RONNIE #4 Lots of secret men's business in FISHN', OH, lets not forget the girls. My Mum had the patience of a rock, she was, lets say, fond of fishing. She could bait up, cast out, land a fish, AND, clean a fish like any bloke. Some where in BORN IN THE BUSH is a little story about my dear old Mum. She hooks into a humungous Flathead at SHORES BAY near Ballina, she fights it. She lands it, she scale sand cleans it, and she cooks it for tea, what sort of country girl is she? As you have gauged we travelled widely, we fished in fresh water and in the briny, fishing is good fun. NEVER TAKE BANANAS, FE-MALES TO SEA, NEVER WHISTLE ON THE BOAT. Ron and I returned from fishing this day, crappy bar mouth but OK for the big SHARKCAT, run in tide you see. We had been out since day break. Cruising up stream we spotted some friends on the little TORAKINA BEACH, Ron decides to meander in and have a chat. "Hey Margaret, want a ride in the boat, just go up to the break walls and have a look". This will be a big mistake. Now Ronnie is not all that experienced in crossing the bar, he has been very diligent up to this point. Always take a long hard look and use the utmost care. Time your run and be prepared for the ‘rouge' wave, (and hang on). So, with a girl on board, we immediately adopt the masculine protection syndrome, sailors are like that. We throttle slowly towards the dreaded river entrance, and then the wosis hits the whatis, Ron is going to have a go and put us through the bastard. I mentioned the exit to sea was ordinary, Ron seems somewhat ‘gung ho', he hits the throttles at the most inopportune time, the first wave breaks in front, up we go. The second wave is our downfall; we crash into it at half throttle. Untold gallons of water drive us up and backwards, the twin motors are driven backwards into the sandy bottom, we are in deep trouble. At an angle of almost perpendicular, everything or person not hanging on will be driven backwards. Margret and I end up in the stern of the boat. Me trying to protect her from going over the back. Prognosis; one motor stuffed, the other is spluttering. Somehow we manage to get back inside the bar mouth, our passenger is frantic, she has cuts and abrasions, but not as wounded as Ronnie's pride. We tidy her up and deposit her back to her family on TORAKINA, THE BIG SHARKCAT with its tail between its legs lumbers up stream to the boat ramp. Result; port side motor, hub stripped of props. Result; hundreds of dollars in repairs, including downtime. Result; damaged pride. Result; damaged girl. So that is why you never take girls to sea. KENNA HORA, the evil eye, we were blind.  BANANAS, WHY. Have not got a clue. Bananas? But something going down soft comes up soft. But I can tell you that when you eat bananas on a boat you will never catch a fish, maybe the odor on the line? Could they be obnoxious to fish, after all they are a fungus, like mushrooms. Equivalence; Girls used to call me "mushroom", I was a FUNGI to be with. Possibly a correct analogy is; "they keep me in the dark and feed me on bullshit". WHISTLE ON MY BOAT, BUGGER OFF BUDDY. God there is so many superstitions. Every day this obscure bloke would say a prayer, like to hear mine? "God, let me travel to harvest your abundance, let me travel in safety, let me return to my family in peace, my God will protect me." I will never know why, some say that whistling energizes the KENNA HORA, THE STORMS AND TEMPEST, the Evil Eye can hear the whistle, so why tempt providence? THE MAN FROM THE T.A.B. (AND OLD ‘WALLEYE') About the time of RONNIE AND ME AND THE BIG SHARKCAT, some friends of mine had "their" encounter with old WALLEYE. Johnnie Seimar, and the Highland man from the local Betting Shop, was out off Brunswick Heads doing a spot of fishing. John's boat was a Jet powered 16 / 17 foot boat, originally owned, if my memory serves correct by "Sonny" Coles. SONNY (SUNHILL) COLES. I must describe our old mate Sonny before I progress; He was well known and respected in the Brunswick Valley was Sonny. He was a builder of note and a very keen fisherman; I met him and his family in the early days of arriving in Brunswick Heads. Jenny, Claudette and ‘Stewie' were his children; Jeannie was the Mum, the second best "Fowler Vacola" country women I have met. Sadly Sonny passed away a couple of years ago. He was honored by the construction of a picnic shelter down by the Boat Ramp. If you're in town have a BBQ lunch at his water frontage new house, maybe throw a line in. Great bloke Sonny Coles, I still see Jeannie and the Kids from time to time, good people. Well I don't know if the man from the TAB had ventured too sea very much, and after this "encounter" may have not ventured again. Just to describe the boat a little: the motor was inboard; the pump was direct coupled to the motor. The nozzle and directional gear were out board. The nozzle was protected by a heavy gauge sheet aluminum guard. The way that the story unfolds will be traumatic for the Jet Boat crew, although for some a certain amount of humor will be distinguished by your writer. "We were just drifting, had the rods out, and waiting for a ‘bite", as John describes. "And then this bloody great brown bastard with a head as wide as the boat swims up from the depths. The bastard swims around the boat; he comes up to the back of the boat and latches on to bloody guard covering the jet nozzle". As John goes on relate: "its huge jaw has opened displaying these gigantic teeth, you could hear the grinding and tearing. The boat is being shaken by the action of this huge animal". All they could do was hang on and hope the boat stayed afloat. "The big prick seemed to back off and spit out the aluminum guard like an orange pip, it circled the boat one more time then seemed to slide back down in the depths". Yeah that's right; "the big mongrol had a bung eye", OLD WALLEYE. The completion of this story will be in my words, John and the TAB man's adjectives and analogy are a little word ‘graphic'. So what is happing to the crew while this traumatic saga is unfolding? John insists he was perfectly calm, while the big man from Glasgow was frantic, frenetic, and just plain anxious. He is described as having been semi-hysterical, he "wants to go home", he, "thinks fishing sucks", words suggesting; "where's my mother" John clearly remembers. All this time the mighty "highland man is lying on the deck of the boat". To this day, "the deck of the boat still bears the imprints of Bobbie, (operative word), Balfour's heal marks" Now I must relate to you a couple of facts about this man, he was a member of the Police Force, he will have witnessed some truly life threatening incidents, he will have faced danger, but this was too much. Bob, Jonnie Mckeag and I can attest to your dilemma, we were petrified as were you, (grammar?), but "where's my mummy?". NOTE: Several of my narrative has been "tracked down" over the WWW, should you ‘stumble' upon this story old mate, have my regards to you and your dear wife Val, your family, fond memories.

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