Tag Archives: Fishing

Parrot Fish

29 Thursday Oct 2020

Posted by in Mark

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I feel sorry for the parrot fishes! Yes this fish can be eaten, but for us divers this is a big No No!!! There are important reasons why we should not eat them and we should educate the fishermen to stop catching these beautiful fish! Please do spare them … the ocean needs them to regenerate. Read below to be educated. They’re lots of fish you can catch in the sea. They can sell and cook the other fish, but leave the parrot fish!

Here is why: (c&p from the web)
 

Parrotfish eat algae and dead coral*. They spend up to 90% of their day nibbling. In other words, they clean the reef. This is important because most of the reefs across the tropics are being smothered by algae because there are not enough parrotfish and other herbivores out there grazing.

After all that eating, get this: They poop fine white sand – lots of it! Each parrotfish produces up to 320 kilograms (700 pounds) of sand each year.

Their numbers are so depleted, and algae levels are so high, that they cannot be fished sustainably right now anywhere in the Caribbean. These flamboyant, algae-eating, sand-pooping fish need to be left in the water. And when they are left to chomp away, they do a brilliant job. A massive new report concludes that reefs where parrotfish were abundant in the 1980s are the reefs that are healthy now.

There is a reason for their existence so please let’s not eat them … To our Govt. Please educate our fishermen… Say no to catching parrot fish! Let’s not buy parrot fish so they won’t catch them anymore.

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How to Cook the Best Trout Ever …

05 Sunday May 2013

Posted by in Vivienne

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Vivienne at local Lake Hume with a freshly caught little redfin – just to prove I do have a real interest in fishing. But you have to go up the mountains to Dartmouth for the best trout described below.

Vivienne at local Lake Hume with a freshly caught little redfin – just to prove I do have a real interest in fishing. But you have to go up the mountains to Dartmouth for the best trout described below.

Story by Vivienne

First, catch your trout !

Seriously, this is what you really have to do and here is how…

My daughter and her bloke went on a camping/fishing long weekend.  As recent owners of a rejuvenated boat with new engine and trailer it was time to give it a good work out at the famous Dartmouth Dam.  They had been told about a good camping/fishing spot which could only be accessed by boat.  This was great but a bit daring as there is no mobile reception there and the weather had turned a bit dodgy.  First day was a bit miserable but they had a good fire going having abandoned the rough waters after a lot of getting wet and getting no fish.

Day two dawned and it was perfect.  Landed one big trout (and some useless carp).  Day three was also perfect and landed another big trout.

I texted daughter when I knew they must be on their way home.  They were in the Eskdale Pub and yes, Mum, have a trout for you.  Next day trout was delivered into my grateful hands.

Well the trout was big (45cm) and required the removal of head and tail fin before it just fitted my biggest pan.

I cooked it slowly in a little butter – very simple.  Served with two appropriate salads.   The trout took about 40 minutes to cook through (turned once).  I presented it on an oval dish which did it justice and then promptly forgot to take a photo (again).

The taste was ‘out of this world’ good.  Fantastic.  Moist.  It was the best fish of any kind I had ever had.   The water in Dartmouth dam is clear and sweet – part of the recipe for the best trout.

 

My Fishing Life

18 Friday Feb 2011

Posted by in Mark

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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.

The Wives of Fishermen

25 Friday Jun 2010

Posted by in Gerard Oosterman

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Years ago I had a 12 ft Brooker on a trailer with Yamaha outboard, in which I would take my son outside Sydney heads to go fishing. I used to catch buckets of ‘roughies’. They were those orange coloured fish with large sad looking eyes. Looking back, what a dangerous thing to do!  Still, the 4am drive to the ramp at Rozelle, and then the slow trip outside the Heads I am sure he remembers.

It all started from our regular camping trips at Bendalong on the South Coast, where scores of campers and their wives used to line up at the only ramp and take out their boats. In those days, the wives tried to be as much as their husbands to be part of the ‘fishing scene’. Both feet shod in thongs, feet firmly planted apart and tits flattened, fags dangling from waver thin lips; They tried to be as blokey as possible while pulling the rings on their husband beer cans. If they wanted to be accepted, their female-ness had to be hidden.

It was the only way then. It made one wonder if those males were not homosexuals disguised as fishermen. Perhaps I am unkind here or intolerant of the different cultural aspects of varying societies. It was at the same time when at social parties, mixing by men with women was sometimes also seen as having ‘poofter’ inclinations.

Reading the plethora of comments about Australia having the first female Prime Minister in Julia Gillard, I detect certain misogyny. Perhaps those old fishermen’s ideas of women should still be the notion of adherence and conforming to their maleness instead of blatant feminism. Be one of the boys, as it were. Did you read Bob Ellis article on the UL?

Still, those notions have failed in parliament, at least on the ALP side. Just have a look at the line-up of those glorious looking females. As feminine as one could possibly hope for.

 Certainly nothing like those fishermen’s wives.