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Kontiki|7th
October 2005
..................................Eels
and Fishes Ross
Baby kumara looks: 'where the big fishes are'.
I have always liked the idea of fishing using a kontiki, but the first
time I ever set one myself was after I talked to some old timers on
the beach at Coromandel. The old timers had buses they lived in, and
arrived at the beach in convoy. For reasons I don’t understand,
people who buy a bus to get away from it all, often do it in a big group.
They had a couple of kontiki’s launched from the middle of the
beach. It was around noon on a fine January day, lots of kids playing
in the sand. I like to talk to people engaged in activity on the beach,
so I resolved to go up and say hello.
They were real friendly people so I assumed they weren’t from
my town, Auckland. Over the last five or so years, the culture at our
beach and various other holiday spots has been changing as more wealthy
Aucklander’s have gobbled up the properties which they could laud
and call ‘investments’. I wouldn’t care too much,
but they have brought their own manners and expectations with them and
some have attempted to convert the beach into another central Auckland
suburb. Fences have been erected, as have barriers between people.
I will always say ‘gidday’ to a person on a beach but many
of the newcomers can walk by someone on the beach and not even say a
word. They will even look away before you pass, under some lousy pretence,
so that they don’t have to even make eye contact. I find it irritating
and it gnaws at me for a number of reasons, most of them involving the
loss of a way of life that I associate strongly with being a ‘kiwi’.
If they want to come down here and blight the countryside with their
garish new erections they could at least try to be civil to the people
who have been here most of their lives.
One day a women was walking her dog and complained about my fishing
habits on the foreshore. She had a 'mullet' hairdo and earings from
the 80’s, for a second there I thought she was the Sunday Star
Times food critic Geraldine Johns (also from the 80's) but she managed
to be offensive, without once slagging food.
I say ‘walking her dog’ but the thing was such a fluffy
runt she carried it in her arms, in case it was mugged by a crab.
As she walked by, obviously frustrated she had to step over my line,
she stood on my marvellous grappling wire rocket sinker.
”What the hell! I could of hurt my foot” she said, by way
of introduction.
”you shouldn’t be doing that here!”
My pleasant disposition, nurtured by my time on the seashore dissappeared,
and I was forced to resort to suppressed saracasm.
“Where should I be doing it? In my lounge in town?”
The cheek of it. I should have yelled at her for standing on my favourite
sinker.
She walked away with her stupid miniature trophy dog, cursing under
her breath. She would probably call OSH and try and get me shut down.
The bus oldies were more than happy to have a yarn and were pleased
when I asked about the Kontiki.
Even though I understood how the thing worked, I didn’t let on
as they patiently explained the principles involved.
”The rope holds the sail up and it is secured by a lolly. The
action of the water on the lolly slowly melts it and then the sail goes
down. That makes it easy to haul it in”
”As long as the wind is offshore the kontiki can be carried out,
beyond the breakers where the big fish are”
’Where the big fish are’ had got my attention cause I like
my food, I like my fish, and I - love - my - snapper.
We went home to get the various bits and pieces that make up the kontiki
and by the time we returned they were hauling their rigs in. Even though
they didn’t catch a fish we wanted to launch our boat anyway,
just to surmount the challenge.
On our launch team was my old mate, raconteur Little Ross Hollands and
his family. We had a bloody shocker of a launching and we had to go
home and get the kayak to complete the task. My poor relationship with
the vessel ‘kayak’ is well known and the source of great
hilarity - so Mrs K said she would paddle the line out.
Little Ross said “she’s very competent isn’t she mate”
I could embellish the story a little and say that; I clutched my heart,
a lone tear running down my cheek and said with impressive gravitas
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"One day, my old friend, that woman will be my wife"
but it wouldn't be true.
I probably said "I'm glad she's doing that. It would bloody bugger
me"
After all that effort, when the line was pulled to shore the hooks were
bare. No one cared, it had been fun, and I knew we would be back for
more.
That night a mate from Dunedin, Sean, arrived and over a few beers we
talked about the days failure.
