Tuesday, March 27, 2012

and very large Kingfish.....

We've had a very wet summer.
It's easy to bemoan the fact but really it's been at least 10 years since we've had a really wet summer so I won't start complaining.
The other thing about having had ten years of good summers is that you forget some of the positive things that come along with a less than optimal summer.
One thing that we tend to get in New Zealand preceding and during a wet summer is, warm sea temperatures very early on in the season.
And why, you might ask, is this a positive?
Well for one thing, it brings the big game fish in close to the shore so that those of us who don't have the good fortune to own or have use of a large overnight type pleasure boat, can head out on fishing charters or in small day trips in smaller vessels and catch impressively large sport fish like Marlin, Blue-fin and Yellow-fin Tuna, Albacore and large shark.
Okay so if you don't like fishing there's not much of a positive coming from this wet summer lark I'll grant you, but hey, for me it's a plus. I caught large Albacore this year nah nah nahnah nah.

Anyway..... my son Luke, avid fisherman that he is managed to hook two good sized Kingfish while fishing off the rocks a little way north of Auckland some weeks ago. If you don't know the species here's a photo of the boy and his fish.





I suppose it's important to remember that the kid is about 6ft 2in so they are reasonable sized fish and nowhere near as big as they can get......

So seeing these two gargantuan fish reminded me of one of those almost long forgotten moments I had that probably fits well within the scope of a tale, woeful and miss-adventurous.....

Having always had a strong affinity with the sea you will usually find the trunk of any car I've ever owned or for that matter the truck I now own, cluttered with a selection of devices useful when at the beach, no surfboards anymore but usually a body-board a selection of wet-suits, a weight belt, mask, snorkel, a collection of different fins and until recently a spear gun and a catch bag. This summer has been the most empty the back of my truck has been due to the somewhat dismal weather.

So sometime ago I had decided that for something to do one weekend I'd take myself off somewhere different for a bit of a change and headed off to Port Waikato south of Auckland and out to the wild west coast.
By the time I arrived at the port it was getting on towards early evening so I did a quick scoot out on to the sand dunes to find a place reasonably free of wind where I could park the truck and set up camp for the night. Having found a good spot and familiarized myself with the area so I could find my way back in the dark I thought I might go up to the shop near the wharf and see if I could get some fish and chips for dinner.
So as I sat outside the quaint little convenience/takeaway store eating fresh fish and gigantic oil saturated chips, letting the peaceful veil of dusk settle over me, local kids began to appear out of the dusky light armed with fishing poles little pails and gleaming eyes.

I watched them for awhile and contemplated heading back out on to the beach for a G and T and to watch the sun drop over the edge of the sea but the sound of the kids excited chatter eventually won me over and I wiped the grease from my hands and meandered over to the end of the wharf to see what would bring so many kids from seemingly nowhere to this particular little spot.

When I got out to the end of the wharf I found a happy little bunch of perhaps ten kids, all boys except for one girl, aged from about 8 to 12 years. They were 'wowing' and being typically excited as kids that age are when out at night and competition is thick in the air.... Except for the little girl, who was probably the eldest, all the boys were jumping around and vying for 'the spot' which apparently netted the most, best or biggest fish.
They were fishing with tiny hooks that they baited with a flour and water dough with a dash of aniseed oil thrown in the mix and the 'target species' was sprats. Honestly there were so many of the little bastards down there one would only have required a sinker on a line and by dropping it in the water you would surely knock at least one of those little suckers unconscious after which it could have been picked out of the water with a short handled butterfly net!
Anyway the kids were having a great old time and were wheeling little sprats in by the dozen all the while telling stories about the 'big ones' they had seen here or caught here, you know how it goes... guys and their fishing stories...... The young girl as I recall was suitably unimpressed of course.

As the tide turned and the water below began to slowly rise toward us I started to notice that the schools of sprats would at times vanish out of the light being cast by the lamp mounted on a post at the end of the pier, only to return an instant later, thick in numbers and floating lazily in the current, then vanishing again in the blink of an eye only to return as before.

I asked the nearest child I was standing to about this; a young Maori boy, bare footed and snotty nosed. "Awwww yeah cuzz" he drawls at me, "sometimes there's alota big fish come here ay cuzz, and they scare all the little fullas away for a bit". I laughed inwardly at the idea of this gorgeous little fellas idea of a 'big' fish and continued to watch the sprats.... slowly letting my eyes drift out of focus and allowing my mind to wander......

That was when I saw it!

It was either a very fast moving fish or a decent sized one but regardless I know what I saw and it was a big splash of silver.

None of the kids seemed to have noticed it but I was awake again now and I started to pay attention! Sure enough it wasn't long before the sprats vanished and again a large silver splash appeared several feet blow the surface. My first thought was of large Trevally or Kahawai which made perfect sense either, either I was now interested and was starting to run inventory on what I had in the truck...shit!
I knew I didn't have a fishing rod but I did have some mono filament. I asked one of the kids if anyone had any decent sized hooks or sinkers.... Nope only sprat sized tackle... shit, shit, shit.

