CARNARVON - THE TALE OF A BIG FISH (SEPTEMBER 2014)

Now you will have to agree, it ha been quite some time since I played with a pun or two, but I'm afraid the heading of this blog was too much to resist.  All will be come clear shortly.

I have previously made mention of Cheryl and Brian Watson (Brian is universally known as 'Watto'...by everyone including his wife), a couple we first met in Busselton last November. They have recently taken occupancy of one of the permanent cabins sites here at The Plantation.  Like all sensible folk from the Great Southern, they have chosen to winter each year in Carnarvon to escape the icy blasts which thump into the south-western corner of WA with monotonous regularity throughout the traditionally cooler months. 

For some time now Watto had been promising to take me fishing. We did share one day on the One Mile, but I have already lamented my loss of a mackerel that day. The plan for our next effort involved a sortie to the boat harbour channel which featured in my last missive. But this time we would be armed with something more than just the camera.

With the Watto ute loaded with big rods and heavy rigs and our lunch and drinks, our first port of call was the local IGA where the necessary 'mulies' went into the bait box.  These sardines are the bait of choice when chasing the biggies....mulloway, mackerel, shark and so on.

In no time we were at the channel where, for a time, our plans went somewhat astray, but more of that later. Leaders attached, ganged hooks loaded with mulies, and we were fishing.  To my real annoyance, I had forgotten to pack the camera, so unfortunately there is no pictorial record of this part of the day.

Let's therefore fast forward somewhat.  After a few false starts with the capture of a few undersized estuary cod, my rod became very heavy. "It doesn't feel like a fish, Watto". There was a good reason for that....it wasn't.  

After something of a struggle I pulled in a very acceptable local mud crab. Normally these very tasty and much sought after crustaceans will spit the bait and hook once pressure is applied to the line, but this fellow had managed to well and truly hook itself...he was mine!

As this later shot shows, this hard nut was not one to treat with anything other than extreme caution in the unhooking process. Large muddies have been known to snap the necks off beer bottles if given the chance. Whilst this chap was not quite of that size, he had claws sufficiently large to break a finger.  The transfer from hook to bucket was managed very carefully.

Well, not quite what we came for, but a very acceptable alternative. Again my rod tip fluttered, and again the excitement levels rose....could this be a mulloway?

Only in my dreams. A barely legal flathead had met its doom.

We persevered as all good fishermen do. A few more undersized cod were returned to the channel with regret. These are very good table fish but no fish is worth the ire of the local fishing inspectors, or more to the point, their (entirely appropriate) power to enforce the fishing regulations with fines and equipment confiscation.

And then the moment we had been waiting for.  Watto's rod tip had a massive convulsion.... it was on. Now Watto uses a stick to aid his walking. He has a nasty malfunctioning hip, but never have you seen a bloke with a crook hip move so fast. His speed out of his fishing chair to his rod holder would have left Usain Bolt still in the blocks.

Fortunately his reel was loaded with braid (that will mean nothing to any of you who don't fish.....it is a very strong form of line).  As his long beach rod was bending almost double, Watto ground away on his reel....this was no time for finesse.  Our first sighting was imminent.

And then we had our fist glimpse.  "Marshie, we've hit the jackpot, it's a shark", Watto panted. "Mate, grab the gaff and get ready".  I too could see fins which did nothing to encourage me to enter the water. "You don't really expect me to wade in and gaff a bloody thrashing shark with this short handled gaff, do you?"  "Mate, stop sooking...it's a shovel nose....no teeth".  "I'll take your word for it Watto."

I could soon see that Watto was right. An odd looking fish but a very acceptable capture. Setting the gaff in just the right spot behind the bone of this fish's very large head was something of a fluke I suspect, but I'm proud to say I managed first time and was able, just, to haul the understandably reluctant shark onto the sand without either injury or a dip.

And this is what we had caught.

