Fishing - excitement at sea

When I was a child growing up in the Marlborough Sounds we used to go out in a slow noisy launch called Cobber, which my father looked after for a friend.  My recollections are vague but I do remember the purpose of these slow trips was to catch blue cod, which in my father’s firmly held opinion were the only fish on the planet worth eating.  We would fish with a hand line and would only go home when we had a rubbish bin full of fish.  The only fish that were kept were blue cod and any too small were thrown back.  We would then feast for days on the catch, as there was no freezer.

 In my twenties, Dad bought a 16ft runabout that he promptly named after my mother. This was a much faster way to get down the sounds to the best fishing.  There were no bag limits at that time and we come back with a bin full of fish; primarily blue cod, but also gurnard, terakihi and Maori chiefs.  Gurnard and the Maori chiefs were regarded as only good for fertiliser and they would be quickly dispatched along with bones and skin of the filleted blue cod and terakihi. 

By the nineties the size of the blue cod that could be caught had been specified and bag limits were imposed.  A few years ago I went out several times to the outer edges of the sounds and was lucky if I came back with any fish at all.  Over fishing had all but destroyed the fishery.  Then in the mid 2000s a moratorium was put in place to help the fish recover and more recently the fishery was reopened for a period of time and a limit of two blue cod per person with a size limit was allowed.

The boat that Dad bought is still with the family even though he is long deceased. 

Bev had only gone fishing as a child so she was keen for me to take her on a trip while we were in Picton.  As the weather was going to be reasonable on the day after our arrival from Christchurch I decided we go fishing.  I   recently had the engine serviced so I was confident that it would continue to reliably get us down to Tory Channel where the predicted northerly wind would be less. 

It was a very sunny and calm morning when I launched the boat.  The engine started easily and I eased out of the wharf and proceeded to the entrance of marina, but just before I got there a siren came on.  The dials showed that there was sufficient oil and there were no other lights on. The only thing I could think of was that the engine was overheating.  So I limped back to the wharf and tied up.  Fortunately the outboard engine mechanic was in his workshop and he very kindly came down to the boat, worked his magic, and pronounced it safe to take fishing. 

It took us about 45 minutes to get to a fishing spot in Tory Channel and put our lines out.  I showed Bev how to let it out and just before I was about to put my line down she said, “The rod is moving what does that mean?”

I quickly felt it and said, “you have caught a fish - reel it in!”

“How?” was the reply (she had not used a rod before). 

“Turn that handle and quickly because you will lose it!”

The weight of the fish suggested that it was a good size and after much huffing and puffing it was reeled in and in the boat, and we had our first legal sized fish.

“What do I do now?” 

“I’ll take it off the hook for you,” I replied. 

This proved to be the pattern for rest of our time fishing, with Bev hauling up fish after fish, most a reasonable size.  I felt exactly like my father must have, doing the same thing when he went fishing with the family.  He caught virtually no fish or had no time to fish, as he was always busy taking them off hooks for others or repairing lines that got snagged. 

I managed to get one fish of a legal size and several which had to go back into the water, which a patrolling shag (of the cormorant family) got at least one because neither I nor the fish was smart enough. 

When we had our limit we headed back to Waikawa.  The wind had strenghten a bit since we left but because Tory Channel is sheltered from the northerly it was relatively calm.  About fifteen minutes or so into the journey the engine suddenly lost power and I thought one of the tanks had run out of fuel.  I switched over tanks but when I continued I discovered I still had no power and it was clear from the sound of the engine that it was only running on two of three cylinders.  My initial thought (because I am not mechanically minded) was that it was a blown cylinder (I was to discover later it was anything but that).  I became a little worried because I knew that where Tory Channel met the main channel there was a bit of tidal rip that along with the wind would present some challenging conditions in the manner of quite large and choppy waves.

As the engine seemed to be going ok I proceeded along in the safe knowledge that being a Saturday,  and a holiday period, there were many boats around to help if I got into trouble. 

The catch

The waves when we got to Dieffenbach (where Tory Channel meets with the main channel) were large and confused for a small boat.  I had to keep the boat going into them so that we did not broach. Initially it was not too bad and the engine reliably kept us in the right direction.  As hit we hit some of the larger waves they came up and over the boat drenching Bev with the rather chilly water of the sounds.  I was concentrating too hard to worry about it.  On hitting those large waves the boat almost stopped and I feared that the engine would give out.  Finally we were through the worst of it with a sea that one moment had us surfing and the next had the nose digging in sending spray over both of us.   We tried to attract the attention of a boat full of men with long straggly beards and fishing caps.  I did not want to stop and they looked blankly at us for a while and then just carried on.  I kept within swimming distance of the shore just in case it all really went to custard.  The seas moderated eventually and we slowly got closer to the marina in Waikawa Bay.  The engine did not miss a beat apart from being underpowered so I was thanking the Yamaha motor manufacturers for turning out such a good engine despite running on one cylinder. 

After hauling the boat out of the water and taking it for a hose down, I took the cover off the engine and discovered that a spark plug lead had come off.  Stupid me - I never thought of that.  I put it back on and it sounded as healthy as ever. 

Throughout the drama Bev could not quite make up her mind as to whether to panic or not but she decided that since I did not appear too worried that all would be ok.

It was nice to get back to my mother’s place, fillet the fish, settle down with a glass of wine, recount the excitement of the day and most importantly enjoy a delicious meal of fresh blue cod.