is radiant. She reaches into her Corolla to pull out a tackle box and a rod cover about 6 feet long. She discards the cover and pulls out a two-piece fishing rod. She clicks it together and walks over. Her rod is much longer than mine.
Sonia pulls a tackle box and two-piece rod out of her van. Her rod is also longer than mine. I feel inadequate.
Mary grabs a beach bag and a towel.
Gail walks up and hugs me in greeting. Before anything is said she throws her arms around Sonia and Mary. “You guys all ready to go?”
I begin to unpack my van. I have a lot more gear than the others. I think Bert might have taken advantage of my ignorance. I unpack it all and pile it up on the grass beside the car park.
“Shit Monty. You came prepared.” Gail laughs. “That’s a small rod. Hope it’s not an indicator for anything else.”
Mary chips in. “Absolutely not.”
Gail stares at Mary, then me. I go red with embarrassment.
“Oh well, let’s go.” Gail strides off down the path to the beach. Mary walks alongside her. They immediately start chatting.
I look at my pile of gear. I am sure I will have to make a couple of trips.
“Monty, you don’t need all that stuff. That tackle box must weight a ton. Just grab the trays you need. You can put them in my back pack.”
I hand the trays I need to Sonia, grab some of my gear, and head down after the others.
We catch up with Mary and Gail on the beach. The beach has a line of breakers a hundred yards or so offshore. The larger ocean swell crashes out there and breaks up into smaller waves. These break on the many shallow banks closer to shore, to finally hit the beach and suck back out. Rips and currents abound and they carve holes and gutters as water moves back out to sea. The waves don’t break in these deeper areas. That is where the fish are.
We are lucky because a party of early morning fishers just left a nice spot straight in front of us. We jump in and plant our rod holders as if to stake a mining claim. Sonia and Gail get their rods set up. Mary carefully sets out her towel, sits, and starts applying sunscreen. “Monty, can you do my back?” She holds a tube a sunscreen out to me. I feel a stab of irritation. I want to fish. My irritation quickly dissipates as I rub sunscreen over Mary’s shoulders and back.
I return to my rod and rig it up. I stop to watch Sonia and Gail. Both have baited their hooks and prepare to cast out. Sonia swings her rod straight back. It bends as she sweeps it forward and lets go of the line. The sinker and bait sail straight out to land in a promising gutter 90 feet offshore. Gail does the same.
I bait up and approach the surf line. I revise the process described in my “Dummies” book. I hold the line near the reel, clip the bail arm across, ease the rod back, and fix my eyes on a distant gutter. I swing and let go. I watch for a splash in the appropriate location.
Gail shouts a warning, “Look out Monty!”
I cast my eyes around but can’t see a threat. I look up. A sinker and bait plummets from the sky. “Thud” the sinker lands on my left foot. I hop around in a circle.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Sonia and Gail burst out laughing. Sonia calls out between howls of laughter. “Are you okay Monty?”
“Yeah great. Not used to the new rod.” I get set up to cast again. I repeat the process. This time I put more muscle into the cast. I look with hope at the distant gutter. My sinker and bait fall with a faint plop into the sand just behind me. Sonia and Gail fall down in giggling fits. They pop their rods into the rod holders, sit on the sand, and watch me with eyes gleaming.
I have no choice but to press on. I slow each step down. Hold the line, bail arm over, ease the rod back, sweep, release, and follow through. My sinker slams into the water about 20 feet out. I spin about in frustration.
“Crap, crap, crap, crap!”
The two girls melt into the sand. They shout encouragement. “Great cast Monty.” “Keep going Monty, you might knock a fish out.” and so on. I am not sure I like either of them.
Mary raises her head to see what the fuss is. She walks over and sits with Sonia and Gail.
I reel my line in. My bait has fallen off. I select a pilchard and begin to bait the three linked hooks. The theory is one hook goes through the tail, one through the middle and one through the pilchard’s eye. It is not quite as easy as it sounds. I push the first hook through the tail. Holding the pilchard I thread the second hook through the bait but it catches. I try three times. By the time I get the hook through, the pilchard has fallen into two bits. In frustration I throw it down the beach.
