WITH HOOK AND LINE ON AN AUSTRAL RIVER
The English visitor to the Eastern Colonies of Australia, who isin search of sport with either rod or hand line, can always obtainexcellent fishing in the summer months, even in such traffic-disturbedharbours as Sydney, Newcastle and other ports; but on the tidal riversof the eastern and southern seaboard he can catch more fish than he cancarry home, during nine months of the year. In the true winter monthsdeep sea fishing is not much favoured, except during the prevalence ofwesterly winds, when for days at a time the Pacific is as smooth as alake; but in the rivers, from Mallacoota Inlet, which is a few milesover the Victorian boundary, to the Tweed River on the north, thestranger may fairly revel, not only in the delights of splendid fishing,but in the charms of beautiful scenery. He needs no guide, will be putto but little expense, for the country hotel accommodation is goodand cheap; and, should he visit some of the northern rivers, where thetowns--or rather small settlements--are few and far between, he willfind the settlers the embodiment of British hospitality. Some five yearsago the writer formed one of the crew of a little steamer of fifty tons,named the _Jenny Lind_, which was sent out along the coast in thefutile endeavour to revive the coast whaling industry. Through stressof weather we had frequently to make a dash for shelter, towing our onewhale-boat, to one of the many tidal rivers on the coast between Sydneyand Gabo Island. Here we would remain until the weather broke, and ourcrew would literally cover the deck with an extraordinary variety offish in the course of a few hours. Then, at low tide, we could alwaysfill a couple of corn sacks with excellent oysters, and get bucketfulsof large prawns by means of a scoop net improvised from a piece ofmosquito netting. Game, too, was very plentiful on the lagoons. Thesettlers were generally glad to see us, and gave us so freely of milk,butter, pumpkins, etc., that, despite the rough handling we always hadat sea from the weather, we grew quite fat. But as the greater part ofmy fishing experience was gained on the northern rivers of the colonyof New South Wales, it is of them I shall write. Eighteen hours' runby steamer from Sydney is the Hastings River, on the southern bank ofwhich, a mile from the bar, is the old-time town of Port Macquarie--aquaint, sleepy little place of six hundred inhabitants, who spend theirdays in fishing and waiting for better times. There are two or threefairly good hotels, very pretty scenery along the coast and upthe river, and a stranger can pass a month without suffering from_ennui_--that is, of course, if he be fond of fishing and shooting; ifhe is not, he should avoid going there, for it is the dullest coasttown in New South Wales. The southern shore, from the steamer wharf toopposite the bar, is lined with a hard beach, on which, at high tideor slack water at low tide, one may sit down in comfort and have greatsport with bream, whiting and flathead. As soon as the tide turns,however, and is well on the ebb or flow, further fishing is impossible,for the river rushes out to sea with great velocity, and the incomingtide is almost as swift. On the other side of the harbour is a long,sandy point called the North Shore, about a mile in length. This, at thenorth end, is met by a somewhat dense scrub, which lines the right bankof the river for a couple of miles, and affords a splendid shade toanyone fishing on the river bank. The outer or ocean beach is but a fewminutes' walk from the river, and a magnificent beach it is, trending inone great unbroken curve to Point Plomer, seven miles from the township.
Before ascending the river on a fishing trip one has to be provided witha plentiful supply of cockles, or 'pippies,' as they are called locally.These can only be obtained on the northern ocean beach, and not theleast enjoyable part of a day's sport consists in getting them. Theyare triangular in shape, with smooth shells of every imaginable colour,though a rich purple is commonest. As the backwash leaves the sandsbare, these bivalves may be seen in thick but irregular patchesprotruding from the sand. Sometimes, if the tide is not low enough, onemay get rolled over by the surf if he happen to have his back turnedseaward. Generally I was accompanied by two boys, known as 'Condon'sTwins.' They were my landlord's sons, and certainly two of the smartestyoung sportsmen--although only twelve years old--I ever met with. Bothwere very small for their age, and I was always in doubt as to whichwas which. They were always delighted to come with me, and did notmind being soused by a roller now and then when filling my 'pippy' bag.Pippies are the best bait one can have for whiting (except prawns) inAustralia, for, unlike the English whiting, it will not touch fishbait of any sort, although, when very hungry, it will sometimes taketo octopus flesh. Bream, whether black or silvery, flathead, trevally,Jew-fish, and, indeed, all other fish obtained in Australia, are notso dainty, for, although they like 'pippies' and prawns best, they willtake raw meat, fish, or octopus bait with readiness. Certain species ofsea and river mullet are like them in this respect, and good sport maybe had from them with a rod in the hot months, as Dick and Fred,the twins aforesaid, well knew, for often would their irate fatherwrath-fully ask them why they wasted their time catching 'them worthlessmullet.'
