American Angler in Australia (1937) (7 page)

"Hey there!" pealed out Ed, happily. "I got him! I got him! I licked th
e
son-of-a-gun. Thanks for telling me what to do. Never would have licke
d
him. Gee! but wasn't it a fight. I'm crippled. I'm dying!!! I think I'
m
dead..
. W
hat kind of a shark is it?"

"Blowed if I know," I replied, "But he's a handsome brute, big as al
l
outdoors, and a real catch. Congratulations."

This shark was indeed an important catch for us. It was a whaler an
d
weighed over six hundred pounds.

On the following day, about sixteen miles offshore, out in a warm curren
t
that registered seventy-three degrees, I saw an enormous ghost-like shar
k
that made my heart leap to my throat. He was twenty feet long and ver
y
deep, and he certainly was not afraid of the boat or its occupants. I le
t
my bait out to him. It appeared to me that he not only ignored th
e
offering, but was contemptuous of such a small bait. His eye was big
,
black, and gleaming with all the cold cruelty of nature. I knew that h
e
saw me and would have taken me had I fallen out of that boat. For an hou
r
after he faded away I was in a trance. I recovered after a time, but I
w
ill never cease to long to hook and whip and kill such a grand an
d
terrible shark. Opinions on my boat differed. He was a tiger, or a hug
e
whaler. But for me he was one of those monsters of the South Seas--th
e
white death shark.

On the third clear morning, with a warm sun and a light north-east breeze
,
I felt sure that we would have luck. Peter said fish ought to be in. W
e
found bait plentiful and hungry. While fishing around Black Rock I saw
a
Marlin jump. We got teasers and bait overboard in a hurry, and I trolle
d
there for an hour, without raising him.

Meanwhile Bowen and his crew had run outside four or five miles. When I
f
inally ran up to them they had a swordfish tied up to the boat. It ha
d
been caught by Mr. Stewart, a guest of Bowen's that day, and was hi
s
first one after many attempts. He appeared to be mute in his delight, bu
t
Bowen was gay and volatile enough.

"Say," he shouted, "you should have seen this Marlin commit suicide. Why
,
nothing could lose him! The reel overran a dozen times and never tangled.

Get a load of that, will you? He ran under the boat. The leader caught i
n
the propeller and the fish came up on the other side. All our backs wer
e
turned. He tried to get aboard. When we gaffed him the hook fell out. Ca
n
you beat that for luck?"

No, I could not, and after congratulating Mr. Stewart I trolled on
,
marveling at the queer angles of this game. Late in the afternoon w
e
turned to go in. The golden lights were shining over the ranges, th
e
purple Toll Gates loomed grandly against the background. The day appeare
d
to be about over.

"There's a fin!" yelled Bill, suddenly. He was up on deck. "Far ahead an
d
going fast."

"Chase it," I ordered. "Hook her up, Pete."

We ran down current like the wind, everybody searching the big swells an
d
white seas. We ran nearly half a mile before Bill sighted the fin again.

Still ahead! We ran on, lost it again. Then Emil saw it on our left an
d
we sped in that direction. We ran past the other boat. They yelled to u
s
and pointed back to the right and we had to turn again. Peter saw hi
m
again and that encouraged us. He opened up the engine full ahead and w
e
roared over the swells, leaving a white wake behind us.

"There he is!" shouted Peter, pointing. "Going like one thing!"

"Don't run him down, Peter," I said, as I caught my first glimpse of th
e
big gleaming tail fin. "It's a black Marlin."

Peter slowed down. But we had to go at least at a ten-knot speed in orde
r
to come up with the fish. His tail went under, came up again, flashe
d
opal and gold, vanished, to show once more.

Suddenly I saw that tail give a peculiar twitch--an action I had see
n
many times. I flashed my gaze back to my bait.

"He saw it! Look out!"

I venture to say that that fish traveled as fast as my sight. Becaus
e
instantly there he was back of my bait. He snatched it and sheered off t
o
the races. He ran four hundred yards on that strike, and when I hooke
d
him he took off at least two hundred more. That was a long way off. Th
e
line was so tight I had to release the drag. We ran after him and it wa
s
quite awhile before I recovered a foot of line. He broke water twice, bu
t
did not leap.

Eventually we gained on him. In perhaps a quarter of an hour I recovere
d
most of the line. Then he sounded. From that period I fought him an hou
r
and ten minutes to fetch him to the surface.

He proved to be a short, broad, beautifully built black Marlin, dee
p
purple in color, and remarkable for the shortest spear I ever saw on on
e
of these fish. It was less than a foot in length and a perfect weapon.

This black Marlin weighed around four hundred pounds, and was I glad t
o
take him in to Bateman Bay?