To provide some idea of size, I've again resorted to the Internet where this photo is pretty close to the mark. As you can see, the head of these fish is enormous, but of no use.

Again, Watto went into action at warp speed.  Off came the head, the fins and the tail. We bled out the shark, gutted it and into a bag and under the mangrove shade went the tail section (I don't really have to spell it out, do I?). "Are these good eating, Watto?"  "Mate, you just wait and see."

After all this excitement we had a breather and then boxed on for an hour or so more, but our day was done.  Small estuary cod soon become annoying. We had more than enough in the bag under the mangroves for many good feeds. It was time to head back to the park and the fish cleaning table.

But that presented just one small problem. In his enthusiasm to back the ute onto our chosen fishing beach, Watto had managed to leave the ground, with one wheel at least. I had predicted our fate, but my yell of caution was too late.

We were seriously bogged, with no shovel and no ropes. After one vain attempt to claw the sand away from the two nearside wheels and blast our way out, with me heaving on the tray, we gave up and went fishing. I knew that the heavy duty tow rope I had carted all over the countryside for the past year and a half was about to come into its own when it was time to go home.

Liz duly arrived in the afternoon with the cruiser and I went to work. Here I must admit that I'd spent some time before her arrival practising tying a bowline knot, the only one to use in these circumstances. As all who have sailed with me will attest, you never let Marshie even think about tying off a sail...it will be even money that it will end up in the drink with the first puff of wind....embarrassing but true!

But fortunately I had retained the theory, and I am proud to say managed to tie off both vehicles with a bowline on one and a clove hitch on the other. And, of course, heaving the ute out of the sand was a doddle for the cruiser's big thumping V8.

Mind you , it was easy to see where we had been and why we had come to grief. All part of the fun!

But for now it was back to the park and the fish cleaning table to deal with this fine piece of shark meat.  Watto set to work whilst I regaled the gathering inevitable crowd of envious onlookers with a modesty I did not feel in the slightest.....this was the biggest bloody fish I'd ever been involved in helping to catch! 

After a quick washout

out came Watto's serious knives, and it was down to work. Along the back bone he cut

until it was time for me to actually do something useful...help pull the first side (it would be be ridiculous to call this a fillet) away from the bone. This was a serious hunk of fish, and there was another to come.

With both slabs off the back bone, it was time to get down to the fine tuning. I was amazed to find just how much flesh could be taken off the rack of the backbone...tasty little morsels just right for an entree. Nothing was wasted.

Our share was a very heavy plateful of bone free slabs of dense white fish.

All that remained was a final trim the following morning and packing the fillet sized pieces of shark away in the freezer. Again, all the trimmed bits were saved, and, as we discovered at a later staff BBQ, crumbed and fried, they proved to be a delicious way to precede the main meal.

But what of the crab, I hear you call. I was fortunate to be the recipient of advice from Ray, Tina's (the cleaner) husband, a native of Rockhampton who knows his way around muddies.

"Don't cook it whole....take off the back shell first, give it a good clean out and then ten minutes in heavily salted boiling water will do the trick."  He was dead right. Oh, I did pop Mr Mudcrab in the freezer for an hour first. Apart from ensuring that it did not suffer unduly, I was more than happy to know that its claws were no longer functional as I prepared it for the pot.

The end result was a triumph.  Perfectly cooked crab meat with a minimum of fuss. (see what I meant about the claws!)

As with all crabs, even this muddie did not provide a huge mount of meat, but once cleaned out, shredded and mixed with lemon juice and mayonnaise, we had the basis for delightful 'crab on jatz' canapes.  This was serious hunter/gatherer stuff, from go to whoa. On the basis of the end result for time expended, forget it, but what the heck, this is what life on the road is all about.  I had learnt yet another good lesson, and I did have the time.

Watto and I are planning another sortie later next week.  With six large packs of fine shark in the freezer (and one delicious feed already under out belts...literally), you might think that the outcome of this next trip would not be of as much interest.....if you do, you have never fished!