American Angler in Australia (1937) (10 page)

Fortunately, in this case it was easy, as the large triangular uppe
r
teeth, serrated, and the smaller less-triangular lower teeth, belonged t
o
that rare species of the Seven Seas--the white pointer or less commonl
y
known as the white death.

This fellow grows to forty feet and more in length, and teeth have bee
n
found in the ooze from the bottom of the sea so large that they must hav
e
belonged to sharks eighty feet long--a fearful and marvelous monster t
o
conjure up in imagination.

I had seen at least two of these rare and great sharks, one at Rangaroa
,
in the Paumotos, and the other off Montague Island. Naturally I wa
s
hoping to catch one.

So far as I can ascertain, only three of this species has been caught i
n
Australia, one eighteen feet long, shot and harpooned at Bermagui;
a
nother larger, which was vouched for by Dr. Stead, the scientist. M
y
boatman, Peter Williams, harpooned one at the whaling-station nea
r
Russell, New Zealand. It was twenty-three feet long and would hav
e
weighed far over a ton. I saw the jaws of this one, and they were indee
d
formidable. A good-sized man could sit down inside of them.

My hopes of striking a white-death shark on the South Coast had almos
t
waned when, three days before we shifted camp at Bateman Bay I sighte
d
what I thought was one at Black Rock. He had the same shape and the sam
e
dorsal fin with which I had familiarized myself. Only he appeared darke
r
in color.

Peter was not keen about closer acquaintance, but that certainly did no
t
hold for me. I cautioned him to keep wide as we dragged a freshly cu
t
salmon across in front of the shark. If the fish saw it he gave no sign.

Again we ran in front of the brute and closer this time. In fact we wen
t
pretty close. I saw his peculiarly blunt nose, coming to a point, and th
e
protruding upper lip which allowed the big white arrowhead-shaped teet
h
to show. That was a sight to chill the blood. He was lazily riding th
e
waves, his bold, staring black eyes on the boat. Surely he saw us. But h
e
ignored the bait.

"Throw something at the blighter," yelled Peter. "Nope. Go closer nex
t
time," I replied.

On this third attempt, before we got even with the shark, he made a swif
t
and savage run. There was a splash, a crack, and he sheered away swift a
s
a Marlin. The instant I recovered from this surprising procedure I jamme
d
on the drag and struck. If that shark did anything, he struck back at me.

Then, when I had him hooked he performed the old amazing, thrillin
g
trick of the mako--he came for us. I had to wind fast to reel in the line.

There he was! Only the length of my leader! And that was thirty feet.

"What'll we do now?" I shouted, aghast.

"Hang on to the double line," replied Peter, and dived into the cabin fo
r
the gaff.

The swivel of the leader was against my rod tip. I had no trouble i
n
holding the shark. He turned at right angles with us and was swimmin
g
along with the boat, a few feet under. Presently he came up so that hi
s
pale dorsal fin stood up out of the water. He was not white by any means
,
but he was light colored, and stream-lined in shape, and sinister o
f
aspect. He looked large, too, fully as large as my biggest whaler.

"Pete, what are you going to do?" I called, as he came out with gaff an
d
rope.

"Let's have a go at him."

"It's too soon. If you failed to get the gaff in good he'd drown us an
d
get away."

On the other hand, if we hurt him and he ran off, it was almost
a
certainty that he would take long to drag in again. I debated th
e
question. If it had not been a white shark I would not have hesitated.

But during that moment of vacillation the shark made up his mind and h
e
ran off two hundred yards as fast as any Marlin ever went. Then h
e
stopped, but did not sound. He just fought the leader; and as I put al
l
my weight and strength into the task we had it nip and tuck. I coul
d
always fight a fish far away from me better than one near at hand. For m
y
pains, however, I got very little line in.

"Shall I run up on him?" asked Peter.

"No. I'll pull him back or break him off," I replied as, baffled an
d
resentful, I worked with renewed vigor. I did not keep track of the time
,
but it was far from being short. I had enough of this white shark t
o
guess at what a twenty-footer would be like. And in due course, when I
p
ulled the leader up within reach, I was wet and panting, and mad at m
y
ineffectual attempt.

He went under the boat, so we had to keep moving. Peter hauled on th
e
leader in a way to alarm me. And he was swearing, always with Peter
a
sign of impatience and effort. Emil stood with the big gaff, ready t
o
hand it to the boatman, while I loosened my harness hooks, and the dra
g
on the reel.

"Drop the leader overboard," I cautioned, as always.

I saw the shark come out from under the boat. He had rolled over on th
e
leader. The bright steel flashed. Crash! Then all was lost in a maelstro
m
of flying white spray and green water.

"Let him run on the rope," I shouted.

"I can hold him..
. E
mil, get a tail rope," replied Peter.