I remember about then the little girl made the first excited move she had made all night and at the same time sprats burst from the water and the predator that had brought them up followed them all the way to the surface.

KINGFISH

It was a fucking Kingfish and not one but several of them.
I was just about frantic by now, damnit.... there must be something I can use around here, a bat, a long pole... a fucking gun!!!!!

OMG!

SPEARGUN - ta da!
I had the spear gun in the back of the truck.

The kids by now had stopped fishing and were solely focused on just trying to catch a glimpse of the giant fish that were circling the wharf occasionally coming close to the surface to drag their backs along the barnacles on the barely submerged timbers supporting the structure of the wharf below us.
I ran back to the truck fumbling for my keys my hands trembling with excitement. How lucky would this be! Fresh Kingfish steaks over the coals for breakfast... oh yeah.
I opened the back door and hauled my trusty Beauchat out gave the rubber a quick check under the interior light and raced back up the wharf.
Boys being boys the kids were awestruck by the sight of an, 'anything' that shoots things and crowded around trying to get a better look at the awesome instrument of death whilst looking at me with equally awestruck and shining faces. They all had questions, would I definitely be able to kill a Kingfish with it, would I really be able to get it while I wasn't in the water, what else had I killed with it, could they have some of the fish when I killed it and so it went. Honestly I was starting to feel a bit like the clever and cool townie with all the cool stuff. Better get this thing done and stat!

I asked them if they could keep fishing because their little baits kept the sprats in a place where if the Kingies came to the top again I would have a clear shot.
The tide by now had come in substantially and it was getting late. I knew 1 of 2 things was likely to happen soon.
1) the kids would have to go home and I would lose my baits or
2) one of their parents was going to turn up and go ballistic at me for flourishing a spear gun around their children.
It struck me that time was of the essence....

I was busy congratulating myself on my fine fortune, having the spear gun in the car and that being that the tide was well toward in, the water was only a mere 2 or 3 feet blow me and my chances of missing such a large target was virtually impossible, when one of the Kings appeared virtually side on and directly in front of me!!!
I didn't so much aim as point. I wasn't really used to shooting above water from a semi crouched position rather than with arm fully extended so it was a bit of a shot from the hip so to speak.
I knew from experience that the spear landed deep but what I didn't know was how and where but that wasn't really the thought that was most pertinent to me at that moment.........
What suddenly struck me was the speed at which the slack line attached to my spear was being taken up.......
I think I was still thinking exactly that thought when the line came up taught. For a moment I was still in a semi crouch.... but only for a moment.....
In the flash of time it takes to say "oh sh...." I was over the edge and into the water.




So lets recap

I'm fully dressed.
It's dark.
The water is cold.
I've got no wetsuit.
I've got no fins.

I've got 50lbs of wounded but not apparently critically wounded muscle, designed for the environment I am now in, attached to a 300 pound break strain line and it's making a desperate bid to go to the bottom.

Kill me now!

So I kick out for the surface, no mask, no fins, can't see a fucking thing. Damn that bastard is strong!

I refuse to let go of my gun and I haven't got a knife of course so I struggle in the water treading like a mad man my head bobbing up and down, occasionally an extra powerful tug sees me yanked under and I come up spluttering and choking. I figure I'm reasonably near the wharf, I can tell by the light so I strike out for it and immediately smash my hand into something and at the same moment my head collides with a post at the end of the wharf. Fucking barnacles!

I can hear the kids on the wharf and they're making a hell of a racket. God I think... they're probably freaking out really bad, that poor little girl is going to have nightmares for years.
Thankfully I can feel the fight going out of the fish and I struggle around the side of the wharf to the landing stairs and drag myself up onto the lowest step and start hauling the line in until I can grab the stupid fish and drag it up onto the wharf.
I can still hear the kids and now I can see some of them peering at me as I lie on the wharf gasping for air.... one of them seems to be crying so I sit up to make sure they are okay.....


The little girls is on the ground doubled up.... They're all laughing but that girl.... she is fit to burst.
I tell you.
They are crying and holding each other up and as I catch my breath and as they start heading off back up the wharf toward the shop I could still hear them laughing even as they headed off through the darkness.

I still remember quite clearly that little snotty nosed kid that first spoke to me wandering up, tears still fresh in his eyes as he held out his hand and said to me. "Hey townie, here's your bloody keys ay". He handed me my truck keys and dragged his snotty nose down the sleeve of his shirt, flicked his head back at me and started wandering off up the wharf. He stopped after a few steps and turned back to look at me and said, "Hey townie, you sure showed that fish ay cuzz" and he burst out laughing as he staggered off into the night.

You know.... I swear I can still hear him laughing......


Currently Listening to:

An eclectic mix of various sounds sent to me by the love of my life.
Thank you Angela for so many things.