My Fishing Life
Recently the owner of the Pigs Arms asked for some fishing stories so here’s mine. Fishing, I hate fishing. If there is something more boring then cricket it has to be fishing. Bait up, throw your line in and wait, boring. Having said all of that there have been times when I have gone fishing. Usually just to keep the other person company. A good friend of mine is an excellent fisherman and will always barbeque some Tommy Ruffs when Tutu and I go to his place for a meal. Tommy Ruffs you ask? They are like a herring or sardine and having there own oil, lightly crumbed and sautéed on a BBQ plate with a nice white wine or beer they are beautiful.
Now I like eating fish but only when someone else has caught it and did all the cleaning etc., so I can then whip up a nice meal of flathead or Atlantic Salmon. I suppose that crustaceans and mollusc’s don’t count in fishing stories but give me a feed of prawns, crab, lobster, oysters and mussels any day.
Probably my main reason for disliking fishing is a general lack of success. I remember one occasion when my boys where very little I went fishing with my brother in law and his father both of whom where very good fishermen. We hopped in a boat and fished off Crescent Head on the north coast of NSW. Flathead and Squire galore, this was heaven even though I met Errol down the back of the boat. Errol? He’s the bloke you meet when you suffer a wave imbalance of the middle ear that forces you to release the contents of your stomach overboard, you know Eeerrrrroooolll!
Where’s Hung?
The only other success I’ve had is when I was down on my luck and was unable to work due to the Black Dog, that plagues me still to this day, a mate of mine and I would fish in the Port River off Torrens Island and I caught the largest Bream ever seen. Truly a local hero and admired for my feat by the gathering crowd to witness this event. When I put the poor creature back in the water well lets say the throng was in quite some disbelief however I couldn’t do the killing and cleaning bit so back it went.
So that’s my fishing life except for this one tale that I must tell. Tutu told me one day that on all of her fishing adventures she had never actually caught a fish. Others in the group had but never her. Tutu went on the say that it was one of her unfilled ambitions in life to catch a fish so we loaded up the car with the lads, Seek and Destroy, and went to Tooperang. Tooperang you say? Yes Tooperang and the Tooperang Trout Farm.
Tooperang is about 1.5 hrs drive from the Adelaide CBD travelling past the McLaren Vale wine region and the lovely town of Mt Compass turning left up the hill to the farm. Now while there are several different fishing methods the only one we wanted was a go in the “Sure Thing” pond. I know there are lots of analogies at this point of the story however lets not go there.
The Sure Thing pond meant literally that. So you pay to get in and you are issued with some bait, a hand reel and a club. “What’s the club for?” I asked stupidly. “It will all become evident” I was told. Anyway Tutu and the boys were already on their way, they knew. So you bait up and cast in and yes, you catch a fish. No one fails and yes you club the trout to death once you land it. Lots of people were catching trout and then barbequing them in park and rest area at the farm. All very tranquil and peaceful except for the farm dog, a collie, that had great pleasure trying to stalk ducks. Now the catch is, pardon the pun, that you have to buy the fish by weight. It cost me $27 for four rainbow trout when I had $30 left in the bank from my enormous earnings that was to last for the rest of the week. Looks like trout sandwiches!
When we got home I did the cleaning thing and cooked up the trout. Well they were bloody awful, muddy and not much texture. I probably didn’t cook it right as I had had no experience in cooking this type of fish. Even our cat wouldn’t eat it. I went and got a pizza on credit for tea and threw the lot out. However Tutu had got her wish and had caught a fish all by herself. We still laugh about that day and we drove past the farm recently on our way to the Murray mouth. It brought back all of those rich memories of family life, raising children and paying mortgages, all the good and the bad and how I would have it all back again tomorrow, if only I could.
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
My favorite fishing story starts, “Call me Ishmael…” and, true to all the very best fishing stories, it’s about ‘the one that got away’!
🙂
LikeLike
…and with a vengeance, ey, asty!
LikeLike
Ain’t it the truth ato?!
“See there! It’s Ahab; he’s dead… but he beckons! He beckons!”
Another of my favorite lines from that book is Ahab’s final words: “From Hell’s heart I stab at thee!” Very dramatic turn of phrase that Melville.
😉
LikeLike
Great story Hung, I was wondering whether Errol was a relative of Bill and Ruth.
Like you, I find fishing boring but never cricket. Odd given my grandfather had a fishing trawler and come from a family of fisher folk.
Recently Algernonina the younger had a birthday where she and some friends went fishing at Balmoral. Balmoral was therapeutic in her recovery from the black dog. The fish well we spent more time rehooking and sinkering the fishing lines that actually fishing. And the catch well some wonderful fish and chips from the fish shop across the road.