But let me give an idea of one of many days' fishing on the Hastings,spent with the 'Twins.' Having filled a sugar-bag with 'pippies' on theocean beach, we put on our boots and make our way through the belt ofscrub to where our boat is lying, tied to the protruding roots of atree. Each of us is armed with a green stick, and we pick our way prettycarefully, for black snake are plentiful, and to tread on one meansdeath. The density of the foliage overhead is such that but littlesunlight can pierce through it, and the ground is soft to our feet withthe thick carpet of fallen leaves beneath. No sound but the murmuring ofthe sea and the hoarse notes of countless gulls breaks the silence, forthis side of the river is uninhabited, and its solitude disturbed onlyby some settler who has ridden down the coast to look for strayingcattle, or by a fishing party from the town. Our boat, which we hadhauled up and then tied to the tree, is now afloat, for the tide hasrisen, and the long stretches of yellow sandbanks which line the channelon the further side are covered now with a foot of water. As we drift upthe river, eating our lunch, and letting the boat take care of herself,a huge, misshapen thing comes round a low point, emitting horridgroanings and wheezings. It is a steam stern-wheel punt, loaded withmighty logs of black-butt and tallow wood, from fifty feet to seventyfeet in length, cut far up the Hastings and the Maria and Wilson Rivers,and destined for the saw-mill at Port Macquarie.
In another hour we are at our landing-place, a selector's abandonedhomestead, built of rough slabs, and standing about fifty yards backfrom the river and the narrow line of brown, winding beach. The roof hadlong since fallen in, and the fences and outbuildings lay low, coveredwith vines and creepers. The intense solitude of the place, themotionless forest of lofty, grey-boled swamp gums that encompassed iton all sides but one, and the wide stretch of river before it werecalculated to inspire melancholy in anyone but an ardent fisherman.Scarcely have we hauled our boat up on the sand, and deposited ourprovisions and water in the roofless house, when we hear a commotionin the river--a swarm of fish called 'tailer' are making havoc among a'school' of small mullet, many of which fling themselves out upon thesand. Presently all is quiet again, and we get our lines ready.
For whiting and silvery bream, rather fine lines are used; but we eachhave a heavy line for flathead, for these fish are caught in the tidalrivers on a sandy bottom up to three feet and four feet in length. Theyare in colour, both on back and belly, much like a sole, of great widthacross the shoulders, and then taper away to a very fine tail. The headis perfectly flat, very thin, and armed on each side with very sharpbones pointing tailward. A stab from one of these causes intenseinflammation. The fins are small--so small as to appear almostrudimentary--yet the fish swims, or rather darts, along the bottom withamazing rapidity. They love to lie along the banks a few feet from theshore, where, concealed in the sand, they can dart out upon and seizetheir prey in their enormous 'gripsack'mouths. The approach of a boat,or a person walking along the sand, will cause them to at once speedlike lightning into deep water, leaving behind them a wake of sand andmud, which is washed off their backs in their fl
ight. Still, althoughnot a pleasing fish to look at, the flathead is of a delicious anddelicate flavour. There are some variations in their shades of colour,from a pale, delicate grey to a very dark brown, according to theirhabitat, and, although most frequent in very shallow water, they areoften caught in great quantities off the coast in from ten to fifteenfathoms of water. Gut or wire snoodings are indispensable when fishingfor flathead, else the fish invariably severs the line with his fineneedle-pointed teeth, which are set very closely together. Nothing comesamiss to them as food; but they have a great love for small mullet orwhiting, or a piece of octopus tentacle.
Baiting our heavy lines with mullet--two hooks with brass-wire snoods toeach line--we throw out about thirty yards, then, leaving two or threefathoms loose upon the shore, we each thrust a stick firmly into thesand, and take a turn of the line round it. As the largest flatheadinvariably darts upon the bait, and then makes a bolt with it, this planis a good one to follow, unless, of course, they are biting freely; inthat case the smaller lines for bream and whiting, etc., are hauled in,for there is more real sport in landing a 10-lb. flathead than there isin catching smaller fish, for he is very game, and fights fiercely forhis life.
