FISHING

It is assumed by many of my friends and other folk, that have come to know me over the years, that I am a keen fisherman.  I would have to admit that I do give out this impression but it is really not true!!  Like the alcoholic or smoker or the addicted gambler or the sex maniac, I can't control this drive in me, that forces me, when I am in the proximity of water that looks like a fishy environment, to drop a line in, so to speak.  In support of this aspect of my inherent character that seems to be beyond my control, most of my friends and other folk that have known me over many years, will attest to the fact that I don't readily eat fish, especially if there is an alternative food.  Like most of the above mentioned psychosis that people self inflict themselves with, I am aware of my particular mania, and even the episode that I am going to unfold to you in the following paragraphs, has so far failed to dampen this lustiness for wetting a line.  

Some years back I did manage to start to find a way to at least control this fishing habit, a little.  I discovered that by attaching a bell on the end of the rod, overcame the necessity of watching the rod or rods constantly. One positive aspect of this significant development was, now I could practice three, out of the other four manias, mentioned above, while fishing, or any other activity as long as I was in hearing range of the bell. As long as deafness doesn't inflict it's disposition on my ears, I can live an almost normal existence beside water.  

Before relating this tale it does need to be pointed out that there is NO way I could live and function on a boat without the humble tinkling bell, so I am eternally grateful to the persons who developed this technology and in doing so allowed this addicted fishing maniac, to live the life he does on the Murray River.

This fishing story that I have managed to put to paper is about one that didn't get away!  I was moored on my boat just upstream of Barmah.  Before I can start to describe this battle that took place not so long ago in the dead of the night as the heavens were pouring rain, while thunder clapped and lightening flashed, there is a need to put some background detail in place, for although I know some of you know me well, not every body, would be aware of all the contributing factors.

I sleep in the nude!  Why I asked myself after this experience?  This was a question that needs to be explored and I still don't have an answer!   I remember wearing pyjamas up to about the time I lost my virginity.  Now wouldn't a behavioural Scientist have a time of it, doing a doctorate and using that for a thesis, or a psychologist working with my head, but it is relevant to this story, that I sleep in the nude.

Mother Nature who I think should replace all the Gods that people worship, gets most things right most of the time, but every now and again seems to make a mess of this world in which we live.  Mosquitoes;  Why did she ever allow Mosquitoes to exist?  What good are they?  Trying to keep a positive outlook on life is not too bad, but Mosquitoes are definitely a negative.  They do exist on the Murray River.  Fortunately Mother Nature did lay down some laws for them to follow.  They are supposed to sleep in the daytime and make a nuisance of themselves at night.  At night if a person needs to go outside it pays to tie one end of a life line to any object that is solid like a tree, and the other end securely around the waist.  This ensures that if the mosquitoes attack in mass, they can't carry you away.  The point here that I am trying to make, is that although life on the Murray River is great, like most things it's not perfect all of the time.

Late one evening, not so long ago, as is normal practice for most folk who don't work shift work, I was preparing to go to bed.  I have learnt over the years from first hand experience that females have an inbuilt right to change their minds.  Now Mother Nature being the supreme example of a female, is probably where this idiosyncrasy stems from.  She is an incontestable example of a female, for illustrating this.  On this particular evening in question she was looking like promising a rain free night.  The stars were shining bright and not a breath of wind could be detected.  A premonition of being betrayed by a fickle female came to me, and in any case, I had heard the weather forecast, so I took precautions and battened down the boat, to save me having to get out of bed in the rain, in the nude, among the mosquitoes.  As I took off my clothes and climbed into bed I smiled inwardly anticipating lying in bed and listening to the sound of rain on the cabin roof, knowing I could stay there.  Low and behold, sometime much later in the night I awoke to the gentle patter patter of rain drops on the cabin roof and I snuggled deeper into the bed thinking, it's nice to be right once in a while.   Then the pleasant sound of the rain on the roof was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell on the end of the rod and the thought did occur to me, this needs investigating but that thought was quickly replaced with the thought it can wait, until the morning.  More proof that I'm not really a keen fisherman!  I lay there happy, half asleep being serenaded by the quiet staccato of the rain and then the bell rang, instead of just tinkling, and then it rang again and I was slightly more than half awake.  I was not getting out of bed not me. 

The reel suddenly screamed as line was ripped off its spool and things were starting to become more pertinent and a nagging suspicion was starting to get through to me, I may just have to drag myself out of bed, in the rain, in the nude, among the mosquitoes, in the middle of the night. Another scream emitted from the reel and another twenty odd meters of line was won, by what ever was hooked and I knew I was getting up whether I wanted to, or not.