LikeLike
Best fishing you can do Algy, fish and chip shop for me.
LikeLike
Certainly the cheapest than catching ’em!
😉
LikeLike
It’s a very fine looking black dog that comes to visit you. How do you fishermen keep the black dog quiet when you’re sitting for hours not succeeding in catching anything? It’s something only fishermen can understand I guess.
LikeLike
The dog’s name is Pat, Pat the Dog
LikeLike
Hung, was there another one in the litter called Brush?
LikeLike
Please explain?
LikeLike
Brush the dog! Could be another one called wash or walk.
LikeLike
Very good Algy
LikeLike
So you sit waiting for a fish, watching the water and pat the dog. I can see how that would help. I might try it one day.
LikeLike
Got it in one Lehan
LikeLike
Nice story Hung… I remember taking the kids from the ‘home’ I once worked in to Tooperang for exactly the same reason; so they would be guaranteed the wonderful feeling of achievment one gets from actually catching a fish, even if the poor buggers just about jump up out of the water and beg to be beaten to death…
It’s true that farmed fish are not quite as tasty as wild fish; I reckon it’s probably something to do with not getting enough exercise in a farmed state such as Tooperang; the flesh doesn’t develop and firm up properly; I suspect it has too high a proportion of intra-muscular fat and as for the muddy taste, well the pools they’re grown in explain this, I think; although it can be overcome by leaving the fish in fresh water for a few hours before you kill, cook and eat ’em, although admittedly this is not always a practicable solution…
Strangely enough, although I personally find this kind of ‘shooting fish in a barrel’ style of fishing to be thoroughly tedious (and perhaps even slightly immoral), I find the kind where a catch is NOT guaranteed, where one has to actually learn to think like a fish in order to learn how to outwit them, an endlessly fascinating pastime, regardless of whether or not I catch anything; it is the ‘being there’ and pitting one’s wits against nature itself, which counts. Sadly this is not true of commercial fishing at all now and that is one reason why commercial fisheries are having a rough time of it at present.
Cricket, on the other hand, requires no comment from me… but I suppose it’s as good an excuse to sit and do nothing but meditate on the qualities of light reflected through a frosty-cold bottle of precious amber fluid as any I’ve heard…
Hmmm that reminds me… haven’t been fishing in years! And I gotsta contact ‘Minimovers’… they’ve lost the bottom half of my 13.5 foot surf-rod and it had an expensive reel attached too! And my good pool cue too!
Okay, better go and do that right now… seizure later!
😉
LikeLike
It achieved a goal for the whole family making it worthwhile however yes a not guaranteed fish is much better.
I agree with what you are saying and to touch on a post here by Jules the mateship and sharing is also part of the whole deal.
LikeLike
I used to go to Fraser Island with a bunch of mates, but have declined the last two invitations on accomnt of my neck operation.
This year maybe.
LikeLike
What Jules, did they insert some rubber?
LikeLike
No! As I explained recently, I had a piece of metal inserted and some bone from my tibia fused into the cervical spine. Have you been on holidays*? We had a laugh (with Emmjay or Voice) about travelling and going through the metal detector at the customs.
Or sleep walking?
LikeLike
No just fishing… 🙂
LikeLike
I do like fishing, but my brother likes it more.
He has a kayak and glides around the tributaries of Noosa and reckons it’s as good as it gets. Especially with flathead at $40 kilo.
But I have always remember some advice from an ancient Wazir. He said, “Julian, Go to fish, not to catch them”.
In other words it’s the experience- sometimes the camaraderie and sometimes the solace.
LikeLike
Well your a dick-bonce JL.
I go to catch huge massives . There is nothing better than the fierce tug on a line out-to-sea.
One nev er knows what’s on. And with a couple of treble rums; a mermaid perchance!
LikeLike
Jules, Jules, fishing stories allright, boys! Gez is dreamin’ of wild women and you are trying catch a mermaid…if you caught one, what would you do with her, bake on the barbie ?
LikeLike
I guess that I would try and de-scale her and then try “scaling”.
LikeLike
H, I never had to go out to the sea, or on a boat to catch me a mermaid. Somehow, though, I have always found myself caught gasping in the nets, cast by one of them! Never knew what hit me!
LikeLike
JayL,
Time for me to get back into my role as a highly irritating meticulous pedant!
Good advice about fishing, for some instances but not for all.