It required some time to put a noose over that threshing tail, durin
g
which I stood there, ready to carry on my part should the shark brea
k
away. Once roped, however, he gave up with little more ado.

We tried to haul him up on the stern, but he was too heavy. We
,
therefore, towed him the three miles in to camp. Night had fallen when w
e
arrived, so that we could neither weigh nor photograph him. The boy
s
pulled him up on the bank, however, and left him there. After supper I
w
ent to look at him, finding him dead and growing dark in color. H
e
appeared to be a soft-fleshed shark that would shrink much overnight.

Next morning we stayed in camp a few hours to photograph this specimen.

He was not so large, though nearly so, as my big whaler. And allowing fo
r
the percentage of shrinkage he weighed eight hundred and forty pounds.

And he was nine feet six inches long. He had turned a grayish black i
n
color. His pectorals were large. His round lower end, and the flang
e
where it joined the tail, resembled that of both a mako and a broadbil
l
swordfish, but more like the latter fish. Close study of this shar
k
identified it as immature. He really was a youngster of that species. Bu
t
for me he was a notable catch, a different and splendid shark, and I wa
s
proud of having gotten him and adding that terrible white-fanged jaw t
o
my collection. I made a reluctant and secret observation, too, and it wa
s
that I was going to be scared of a giant shark of his class.

Chapter
VIII

Fascinating places to fish have been a specialty of mine; and I hav
e
record of many where no other fisherman ever wet a line. This alway
s
seemed to be a fetish of mine. New and lonely waters! My preference ha
s
been the rocky points of islands where two currents meet.

Fishing off Sydney Heads, Australia, is as far removed from this as coul
d
well be imagined.

Great scarred yellow cliffs, like the colored walls of an Arizona canyon
,
guard the entrance to Sydney Harbor, which, if not really the larges
t
harbor in the world, is certainly the most wonderful. These bold walls
,
standing high and sheer, perhaps a mile apart, look down upon the mos
t
colorful and variable shipping of the Seven Seas. I passed through thi
s
portal on the S
. S
. Mariposa, gazing up at the lofty walls, at th
e
towering lighthouses and the slender wireless stands black against th
e
sky, never dreaming that the day would come when I saw them above m
e
while fighting one of the greatest giant fish I ever caught.

At the end of three months fishing on the South Coast of Australia
,
during which my party and I caught sixty-seven big fish, mostl
y
swordfish, weighing twenty-one thousand pounds, we found ourselve
s
at Watson's Bay, just around the corner of the South Head, within sigh
t
of all Sydney, and in fact located in the city suburbs, for the purpos
e
of pursuing further our extraordinary good luck. I hoped, of course, t
o
catch the first swordfish off Sydney Heads, and incidentally beat th
e
shark record.

I was introduced to this Sydney fishing by Mr. Bullen, who held th
e
record, and who had pioneered the rod-and-reel sport practically alone
,
and had been put upon his own resources and invention to master th
e
hazardous and hard game of fishing for the man-eating tiger shark.

In angling, my admiration and respect go to the man who spends much tim
e
and money and endurance in the pursuit of one particular fish. Experimen
t
and persistence are necessary to the making of a great angler. If Mr.

Bullen has not arrived, he surely is far on the way. For three years h
e
fished for tiger sharks from boats which in some cases were smaller tha
n
the fish he fought. His mistakes in method and his development of tackl
e
were but steps up the stairway to success. I want to record here, in vie
w
of the small craft he fished out of and the huge size and malignan
t
nature of tiger sharks, that, after a desperate battle to bring one o
f
these man-eaters up to the surface, he was justified in shooting it.

This shooting of sharks, by the way, was the method practiced i
n
Australia, as harpooning them was and still is prevalent in New Zealand.

In America we have sixty years' development back of big-game fishing; an
d
all the sporting clubs disqualify a harpooned or shot fish. Th
e
justification of this rule is that opportunity presents very many time
s
to kill a big fish or shark before it has actually waked up. This is no
t
fair to the angler who fights one for a long time.

In Australia, however, the situation is vastly different. There ar
e
thousands of terrible sharks. In the book I am writing, Tales o
f
Man-eating Sharks, I have data for three hundred tragedies an
d
disasters. I expect this book will be a revelation to those distinguishe
d
scientists of the United States who do not believe a shark will attack
a
human being. Certainly it would be better to fish for sharks and shoo
t
them on sight than not fish at all. For, every shark killed may save on
e
or more lives. While I have been in Australia there have been severa
l
tragedies, particularly horrible. A boy bathing at Manly Beach was take
n
and carried away for moments in plain sight. Somewhere in South Australi
a
another boy was swimming near a dock. Suddenly a huge blue pointer shar
k
seized him and leaped clear of the water with him, before making off.