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TERRY AND ME AND THE OLD THE "V SEE".
Terry and his young family resided at the Ferry Reserve Caravan. I had purchased a 25 foot Caravan and annex and was located nearby.
The boys would catch the School bus to nearby Brunz. At this time I was working as an electrical trades assistant, the same bloke from the RED Scheme, Peter Ryan was my employer.
WE ARE ‘SEAFARERS'
Now Terry had been looking around for a small fishing boat, he approached me one day to "have a look at a boat". The vessel was in a used boat yard in Southport in sunny QLD. We ventured, we looked, he bought. A SEAFARER "V SEE", 70 HORSE JOHNSON, 10 hours work, a solid little boat she was.
I had noticed she was / had been a Licensed Fishing Boat, (LFB). This was of particular interest to me. Earn some extra money doing something we both enjoyed? The license was rejuvenated in my name, (4555 LFB), WE WERE GOING TO MAKE OUR FORTUNE.
WELL, IT WAS A'SMALL' FORTUNE
Well now, where do you start. Firstly touch base with the local Fisherman's CO-OP, make our presence known, the pro's are in town. Next we bought some second hand rods and line and the gear that makes up a fisher's life. An old frig cut down and modified as an ice-box, fish tubs on loan from the Co-Op, a compass? Get one later. So let's go and catch some fish, one problem!!
Just about on any day, that is weather permitting and the Bar Mouth was negotiable, the Trawlers and small fishing boats would return home with their bountiful catch. We were thinking; we have to have a piece of the action, the problem? Where do they catch all of this bounty from the Sea? Now this is a real enigma, "fishn' holes" are jealously guarded secrets, as are the little techniques needed to entice fish onto your lines. But after all we are keen, we will get by, we have seen small boats coming home from the "Local" and from ‘out wide' with lovely catches of Spanish Mackerel, and Schnapper and other good stuff. We'll watch what they do.
Previous, I have mentioned that fishing is in every body, I had ventured to sea on many occasions, been to outside spots and caught many a fish, one small problem; the Skipper knew the "marks", we will have to find our own secret places. And we did, eventually!
THE HARD WAY TO LEARN THE ROPES
And so the VSEE took us to places, mostly inshore, in water of about 13 fathoms, we boated the occasional good catch, but nothing to make us famous, (or rich). Slowly we found our own "marks", we learnt, borrowed, asked questions. WE spoke to some of the old blokes, they gave us spots to try. "line up the gun barrel with Norries, the Cod Hill with the drop of Mount Warning, blue roofed house over the last pine tree, the south wall under the Surf Club, the Light House under the Emu Tree". The Cod ground, AKA known as THE WINDARRA BANKS, became a favorite when we ventured in "deep" water. WE got better, which means our catch covered our fuel costs and had a little over from the SYDNEY FISH MARKETS, AND A LITTLE BIT MORE TO FEED OUR FAMILIES. But OH, it is a hard life. At one time the Trawler blokes reckoned; 21/2 days a week is the average for getting out through the notoriously dangerous Brunswick Bar.
BRUNSWICK HEADS, DEADLY PERIL
My poem; BRUNSWICK HEADS, THE ROCKY BOARDWALK, SOUTH, describes it as; "A place where people live and die". Never take this place lightly. Historians illustrate and speak about the trepidation of this place "in the early days of the Timber Getters, many sailors perished crossing this small stretch of water". This awful truth is inherent to this day, many friends have come to grief, some are no longer with us. In retrospect; there but for the grace of God go I. I have my share of close calls, later I will tell about my time in the VRA, MARINE RESCUE. (http://www.brunswickvalley.com.au/historical_society/index.htm)
SOME RESPECT WE GOT
Terry and I learnt a great deal during the time of our great fishing adventure, not unimportantly, about ourselves. "Judgment calls" were a joint effort, like; when to go. When to come home. We gradually built up a reputation; we always took ice to sea, friggin' WHAT. OK, imagine being out on the ocean, catching fish. You could be out there for 6 / 10 hours, imagine again the state of the first fish. The first bugger would be stewed after this, the answer; "BLOODY ICE". Our fish were always fresh, no sunken eyes, crisp, marketable.
