American Angler in Australia (1937) (9 page)

Lastly the many broad fins on these sharks nonplused me. There was
a
reason for them, but I could not figure it out at such short notice.

I regarded this catch as one of the greatest, and certainly the mos
t
worthy, that I ever made. And it was not until afterwards that I realize
d
the hazard of the game, and that I had really not appreciated being in
a
den of blood-thirsty man-eaters. But instead of making me cautious I gre
w
only the bolder, fierce to hook and fight the largest one I could find.

Chapter
VII

Any book on the outdoors, at least any one of mine, should have as muc
h
as possible to say about trees, birds, and shells.

Our camp here is situated on a crescent-shaped bay, an offshoot o
f
Bateman Bay, and it is singularly satisfying. All day and all night th
e
surf is omnipresent, sometimes softly lapping the sand, at other
s
crawling in with its white ripples, to break and seethe up the beach
,
rolling pebbles and shells with a tinkling music, and now and agai
n
rolling in with grand boom and roar, to crash on the strand and drag th
e
gravel back with a mournful scream. A sad emotion-provoking sound on an
y
shore!

Every tide leaves lines and patches and mounds of shells. Gatherin
g
shells is one of the great privileges of a fisherman, and I hav
e
accumulated over five hundred here, of many varieties. Shells have
a
singular appealing beauty. The search for new and different ones, for
a
perfect one of a certain kind, or a treasure just rolled up out of th
e
unknown, grows in its fascination and adds many full moments to life
,
and pictures that will never fade from memory.

Birds here at Crescent Bay are rather few and far between. Even the se
a
birds are scarce. Gulls, terns, herons and cormorants frequent th
e
shores, mostly early in the mornings. In the dark of dawn a trio o
f
rascally kookaburras visit camp and set up a most raucous laughing
,
reverberating din in the giant trees, and then, having notified me tha
t
the break of day is at hand, they depart. They are not friendly here a
s
were those at Bermagui. There are always ravens to be heard at od
d
moments of the day. These at Bateman Bay have the most dismal, grievou
s
note I ever heard birds utter. They would be perfectly felicitous i
n
Dante's Inferno. It is a hoarse, low, almost wild caw, penetrating
,
disturbing. You find yourself questioning your right to be happy--tha
t
calamity is abroad.

The magpies have a wonderful liquid, melodious note, somewhat similar t
o
the beautiful one of the tui in New Zealand. The thrush sings rarel
y
along this shore, and his call makes you stop to listen. There are othe
r
songsters that add to the joy of this camp site, but as I cannot identif
y
them by their music alone they must go nameless.

Traveling to and fro along this south coast, I have made acquaintanc
e
with a number of trees, not many varieties, but countless ones o
f
striking beauty. And it was my good fortune at this camp to pitch my tent
s
under some of the grandest trees that ever ministered to me in my man
y
needs of the changing hours of day and night.

They stand upon a sloping bench up from the beach some distance, and the
y
dominate the scene. They are called spotted red gum trees. I could hav
e
thought of a better name than that, but it does not detract from thei
r
stately loveliness. There are about a dozen in number, four of which ar
e
giants of the bushland, ten feet thick at the base and towering tw
o
hundred feet aloft. They spread magnificently, huge branches sweeping ou
t
gnarled and crooked, but always noble with some quality of power and lif
e
and age. The lacy foliage gives the effect of a green canopy, with th
e
sun's rays streaking down golden-green, as if through cathedral windows.

But the color of these spotted monarchs intrigues me most. The dark spot
s
and patches of bark stand out from a pale olive background that varie
s
its hue according to the weather. In the rain the trunks take on a steel
y
gray with black designs standing out in relief. At sunset, if there i
s
gold and red in the west, these eucalyptus trees are indescribabl
y
beautiful. And on moonlight nights they are incredibly lovely. I hav
e
stared aloft for long, reveling in what it is they have so prodigally. I
h
ave watched the Southern Cross through a rift in the leaves. I hav
e
watched and loved them in the still noonday hour, when not a leaf stirred
,
and have listened to them and trembled at their mighty threshing roar i
n
the gale.

Trees must mean a great deal to man. He came down out of them, descendin
g
from his arboreal life, to walk erect on his feet, in that dim dawn o
f
his evolution. And ever since, during that five hundred thousand years
,
he has been dependent upon them. And beyond material things, if man eve
r
develops that far, he will need them to keep alive the spiritual, th
e
beautiful, the something that nature stands for, the meaning whic
h
forever must be inscrutable.

Australians are blessed with their boundless bush. No doubt the bignes
s
and warmth which are characteristic of the native Australian have come i
n
some degree from the splendid trees under which he has lived.