Having disposed our big lines, we bait the smaller ones with 'pippies,'and not two minutes at the outside elapse after the sinkers have touchedbottom when we know we are to have a good time, for each of us hashooked a fish, and three whiting are kicking on the sand before fiveminutes have expired. Then for another hour we throw out and haul inagain as quickly as possible, landing whiting from 6 oz. to nearly 2 lb.weight. One of the 'Twins' has five hooks on his line, and occasionallylands three fish together, and now and again we get small bream andan occasional 'tailer' of 2 lb. or 3 lb. As the sun mounts higher thebreeze dies away, the heat becomes very great, and we have frequentrecourse to our water jar--in one case mixing it with whisky. Then thewhiting cease to bite as suddenly as they have begun, and move off intodeeper water. Just as we are debating as to whether we shall takethe boat out into mid-stream, Twin Dick gives a yell, as his stick issuddenly whipped out of the sand, and the loose line lying beside itrushes away into the water. But Dick is an old hand, and lets his fishhave his first bolt, and then turns him. 'By jingo! sir, he's a bigfellow,' he cries, as he hauls in the line, now as taut as a telegraphwire, and then the other twin comes to his aid, and in a few minutes theoutline of the fish is seen, coming in straight ahead, as quick as theycan pull him. When he is within ten feet of the beach the boys run upthe bank and land him safely, as he turns his body into a circle inhis attempts to shake out the hook. Being called upon to estimate hisweight, I give it as 11 lb., much to the Twins' sorrow--they think it 15lb. Half an hour passes, and we catch but half a dozen silvery bream andsome small baby whiting, for now the sun is beating down upon our heads,and our naked feet begin to burn and sting; so we adjourn to the oldhouse and rest awhile, leaving our big lines securely tied. But, thoughthe breeze for which we wait comes along by two o'clock, the fish donot, and so, after disinterring our takes from the wet sand, wherein wehad buried them as they were caught, to prevent them being spoilt bythe sun, we get aboard again and pull across to the opposite bank of theriver. Here, in much deeper water, about fifteen feet right under theclayey bank, we can see hundreds of fine bream, and now and thensome small Jew-fish. Taking off our sinkers, we have as good and moreexciting sport among the bream than we had with the whiting, catchingbetween four and five dozen by six o'clock. Then, after boiling thebilly and eating some fearfully tough corned meat, we get into the boatagain, hoist our sail, and land at the little township just after dark.Such was one of many similar days' sport on the Hastings, which, withthe Bellinger, the Nambucca, the Macleay and the Clarence Rivers,affords good fishing practically all the year round. Then, besides thesetidal rivers, there are at frequent intervals along the coast, tidallagoons and 'blind' creeks where fish congregate in really incrediblequantities. Such places as Lake Illawarra and Lake Macquarie are fishingresorts well known to the tourist; but along the northern coast, wherethe population is scantier and access by rail or steamer more difficult,there is an absolutely new field open to the sportsman--in fact, theseplaces are seldom visited for either fishing or shooting by peoplefrom Sydney. During November and December the bars of these rivers areliterally black with incredible numbers of coarse sea-salmon--a fishmuch like the English sea bass--which, making their way over the bars,swim up the rivers and remain there for about a week. Although thesefish, which weigh from 8 lb. to 10 lb., do not take a bait, and arerather too coarse to eat, their roes are very good, especially whensmoked. They are captured with the greatest of ease, either by spearingor by the hand, for sometimes they are in such dense masses that theyare unable to maoeuvre in small bays, and the urchins of coastal townshail their yearly advent with delight. They usually make their firstappearance about November 20th (I presume they resort to the rivers tospawn), and are always followed by a great number of very large sharksand saw-fish,{*} which commit dreadful havoc in their serried andhelpless ranks. Following the sea-salmon, the rivers are next visitedin January by shoals of very large sea-mullet--blue-black backs, silverybellies and sides, and yellow fins and tails. These, too, will not takea bait, but are caught in nets, and, if a steamer happens to be on theeve of leaving for Sydney, many hundreds of baskets are sent away; butthey barely pay the cost of freight and commission, I believe. There areseveral varieties of sea-mullet, one or two of which will take the hookfreely, and I have often caught them off the rocky coast of New SouthWales with a rod when the sea has been smooth. The arrival of the bigsea-mullet denotes that the season for Jew-fish is at its height, andif the stranger to Australian waters wants exciting sport, let him tryJew-fishing at night. In deep water off the coast these great fish areoccasionally caught during daylight, but a dull, cloudy night is best,when they may be caught from the beach or river bank in shallow water.Very stout lines and heavy hooks are used, for a 90-lb. or 100-lb.Jew-fish is very common. Baiting with a whole mullet or whiting, or oneof the arms of an octopus, the most amateurish fisherman cannot fail tohook two or three Jew-fish in a night. (Even in Sydney Harbour I haveseen some very large ones caught by people fishing from ferry wharves.)They are very powerful, and also very game, and when they rise to thesurface make a terrific splashing. At one place on the Hastings River,called Blackman's Point, a party of four of us took thirteen fish,the heaviest of which was 62 lb. and the lightest 9 lb. Next morning,however, the Blackman's Point ferryman, who always set a line from hispunt when he turned in, showed us one of over 90 lb. When they grow tosuch a size as this they are not eaten locally, as the flesh is veryoften full of thin, thread-like worms. The young fish, however, are verypalatable.