I did forget to mention earlier the subject of crocodiles.  Crocodiles have never been recorded as being found in the Murray River by modern man, in writing.  Many is the skipper, who will jest with passengers about watching their step, in case the crocodiles get them, as they embark and disembark from the grand old paddle steamers that still manage to earn an income from the tourists plying their trade on the river.  Aboriginal art work does depict crocodiles though, but none of these painting have been found in the vicinity of the Murray River.  This little diversion, summed up means, that what ever was ripping the line off the reel, should not be a crocodile.

The reel screamed again and out of my bed I climbed.  The adrenaline was building up as a Murray Cod became a strong possibility.  Now the Murray Cod is the ultimate fish to catch on the Murray River.  In the days past, before Kilograms and Grams became the standard for measuring weights, these fish were caught weighing more than a hundred Pounds.  The old timers along the river will tell you that you can't convert the weight of these fish to kilograms as there isn't enough kilograms to convert them too!  The scourge of the Murray River is the European Carp and they can become quite heavy as well but they are cursed rather that eaten.  A carp weighing more that twenty kilograms would be unusual.  Naked I advanced to the cabin door.  The noise of the mosquitoes increased as they detected a feed , approaching through the fly screen.  Talk about sharks in a feeding frenzy.  The rain kept falling and thunder was rumbling in the distance along with flashes of lightening.  The reel screamed again and through the door I went like a shot, to tackle this monster, attached securely I hoped on the end of the line.

Finding the rod in the dark was effortless.  The reel was red hot and glowing from the friction on the drag.  Picking the rod up and the first thing comprehensible was the weight on the end of the line.  On reflection I should had tied a life line around me to ensure I wasn't hauled overboard or carried off by the mosquitoes.  What ever it was it had to be a monster.  Malaria, Ross River Fever and many other nasties are carried by mosquitoes but for once I knew this was a battle worth winning no matter what the consequences.  To cut the suspense down a little I will condense the hour long battle down to a few sentences and apart from a little rain on the head I survived the ordeal OK, at least health wise.  I hauled this monstrosity towards the boat slowly and every now and again it won a little line back.  A few times it went sideways across the river like a kite does in the wind and each time it did this, I was able to turn it and bring it back.  Near the end I had it on the surface at the back of the boat and only just under control.  A timely flash of lightening sizzled through the rain and illuminated the water for part of a second.  I should have said "heifers dust" but I didn't.  Four letter words are much more appropriate and they left my lips spontaneously as the brain tried to comprehend the sight on the surface of the water, before my eyes.  A snout, a bloody long snout with two small bulges at the end and two more at where the base of the snout started.  A meter back a tapering tail, and darkness replaced the illumination as the lightening earthed.  A shocked and terrified feeling went up and down my spine as logic could not explain the sight and then the pressure on the line increased and the drag on the reel once again gave off another excruciating scream and I lost some line to the snout.  Thinking in the nude while being attacked by mosquitoes was slow but I knew if this was a crocodile history was in the making.  I jammed the rod in rod holder and quickly retrieved a torch from the cabin.  I needed to take look at this fighting creature on the end of the line and the only way I was going to do that was to put a light on the subject.  Another ten minutes or so and I had the brute up to the boat again and then I switched on the light to take a close look, at a safe distance, to see what was the cause of me to be up on such a night, unattired.

I do need to apologize but I neglected to elucidate the meaning of "Foul Hooked", when it pertains to fishing.  I wish it had to do with catching poultry but be reassured it does not.  If a fish is hooked anywhere but in the mouth is considered foul hooked.  If by chance a fish is hooked in the tail or some place between the gills and the tail it is many times harder to control and a small fish will give the impression it is much heavier than what it is, in reality.  Imagine trying to ride a horse and attaching the reins to the tail or the back.  The effect would be the horse would be free to go where ever, when ever it wanted!

The first and most obvious impression that I comprehended was that this snout with the tail, was foul hooked, that close to the centre of its being, that it did not matter.  Most of the drag and direction of this epic struggle was caused by the current of the river pushing on this two metre monster.  Under the steady beam of the torch the second thing I noticed was this creature had no eyes or movement in its body.

The third thing that came to me as a shock and did cause some profanities to escape, was this thing was actually a crocodile shaped log. From the above I have learnt and credited myself with the following words of wisdom. "It is better to log the fish you catch, than to fish for a log". And I cried.