Chapter
VI

One of my strong reasons for coming to Bateman Bay, if not the strongest
,
was the fact that this big shallow body of water was infested wit
h
sharks. Salmon, bonito, yellowtail, taylor, mullet, which are the ver
y
best bait for any and all salt-water fish, inhabit this bay; and I a
m
sure have a great deal to do with the presence of sharks.

After seeing a small specimen of wobbegong, or carpet shark, I was ver
y
keen to catch one. This fellow is about the most curious sea creature t
o
be found. He resembles a long strip of Brussels carpet. He lies fairl
y
flat on the bottom, almost like a flounder or halibut. He looks lik
e
seaweed and is a remarkable example of nature's protective coloration.

But in his case it must be more a matter of hiding from the small fish h
e
preys upon than to be difficult to see for his larger enemies. From th
e
wobbegong's upper lip protrude a number of little colored bits of ski
n
which could easily be taken for seaweed or something else good to eat.

Anyway, this cunning shark lies low, watching, and when small fish com
e
close to nibble at these deceitful lures the wobbegong snaps them up.

This species of shark grows fairly large, and I'd give something unhear
d
of to catch a big one. The most remarkable feature of the wobbegong i
s
his teeth. They are like a nest of curved thorns. When the wobbegong get
s
his teeth in anything they cannot come free. They just bite out the piec
e
they have hold of.

Sometimes when it was windy outside we ran in to fish around the island
s
or along the shoal west shore of the bay. Straight across from camp ther
e
was a high bluff covered with heavy growth of timber. From this a fla
t
rocky reef ran out into the bay. Our man, Bill Lawler, the marke
t
fisherman I had engaged, took us often to this particular spot to fis
h
for sharks. Some of the shark tales he told were incredible. But I
l
earned to credit all of them.

Why a school of gray nurse sharks should hang around that shoal reef wa
s
a mystery to me. It cleared up, however, and seemed as natural as an
y
other thing pertaining to the sea. We went there several times an
d
chummed, (burley, they call this way of attracting sharks by cutting u
p
bait or fish), without getting a single bite. Bill said the cool rain
y
weather accounted for the lack of sharks, and I could well believe him.

One warm still afternoon we hit it just right; and that afternoon must b
e
recorded in my memory and in my fishing notes as one never to forget.

Fishing for sharks is one thing: fishing for man-eating sharks, one o
f
the most ferocious species, is entirely another.

I had seen the two gray nurse sharks in the Aquarium at the Sydney Zoo. I
h
ad watched them for hours. They really had beauty, if line and contou
r
lending speed and savagery, can have such a thing. To my surprise th
e
gray nurse had a longer, sharper nose than even the mako. I made a be
t
with myself that he could move fast in the water. I found out, too. I wa
s
surprised, also, to see that the gray nurse had no gray color in th
e
water. He was a dark greenish tan.

We anchored the Avalon over the ridge, about five hundred yards out fro
m
shore, and began to chum. We had a couple of boxes full of fish that fro
m
its odor should have attracted sharks all the way from Sydney. Our othe
r
boat, the camera outfit, chose a spot half a mile below us, not a ver
y
good place, Bill said.

I put a bait over on my big tackle, and settled myself comfortably t
o
wait. It was very pleasant, and grew more beautiful as the afternoo
n
waned. Two hours passed, during which we chummed all the while, withou
t
having a strike. An oily slick drifted away from our boat for a mile. I
h
ad about decided there were no gray nurse sharks in the bay, when I ha
d
a bite. It was a gentle, slow pull, not at all what I expected from
a
notorious shark.

"It's a gray nurse," avowed Bill.

"Yeah?" I replied, doubtfully. "Okay! We'll hand it to him."

Whereupon I laid back with my heavy tackle for all I was worth. I hooke
d
a fish, all right, and made ready for a run. But this one did not run. H
e
came toward the boat. The men hauled up anchor and started the engine. W
e
drifted while I most curiously applied myself to the task of whippin
g
this shark, if it were one. He was heavy and strong, and quick as
a
flash. But he did not try to go places. He kept around and under th
e
boat.

In due course I hauled him up, and what was my surprise when I saw a lon
g
symmetrical silver-gray shark shape. He looked about eight feet long an
d
fairly thick. Presently I had a good look at his head and then his eyes.

I have had fish see me from the water, but this fellow's gaze wa
s
different. Pure cold, murderous cruelty shone in that black eye. It mad
e
me shiver. I did not fool any longer with him.

Peter gaffed the gray nurse and held him while Bill slipped a rope ove
r
his tail. For his size, about three hundred pounds, he surely made
a
commotion in the water. After a bit Peter untied my leader from my lin
e
and let it hang. The shark hung head down, rolling and jerking.

"Pete, if these gray nurse sharks don't run away after being hooked, thi
s
tackle is too heavy," I said.

"Right-o. I was figuring that. The Cox nine and thirty thread line ough
t
to do."