Open Writing

My husband and I are both what is termed 'frying pan fishermen', meaning if you can't eat it don't bother trying to catch it!

How well I remember my introduction to the art of using rod and line. Having made my first cast it was with great excitement I reported a bite as soon as the bait hit the water. My husband was totally disbelieving but told me to reel my line in anyway. To my great excitement there was a flapping fish on my hook. Don did not seem as congratulatory as I expected and told me that I had more to learn than even he expected. He explained that no one ever caught a mullet on worm bait complete with sinker. I have never repeated the offence in the following thirty-five years of piscine activity and it did not prevent my enjoyment of my first catch eaten for supper that evening.

When we first arrived on Bribie from the UK, thirty-five years ago, catching supper was important. I was pregnant and Don kept missing out on better and better jobs. We were living in the family beach shack, money was short but life was idyllic. Meals mainly consisted of fish such as whiting, sole, flathead, bream and tailor we caught ourselves; tomatoes from a local farm at 5c per pound; bread from the small island bakery and an occasional flagon of wine. We had a leaky boat with very heavy oars and that meant that while Don fished I bailed. Needless to say we did not go far from shore.

Eventually Don got a job in the city, our two children were born and fishing was sadly confined to weekends and holidays. We did, however, buy a new boat and fishing became a real family event. In that time our children learned how to pick up the yabbies (ghost-shrimps) we pumped for bait, how to manage hand lines without incredible tangles and to recognise the different kinds of fish. When they were older they learnt how to use a rod and line, the art of rod binding, the safe use of a knife, and they joined that coterie of kids known as 'jetty rats'.

Now our children have grown up and gone to the 'Big Smoke' in search of fame and fortune and it is Don and I, alone again, who go fishing.

There is nothing more wonderful than to be out in the early morning on a mirror-like sea heading for 'our spot'. On the way out we keep an eye open for the dolphin, turtles and dugongs that are common in these waters. When we are in the 'right place' we begin our drift, baiting our hooks with squid, worm, prawn, yabbies or whatever the fish seem to be biting on. Generally it is 'winter' or 'diver' whiting that we after—not big fish but very sweet. As I told my brother-in-law from the Northern Territory, 'Any fool can catch big fish. It takes skill to catch the little ones'.

On a good morning we can catch a hundred or so of these delicious little fish along with the odd flounder or flathead within a couple of hours. Then it is time to head home where the work will begin. First the scaling, then the filleting, then the belly boning so that each fillet is guaranteed to be bone free. When this is done I pack for the freezer, leaving some fresh fish for the evening meal.

Last of all I take the skeletons on to the beach and throw one or two into the sea. This attracts the seagulls. Their cries attract the notice of other birds and it is not long before we have terns, ibis and pelicans joining the green clean up.

We get to enjoy the fruits of our labour later when the fish hit the frypan and are then served on our plates along with lemon juice from our own lemon tree. Perfect!

© Elaine Lutton