Never sold on the ‘BLACK', we paid the handling fee and sent our catch to the MARKETS, OR were sold through the C0-OP STORE.
SNAPPIN' SNAPHEADS.
Eventually we re-discovered the age old secret of "fishing the moon". The sea becomes alive during the full moon phase, generally a day or two before and a day or so after the full moon. Certain times of the year, mostly august, large schools of "conkers" or large Schnapper will frequent in-shore reefs possibly to spawn. Terry and I found a good spot one night.
We would not normally stay out overnight. On one particular occasion and with the kids being baby sit, we decided to try out luck on "the local", and see if we could capitalize, and we did. Although Terry missed some of the action.
BLOODY NODDY.
We had been fishing on the so called nursery, a fairly prominent reef off New Brighton. We had a few on board as the night descended, the moon rose and things tapered off. We had taken some night time marks previous, a little spot inshore that showed some promise.
Lining up shore lights we set the anchor, set our rods and a couple of hand lines and waited. That's when Terry decided to have a little nap on the boat deck. I remained every watchful. There was a few pickers for the first hour or so and then whammo! Every rod and line got hit, rods are bending, ratchets were whirring and hand lines are bouncing around the deck, BUT, Terry slept on. Between yelling for him to wake up and me setting the brakes on the rods I managed to land two big schnapper, still he slept on. I landed another, flopped it on the deck near his face, with one flap of its tail Terry is awake. We landed 10 of these lovely fish and then, and then, their gone. 10 fish, 100lbs, what a pay, we were looked upon early the next morning as "nearly" fisherman.
JIMMY'S GORN' MISSING.
Jimmy Browning was a well known and well respected member of our community. Jimmy was an original settler of the area, I mean 40,000 years ago. He was renowned for fact that he could catch a fish in a bowl of milk.
WE were fishing the WINDARRA BANKS on an overcast day. The sea was flat and oily, and there was reasonable visibility. Not much was happening in the fishing arena, a kingfish here, a trevalley there. Jimmy was close by drifting over the "Peak", the weather started to close, the shore line came and went through thickening misty clouds. We decided to up anchor and to head for home. We waved goodbye to the old man, then a dilemma; the shore she ain't there, she closed out by the lowering clouds, compass? What compass, she'll be right just follow the swell.
We traveled possibly 15mins or more in the misty conditions, THEN, at 90 degrees of our port side Mt Warning broke through for a matter of 2 seconds. WE ARE HEADING FOR BRISBANE. Terry swung the rudder hard to port and we realized the error of our WAVES, (intentional pun).Something that I had always known, but forgot. Waves out wide don't always head for shore, they will emanate from a weather system and flow outwards. They wrap around headlands and shore lines to form shore waves. At most times they may be traveling north or south, rarely straight into shore. Finally we reached a point where shore became more and more visible, we turned to port again not far south of ‘The Black Rocks", 8 miles up the beach from Brunswick Heads.
Jimmy? Didn't see Jimmy for 8 days.
HOW JIMMY BECAME ‘DECK CARGO'
Late that evening word is out; Jimmy Browning hasn't come home, Marine Authorities are notified, every body prepares to go searching at first light. People are frantic, his family are worried to the extreme. Fortunately sea conditions are not bad, has he run out of fuel? Did he do what we did?
All the next day just about every small boat and many of the Trawlers search in vain for the good man, us included, regrettably with negative results. We were possibly the only people to be able to give his last location. Ocean currents and wind was calculated, did he follow the swell? Did he get run down by a large coastal vessel? Where are you Jimmy?
Day 2 of his disappearance comes and goes, and then a report is heard from a Container Vessel heading south; a small fishing boat and it's owner has been recovered, 10 miles ESE OFF EVENS HEAD. The riddle has been solved, Jimmy had decided to head towards Byron Bay after we left him, he ran out of fuel, no radio. He then drifted for 2 days and nights before being rescued. But wait, his saga is not over yet, the Container Boat is heading for Sydney Port, at least he gets a good feed.