A group of seagulls notice I have thrown something. This usually means food. They flock over and descend on the discarded bait. They don’t leave. They sit on the beach and stare at me. One arches its neck and begins an awful repeated caw noise.
Mary shudders, “I hate seagulls.”
I try to focus on my baiting. First hook in okay. This time the second hook slides through the fish and sits nicely in place. The third hook goes through the pilchard’s eye and straight into my left thumb.
“Fuck!”
Mary, Sonia and Gail fold up laughing again. I look at my thumb. The hook came straight out but it has left a puncture that bleeds profusely. Still panting from excessive laughter Sonia digs a plaster out of her backpack and wraps it around my throbbing thumb.
“Would you like me to bait up for you Monty? What with your thumb all wrapped up and all?” I nod meekly and Sonia baits up the hooks like she was born doing it.
I decide I need more distance. I wait for the last wave to suck out and run down the wet sand. I cast my line and it slams into the wet sand eight feet in front of me. Disgusted I turn my back on it and begin to walk up to the beach. I am too slow. The next incoming wave slaps me in the lower back and I fall flat on my face in waist deep water. The wave recedes and I’m bowled along the slanting seabed. Soon I’m sitting in the break zone on hard wet sand. The wave has sucked right out.
The girls have their phones out to record every bump and roll. They continue to howl with laughter. I open my mouth to say something when the next wave dumps on top of me. I bounce along the bottom and end up high and dry on the beach. My rod is next to me.
I spit sand out of my mouth, stand up, and try again. My line sprays out at a 45-degree angle down the beach. I have cast across Sonia’s line and the line of the guy next to us. The girls are paralytic with glee.
“Just wait and I’ll wind my line in Monty. No worries.” Sonia grabs her rod starts to reel her line in.
“Oy, you crossed my line!” The guy next to us has come for a visit. He is clearly annoyed. I just stare at his sleeveless blue checked flannel shirt. This situation wasn’t covered in my book.
“Sorry.”
“Pfft, why don’t you learn to cast!” He stomps back to his rod and reels in quickly. My line is tangled with his. He picks up a knife, cuts my line, and walks back to rebait his hooks.
“What an arsehole!” Gail is risible at his behaviour. Sonia gives him a lengthy stare. She stalks up the beach and retrieves my rig. I set my rod up again and get ready for another attempt.
Sonia stands beside me. “Monty, you are casting round-arm. When you swing it has
to be straight over your shoulder. At the end of your follow through the tip of your rod should point at the spot you aim for. You got it?”
I nod, swing, let go, and follow through. My sinker sails through the air and lands exactly as aimed. I look back at Sonia. She smiles. “Good cast.”
Gail is watching the water intently. “There’s a lot of fish out there. You can see them in the waves.” I look at the closest set of waves and see large fish swimming sedately along. Kahawai are considerably bigger than I thought.
Gail’s rod bends and she is onto a fish. The fish jumps clear from the water. It shakes and glistens then plunges back. Her rod bends and line screams off the reel. These are strong fish. Sonia casts out and hooks up immediately. At the same time my rod bends and line peels off my spool. It looks like the fish are intent on crossing our lines.
“Try to keep yours out in the gutter Monty!” Gail has hers in close. She walks into the shallow white-water, grabs the heavy leader, and pulls a large Kahawai up onto the beach. She dispatches it quickly and drops it into the esky.
Sonia starts to work hers in close. Meanwhile my fish is out deep swimming back and forth, with the occasional spectacular leap out of the water.
“Okay, Monty. Bring it in.” Sonia has her fish in the esky. I add a bit of pressure and my fish starts swimming parallel to the beach. I keep pressure on the fish but it swims over in front of Flannel Shirt.
“For fuck’s sake mate, just reel the bloody thing in.”
“I’m sorry.” The fish pulls harder and line peels off the spool again. I become aware of a not too distant screaming. I look over just as Mary comes running out of a cloud of seagulls. I think I left the bait uncovered.
“Seagulls!!! What do they want!”
“Mate! Will you piss off? You’re tangling my line.”
Ahhh, one’s got my hair. Sonia, help!
My fish leaps out of the water right in front of Flannel Shirt. “Just reel it in mate!”
Sonia runs over and rescues Mary. There is not a scrap of bait left. Mary is in tears.