It may seem rather a far cry from the beauty and ministry of trees to th
e
ghastly menace of a man-eating shark, and a grueling fight with one, bu
t
that is where we must go.

South of Bateman Bay, and ten miles off Cape Burly, we ran into a trio o
f
trawlers working a wide area of waters that must have netted them tons o
f
fish. Many as have been the trawlers I have seen, I never before fishe
d
among them. This was a curious and unique experience, valuable to an
y
fisherman.

These trawlers criss-crossed this twenty-mile square of ocean, and abou
t
every two hours they halted to haul up their nets. These had wooden doors
,
and an opening thirty or forty feet wide, which traveled along th
e
bottom, scooping up all kinds of fish. We saw only the rubbish they thre
w
overboard, consisting of small rays, fiddlers, sharks, porcupine fish
,
and a red-colored big-eyed fish that appeared to have burst upon th
e
surface. We also saw barracuda, leatherjacks, and other fish.

They floated in confusion along the surface, in the track of the trawler
,
most of them alive, swimming upside down. Gulls, shearwater ducks (mutto
n
birds), and the great wide-winged albatross reaped a harvest that th
e
sharks had not time to get. The sharks, however, were busy enough. I sa
w
dozens of whalers, a few hammerheads, several large pale sharks that kep
t
deep down, and a number of Marlin in the wake of these ships.

It was exceedingly interesting to watch them, aside from the possibilit
y
of raising a swordfish. The screaming of the sea fowl, the colored fis
h
lying scattered all over the wakes, the big dark fins and tails of shark
s
milling about, an occasional swirl and splash on the water, and lastl
y
the passing to and fro of the trawlers afforded a moving and thrillin
g
spectacle for an angler.

I took that all in as I trolled to and fro, following the ships.

Swordfish fins were occasionally sighted, and we raised a number. The
y
had fed, however, and would not take a bait, and their interest appeare
d
to be solely in the teasers.

Two days of this working with the trawlers did not earn us a singl
e
Marlin. We caught several, though only after we had run far out of th
e
zone of the trawlers. I tried a third day, however, finding it hard t
o
resist those big sickle tails that we caught sight of rarely. I was, o
f
course, on the lookout for a big black Marlin.

Still I kept a weather eye open for a big shark, and was not particula
r
what breed he was. Among the trawlers it was not unusual to see a doze
n
whaler sharks all in a bunch, sticking their ugly dark noses out, gulpin
g
down fish into their wide mouths.

That third day, coming upon two big ones close together, I said to Emil
,
"Let's have a go at these." And we were soon fast to a heavy fish. A
w
haler will usually take a long fast run. Mine did this, while Emil's
,
evidently a huge fish, merely went down. Our boatman, Peter, was at
a
loss what to do. In the melee, however, Emil's shark got off, and I wa
s
left to battle a stubborn, heavy brute.

We caught up with him, and then he was off again. After this second run
,
however, he sounded deep and invited me to see what I could do about it.

After an hour or so of getting him up and having him go down again I
b
egan to suspect that I had hold of a big fellow. Therefore I called upo
n
patience and reserve strength to make a sure thing of catching him.

The fight was interesting because it was exactly what Mr. Bullen, th
e
Sydney shark expert, said was the way the great tiger worked. I wa
s
acquiring practice and experience, at considerable loss of sweat, labor
,
and enthusiasm. This son-of-a-gun stayed in one place, it appeared.

I had to pump and wind, pump and wind, monotonously and continuously.

I would get him up to the double line and then down he would go again.

I had that work to do over and over. His evident size, however, kept m
e
nailed to my post; and after over two hours of hard work I had him coming.

My first sight of this whaler was a flash of gold, and as he came close
r
up he changed color from that to dark green, and finally black. He was
a
sullen-eyed surly brute that made striking the gaff into him a keen
,
savage sort of pleasure. When Peter sent the steel home I yelled, "Mr.

Whaler, you'll never kill another human being!"

That idea had seemed to obsess me all along, and it grew stronger. Thi
s
whaler was big and heavy and mean. On the gaff he raised hell, wet u
s
thoroughly, and made everybody mad. He was too big to haul up on th
e
stern, so we had to tow him fifteen miles to camp--a long, slow trip.

I gambled with the boys on his weight, which I wagered was nine hundre
d
pounds, but, as usual, I lost, for he weighed only eight hundred an
d
ninety. He was twelve feet long; and those two facts constitute a might
y
big fish.

A Mr. Wallace and companion fisherman, staying at Bateman Bay, came in on
e
day with a six-hundred-and-ninety-pound shark, which they had fought fo
r
forty minutes, and then shot. They could not identify it, and asked me t
o
do so, which I was glad to be able to do. Sharks can always be identifie
d
by their teeth, provided you know shark teeth.