He has drifted 35 nautical miles south and 10 nautical miles to sea. He returns just over a week later, him and his boat, Jimmy was out fishing again 2 days later.
HOOKED UP IN 40 FATHOMS
I am not in the main a name dropper, but anybody from BRUNSWICK HEADS will remember these names; Thommo, Chook, Pomie Ian, Whisperin' Ted, Barnises, Bienke, "Pattie Walsh", Zorba, Geoffrey, Tim the Bream, Vidler, Johnnie Austin, Godbee, (Ronnie Run About, Lennie), Shark shit, some are part respectable, some are notorious. But they all have or had a commonality, they are all Trawler men, and bloody good at it. There are many blokes not mentioned, KNOW ANY?
I will wager that I learnt the bulk of my fishing knowledge from these blokes. When they can see that your fair dinkum they will offer assistance and help. At one stage in recent history, 27 Boats were moored in BRUNSWICK BOAT HARBOUR, the Skippers and "Deckies" worked and played hard, they had good times and bad times.
Except for being belted by a "HAPPY MOMENT", shocked by an "ELECTRIC RAY", having your "COD END" chewed by Old Wall Eye or having you dick caught in the winch. One of the most trepidatious moments that can face a Skipper and his crew is ‘HOOKING UP".
Johnnie Austin hooked up once, it is a fairly common occurrence. Under water rock outcrops suddenly appear, Trawlers stray too close to known obstacles, "OTTER BOARDS" may bury like a sand pick, shalely bottom sometime hides a reef. There are many reasons, best talk to PATTIE WALSH.
Mostly, and with great skill, skippers disentangle. Sometimes the results are disastrous, some times tragic.
Terry and me were somehow crusin' in the region of the Boat Harbour one day, the Bar was atrocious. "Austin's got a big problem, he's hooked up out wide, his starter motor is shagged". Concerns were held for his safety, "can you guys get a starter motor out to him?"
Anything to assist a fellow seafarer, law of the sea. We were given a replacement motor, we given a location. We did not have GPS, RADAR, COMPASS. We were given a hand held compass and a compass bearing. And then the crossing of the bar.
Shagg me, 6 to 8 foot, we waited and waited. People came to watch two largely amateur blokes go where we should'nt. Still we waited. Terry was conscious of the danger, me too, call it shit scared. The people on the wall gave up, still we waited. And then a window, terry went for it, were out!!. After 35 mins.
RIGHT. Navigation marks, 48 degrees ENE, 40 fathoms, 9 nautical miles. Something COD HILL AND MOUNT WARNING, something Mount Chincogan, something else. We steamed for a destination and we bloody well found it.
HOOKED UP AND HUMMIN'
AS we approached Johnnie's boat his predicament was plainly obvious. His starboard gear wire was attached to the bottom, I mean hooked. The port gear was danglin'
Must explain; some terms are vernacular's, handle it.
His motor can't be started, he is hanging down hill, the tides borin' at 3 knots, he is hangin' starboard beam to the tide, listen' 3 degrees up tide, wire hummin' at guitar sound low E. I swear a roosters tail of 2 foot was coming from the wire rope. The sound of the wire rope slicing through the water was eerie, BANSHEE? WAIL? Never heard them terms from a Trawlerman.
This will have to be my next poem. All will be revelled.
We come along side and dispatch the urgently required starter motor, and we wait. Banging and swearing can be heard bellow decks, we not going anywhere. And still I look in wonderment at the incredible forces that are presented to me. I can hear the ominous physics emanating from man and nature. The virtual straining of survival, so many thoughts then and now have flooded my mind.
Then this greasy faced bloke appears on deck, did I tell you he was motor mechanic? "Wrong friggen model, sorry boys", the disappointment was palatable. There is a happy ending, only Terry, Me and Johnnie know that.
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