BIG GAME FISH

Rotorua Morning Post, Volume 2, Issue 252, 16 June 1932, Page 8

BIG GAME FISH

DESCRIPTIVE STORY ANGLING IN WATERS OF GREAT BARRIER REEF. DENIZENS GF THE DEEP. I had wearied of the so-called blessings of civilisation in the cities. Packing my fishing outfit — which is not very eumbersome — I left Bowen, a dslightful little coastal town on the coast of North Queensland. My destination was the waters in the neighbourhood of the Great Barrier Reef (writes Frank Reed). The first stopping place of our launch was Armit Island, four hours' cruise from our starting point. Here there is a perfectly natural little bay, with deep water close to the shore at one part. All round the island it is possible to fish, casting from the rocks. The water is always cyrstal clear; below the surface the beauties of marine gardens may be seen by the simple process of standing on some jutting rocky promontory and looking down. Here, slowly swimming in and out, are many curious fish — peacock blue and amber, some striped like zebras, and of almost every size shape and colour. These jewelled denizens of the deep add to the marvellous beauties that lie beneath the serene surface of our eoral-strewn waters. Many hours have I sat gazing downward in shimmering, langorous heat, amid the great peace and cairn of vast space, far away from the turmoil, the never-ending rush and scramble of cities. I marvel how foolish thousands of people are who spend lives cramped in the narrow confines of a city when at very little cost they may win peace, health, and happiness, at least for a holiday. The morning after my arrival at Armit Island we set out. in our launch. Obtaining an ample supply of bait, which was casily procured with a small mesh net, we put out to sea.

Ten minutes later my companion poi'nted ahead. "What's up?" I asked. "Birds," was his ■ laconic answer. I looked in the direction. the boat was heading, and saw a large flock of gulls hovering over a spot about a mile away. Every now and then one would drop like a shot to the surface of the ocean and rise again immediately. "There Is a school of fish under those birds," ' remarked my companion, "and I think they are mackerel." "Striking Fish." ijMackerel are "striking fish." They rush through a school of small fish, eating only those which they ean strike, disregarding the pieces of remnants of their victims. These pieces or remnants, in the grand economy of Nature, provide a precarious livelihood for the myriads of gulls and tern which follow the schools when they come to the surface. We went on steadily until we were able to see the fish breaking the surface. Every now and then the purple side of a mackerel would flash in the sunlight. Some of the fish would leap clear out of the water; others would just flirt their tails above the surface. My companion took one look, left his wheel, hurriedly put on a pair of cotton gloves, and yelled: "Great Scot! But tiiey are big ones!" Hardly had the words been uttered when there was a terrific commotion some distance to the rear of the launch, and my companion's line was smashed. Mine, for some reason, held until the line had taken off at least 150 yards. Then my line went the way of the other. Both lines went in much less than four seconds. The fish disappeared, the birds promptly left, and the ocean was again a placid surface, varying in colour from amethyst to emerald. During the remainder of the day the mackerel struck at fairly frequent intervals, and together we landed twenty-six. Of these I was fortunate enough to take fifteen. The catch weighed on an average 401b, but whatever the fish lacked in weight they made up in speed and endurance. Sometimes when you run into a school of mackerel they will follow the launch and will take the spinner right in the exhaust of the engine. Occasionally they come so fast that the worlc becomes too heavy for hand lines or rod and reel. Once I caught five, weighing 551b each. I was so exhausted when the fifth was pulled in that my companion begged me to put up my tackle. Fishermen in Harness. Many anglers from the south — several of them are Yictorians — who come to these waters seeking mackerel, employ harness. This is a contrivance of criss-eross belts, passing over the shoulders and buckling around the body, to the front of which fastens to the back of the reel, thus enabling the fisherman to do a considerable part of the heavy work of landing a mackerel with his back and shoulders instead of bearing the entire strain upon his forearms. Some fishermen use a socket, held in place by a waist belt, into which is placed the butt of the rod. While we were fishing off Armit Island we were annoyed greatly by man-eating sharks. They seem to know that a mackerel, after having been hooked, is more or less helpless. Often, do what we would, we could not shake off a pursuing man-eater. Ile would trail in the wake of the boat as a hound trails a rabbit, and when a mackerel was hooked he was there ready to grab it and gulp it down. We lost many mackerel, notwithstanding the fact that our fish was given a free spool and every opportunity to elude the sharks. The sea around these islands of the Barrier Reef seems to teem with fish. There is scarcely a lull in the sport. Later in the same afternoon, after I had played a fish of about 201b for some little time, and when I was about to land it, there was a gigantic swirl in the water, and my fish was bitten completely off, close to the head, which remained on the hook. I consicfered that the time had come to ■employ heavier tackle. Using no lead whatever, and baiting with a halfside of a small fish, I dropped the line carefully over the side of the launch, and we moved slowly away. At a distance of 50 feet from the spot I slowly brought the bait to the surface again and allowed it to sink. This operation was repeated many times for about an hour. Suddenly, as I was performing this strategy, there came a full stop, as if the hook had became jammed in coral. I struck and knew that it was fast in something of which in years of fishing I had no knowledge. There was no rush, but the great fish moved slowly away, and we followed it. Suddenly the mighty fish seemed to stop. We were almost on top of it, and looking down through the clear water a huge, ghostly, awe-inspiring shape was to be seen plainly. From the first there was no chance of landing it. I was making up my mind to cut the line when what I had expected happened. Evidently tl^e fish had seen us, and at last had realised why it was in difficulty. There was one tremendous rush, and it leapt completely out of the water. As it landed back in the sea there was a report and a burst of spray like a 12-inch shell striking the water. By this time I had recovered some of my wits, which had been paralysed. About 200 feet away the fish turned, broke water again, and swept at incredible speed straight for the launch. I believe that its original intention was to drive its huge f orce against our frail craft, but when it was almost upon us and disaster seemed to be inevitable, apparently it changed its mind and shot like lightning beneath. I do not know precisely what happened at that moment, but many things seemed to occur at once. Any thought of attempting to play such a giant was ridiculous. When the fish turned and flashed towards us through the water we had stood up in our boat in excitement. Then, smash went the line, and we fell back to the bottom of the launch. If any man wants big game fishing, I recommend him to leave for the waters of the Barrier Reef between the months of June and August. He will have a surfeit of excitement.