FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 856, 27 December 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” TO HIS LYRF If ever, as I struck thy strings, I’ve sounded one enduring note, Let me, O lyre, think up some things That folks will simply have to quote.

A" Lesbian lyrist owned thee once; He used to sing a lot, he did. Of dames and demijohns and stunts Like that. He was the Tuneful Kid. Help me, mine ancient ukulele Sing songs of sorrow and of joy, Such as, composed and printed daily, Will make the public yell, “Oh Boy! F.P.A. (New York). CREATURES OF THE DEEP

The Intense competition which prevails in nearly all contemporary spheres is nowhere better reflected than in the rivalry between deep-sea fishing resorts up and down the coast. In the hope that more and more anglers may be attracted to the fishing grounds, every catch oft Whangaroa, Russell, Mercury Bay, Mayor island, and the rest of them is faithfully chronicled, and anglers from all parts of the world struggle for the annual trophies allotted by the different fishing clubs. There is a definite system of weighing which precludes any “fish stories,” and though it may seem to reflect on a fisherman’s veracity that no catches may be weighed after sundown, nevertheless that is all in the good cause. If, however, the mako shark or swordfish happens to have swallowed a cannonball just befdre being captured, it is an accident of fortune which is gratefully accepted by all concerned, for of such accidents are world records made. THE COST Deep-sea fishing demands hardboiled enthusiasm and a cast-iron constitution. Landsmen often sigh for the luxury of lazy days out there on the fishing grounds, hut there is a darker side to the picture. The angler who sets out full of high hopes on a perfect morning when the sea is a sheet of glass, may return in the evening in a state of acute misery that few would wish to share. The trouble is that deep-sea fishing demands drifting, and drifting often searches out weaknesses of a depressing character. The sea that starts off the morning by being as smooth as glass may imperceptibly transform itself into a lumpy expanse of billows or an area traversed by ocean rollers marching straight from the coast of Chile. In these circumstances many an angler begins to feel that fishing develops no other enthusiasm than a longing for the smooth waters of the little bay tucked away somewhere beyond the tall rock pillars of, the distant coastline. THE REWARD

Still, deep-sea fishing, for those who love it, has a fascination unsurpassed anywhere in the domain of sport. Just now it is a rich man’s pleasure, but a few manage to encompass it cheaply, and that number should increase. At any rate, the launchmen and others now attempting to gather a harvest from its popularity should realise that they have as much to gain from the New Zealand angler of moderate means as they have from the overseas magnate who has money to burn, but who, unfortunately, exists in limited numbers. It is a fact that, although much money has been lavished on equipment and launches, some of the best catches have been made with primitive gear. For instance, the season at one well-known resort was opened with two fine mako. The secret history of that catch was that the fisherman who got the strikes was a boy working from a dinghy with a hapuka line. Without rods, without chairs, without even a gaff or a harpoon, the monsters were hand-lined all the way and duly landed on to a nearby launch. THE REMORA In a recent personal experience of deep-sea fishing, we encountered, beside the phenomena and emotions noted, that queerest of creatures, the remora, or pilot fish, which makes itself the personal attendant of mako sharks and swordfish by attaching itself to their bellies by means of an extra ordinary suction disc on the top of its head. Little is known of the private life of the pilot fish. If the shark ever endeavours to brush off its little passenger on a rock or sandbank, that is a secret still held by the sea. Some of these days it may yield to study. In the meantime the remora is credited with the ability and the desire to warn the shark of impending danger by leaving it whenever trouble looms up. That is the sort of pretty purpose that legend often spins about our parasitic friends. But the particular pilot fish that has entered this column failed in its job, for it was still clinging happily to its host when that truculent specimen was hoisted aboard and dispatched. The pilot fish, still alive, and perhaps still happy, was transferred to a benzine tin of water. It signified its approval by attaching itself fondly to the side of the tin, but if it tried to transmit any warnings in that direction it must have been disappointed in the response.