There are books that one reads, simply for the reading but there are books one reads for learning: about the matter it discusses, about the art of writing, about the zen of reading and motor bike maintenance. Just as there’s drinking that’s done simply for its own sake and there’s drinking to learn about the grape, the process, the effect of alcohol -or to make an ugly woman looking great.
There’s fishing done to experience camaraderie or solitude and there’s fishing done to learn how to catch grub, or worms, or butterflies, or sunstroke, or how to paint a disintegrating squid, or to give a confucian description of a fish, a month after it got caught; or to get drunk in a tub.
End of waffling pedantry for pedantry’s sake -for now.
If I don’t forget I’ll write something on how we, the Greek rustics, used to fish in our river. Used to love it!
LikeLike
That pizza looks awful, must be the meat-lovers, the one Jak likes and I hate…
Good story, yo,yo…
LikeLike
H, it’s Mediterranean style, olives capsicum and artichoke, looks good to me.
LikeLike
Good story Hung, making us to go out later and buy some salmon. Salmon is cheaper now than lamb cutlets!
My fishing story includes a twelve foot Brooker and taking son outside the heads avoiding huge container boats, but coming home with buckest of orange coloured fish.
They were a small fish with huge mouths and rather sad looking eyes. They finally got at me and I stopped fishing altogether but not till after we had eaten them all…
Eating raw herrings are still favourite. There is nothing like going to bed with a load of herrings, rye bread and cold Heineken. ( I was going to add ‘and a wild woman.’)
LikeLike
Thanks Gez, I’ll take the wild woman, can’t drink beer or eat rye bread but it all sounds fantastic.
LikeLike
The species of orange fish with the huge mouths and sad eyes is called, ‘Orange Roughie’, I believe Gerard, although in some regions they’re also sometimes called ‘snapper’… However, they are NOT a true snapper! Good eating nonetheless…
If you like raw herrings you should try fishing for tommies (Tommy Ruff), which can easily be caught by the dozen using light tackle, or even just a handline off local jetties all over Australia, I think… As Hung has explained, these are a species of herring and are very tasty, although I think I’d prefer to eat them cooked by Hung than raw.
🙂
LikeLike
There’s only one thing worse than fishing and that’s fishing stories!
A mate of Mrs Mou’s father (Zeus rest the souls of both) used to go on and on about them! On and on! I mean, really, on and on. And on! The two of them, Father-in-law and his mate would talk about where the different fish was, and that would encompass the whole planet. “Have you ever fished in Paraguy?” One of them would ask and the other would nod. Then the first would talk about the Nile in Nigeria or some such place, or the Lena, or the Murray, the Tigris… and the other would nod!
And I’d be gobsmacked. And I’d remark, “bullshit, you’ve never been there!” and Mrs Mou would kick me under the table.
Those two have been everywhere before they’d turned 25.
Or they’d talk about the weight of the line, the type of reel, of hook, of lure, of knot…
Far worse than fishing!
Good tale, Hungsie. Or should I fish for a pun with “tail?”
LikeLike
ato, my friend in the story is like theses two. Got to admit what he doesn’t know about fishing is not worth knowing. Tutu and I went on a boating trip for 3 days around Hindmarsh Island and Lake Alexandrina, he whipped up a tackle for me to catch carp as I told him I couldn’t to the clean up thing, it was a great trip and a few less carp in the system.
LikeLike
Fantastic story, Hung.
Like you, I love a feed of seafood. But not only is fishing more boring than golf, it’s also disgusting when (if a miracle happens) you catch one and have to kill it, scale and gut it. Top day out, Not – usually. So glad you put that one back.
I had an identical experience of trout farm fishing with the Emmlets, somewhere near Bathurst. Same outcome too. Inedible.
But their grandpa took us up the Turon river (one time before the Emmlets were born) fishing for trout in a shallow stony stretch. Others were fishing further up stream and there was the delicious smell of a late afternoon wood fire smoke drifting lazily past. Grandpa was such a good fisherman that the trout flung themselves out of the water, crawled across the stony beach and impaled themselves on his hook before he even had time to open the bait tin. None of that sissy dry fly palaver, he was a worm fishing guy.
He had a fish smoker (confident old guy too, huh) and I had recently bought a couple of oak half wine casks for our garden plants – that lacked drain holes – requiring a brace and bit. The casks had ended their liquor content lives tanking Jack Daniels to Australia, so the shavings were rather magical. Best smoked trout I’ve eaten so far.
LikeLike
A mate of my back in the Gong of polish descent smoked mullet. Very tasty however I just stuck with tobacco.
LikeLike
Yeah… mullet are too hard to roll up in the papers…
😉
LikeLike
Boom boom
LikeLike