* The 'saw-fish' of the Australian tidal rivers is very distinct from the sword-fish of the deep sea.
The saw-fish, to which I have before alluded as harrying the swarms ofsea-salmon, also make havoc with the Jew-fish, and very often are caughton Jew-fish lines. They are terrible customers to get foul of (I do notconfound them with the sword-fish) when fishing from a small boat. Theirhuge broad bill of hard bone, set on both sides with its terrible sharpspikes, their great length and enormous strength, render it impossibleto even get them alongside, and there is no help for it but either tocut the line or pull up anchor and land him on the shore. Even then thetask of despatching one of these creatures is no child's play on a darknight, for they lash their long tails about with such fury that a brokenleg might be the result of coming too close. In the rivers of NorthernQueensland the saw-fish attain an enormous size, and the Chinesefishermen about Cooktown and Townsville often have their nets destroyedby a sawfish enfolding himself in them. Alligators, by the way, do thesame thing there, and are sometimes captured, perfectly helpless, in thefolds of the nets, in which they have rolled themselves over and overagain, tearing it beyond repair with their feet, but eventually yieldingto their fate.
The schnapper, the best of all Australian fish, is too well known tohere ent
er into a detailed description. Most town-bred Australiansgenerally regard it as a purely ocean-loving fish, or at least onlyfrequenting very deep waters in deep harbours, such as Sydney, JervisBay and Twofold Bay. This is quite a mistake, for in many of the rivers,twenty or more miles up from the sea, the writer and many other peoplehave not only caught these beautiful fish, but seen fishermen haul intheir nets filled with them. But they seldom remain long, preferring theblue depths of ocean to the muddy bottoms of tidal rivers, for they arerock-haunting and surf-loving.
Of late years the northern bar harbours and rivers of New South Waleshave been visited by a fish that in my boyhood's days was unknown evento the oldest fisherman--the bonito. Although in shape and size theyexactly resemble the ocean bonito of tropic seas, these new arrivals arelighter in colour, with bands of marbled grey along the sides andbelly. They bite freely at a running bait--i.e., when a line is towedastern--and are very good when eaten quite fresh, but, like all of themackerel tribe, rapidly deteriorate soon after they are caught. Themajority of the coast settlers will not eat them, being under the ideathat, as they are all but scaleless, they are 'poisonous.' This sillyimpression also prevails with regard to many other scaleless fish onthe Australian coast, some of which, such as the trevally, are among thebest and most delicate in flavour. The black and white rock cod is alsoregarded with aversion by the untutored settlers of the small coastsettlements, yet these fish are sold in Sydney, like the schnapper, atprohibitive prices.
In conclusion, let me advise anyone who is contemplating a visit toAustralia, and means to devote any of his time to either river or lakefishing, to take his rods with him; all the rest of his tackle he canbuy as cheap in the colonies as he can in England. Rods are but littleused in salt-water fishing in Australia, and are terribly expensive tobuy. Those who do use a rod are usually satisfied with a bamboo--avery good rod it makes, too, although inconvenient to carry whentravelling--but the generality of people use hand lines. And the visitormust not be persuaded that he can get really good river fishing withoutgoing some distance from Sydney or Melbourne. That there is someexcellent sport to be obtained in Port Jackson in summer is true, but itis lacking in a very essential thing--the quietude that is dear to theheart of every true fisherman.