I isolated a couple of problems; We never usually caught fish in the
middle of the day and we always caught them closer to the rocks on the
southern end of the beach.
The bus people had been nice, but I had something that could give a
fisherman a particular advantage - local knowledge.
The next day two hours before sunset we carted the stuff down the beach,
closer to the rocks and set the small yacht adrift. It went out a good
800 metres, right across the point. The theory was, we would intercept
the fish as they cruised the coastline with an unavoidable line of delicacies.
‘mmmm squid and bonito cocktail’ they would say ‘
lets eat’
A local woman came along and chatted with us as we pulled the line in.
While sending the Kontiki out is difficult, and can be tricky, the exciting
bit is bringing it in. What will be on the line? How many? Where did
I leave my beer?
You have to have your shit together too, because as they reach the shallows
they can get off the line and escape conspicuous consumption.
As the first hooks appeared we knew we had some fish on them. We all
got very excited and I ran down to the shoreline to kill the fish without
a knife.
What was I going to do - bore them to death? I could tell them about
the lady with the miniature dog, with the ear rings.
There were some snapper on the line and also Gurnard.
Gurnard are absurdly pretty and have rainbow coloured gossamer wings.
“They can fly, gurnard” said the local lady. “some
are known as sea robin”
When I went to stick the knife into the damn gurnards head, the wings
would come out and then it would start to moan. The more I tried to
push the knife in, the more attractive it would become and the louder
it would moan.
The local lady came over, pushed me aside and killed the beautiful fish
without pretence or ceremony.
In that cold practical manner, that rural people can often speak she
said. “Watch the bones on Gurnard”
When we got back to the house I filleted one of the snapper and cooked
it in butter in a pan. We ate it on white bread.
It was some of the best fish I had ever eaten and I knew me and the
kontiki had started some sort of lifelong love affair.
Last weekend Mrs K and I got the thing out again. Because the wife was
pregnant and all, we weren’t going to get too ambitious. But we
were going to the beach anyway so I figured while we were idling time
away on the sand we might as well chance our arm.
The waves were a bit high so I had to get into the water to get it out
past the first set of waves. Just when I thought we were all right,
a large freak wave came in and I had to lift the kon tiki high above
my head to save it. My sunglasses were knocked off and I was soaked
through. I dug my feet into the sand and when the waves had passed I
dived under and found the sunglasses. But the boat was underway. By
the time I got back to shore Mrs K was already feeding hooks, competently,
onto the line.
The tricky part of the launch is to get past the waves.
This launch was almost thwarted when the boat was becalmed in between
the first set and the second range of waves. But a stout breeze came
up and carried the boat away. After all the hooks were on the line,
the wind slowly hauled the rig seaward. We sat down on the sand to do
the crossword in the paper but soon a huge gust came up. The paper blew
away into the water, and Clue 12 down - 8 letters 'fair description
of a reasonable examination' was gone, sadly unanswered.
Tragically, at sea the huge wind had flipped the kontiki end over end.
Even though it wasn’t out far we decided to leave it out while
we took in some sun. After a while I was bored with my book .. and thought
about pulling the line in.
”it’s still early maybe we should set it again?”
”We don’t have anymore lollies”
”oh yeah”
I went for a walk towards the rocks and before I had gone twenty feet
saw a Worthers Original lying on the sand in it’s wrapper. I picked
it up, and threw it to Mrs K.
“What are the fucking chances”
Mrs k and I both being superstitious and portentous bastards said as
one;
“it’s a sign”
The second launch was a textbook performance and one we could be proud
of. The small boat travelled out well but was let down by the Worthers
Original, which I had expect to put in a stately, resolute, entirely
british performance; like an old reliable grandad, but it dissolved
prematurely.
“A soft jube would shit on that thing”
We only got one fish but it was bloody good one. An excellent snapper.
“Fish for dinner, Mrs Kumara” I said.
“Passable” said the wife.
“Passable!! Fresh Snapper” I said, shocked.
“No. The crossword. 12 down, 'fair description of a reasonable
examination' ..
”Passable”
Yup, very passable indeed.
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