A Deep Sea Fishing Trip.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume VII, Issue 5, 1 February 1903, Page 370

A Deep Sea Fishing Trip.

By A. H. MESSENGER

Illvsirated by the Author

t BEAUTIFUL, clear morning at Whareh.au Bay, the sun jtist rising above the high hills that shut in its eastern curve, and inside the rocky point half-a-dozen brownsailed fishing-smacks getting under weigh. One by one the mainsails are filled by the fresh breeze that comes softly in from seaward freckling the glassy sea with a thousand wrinkles, and one after another the mooring buoys are dropped overboard, jibs hoisted, and the smacks, gathering way, steal out into the open waters of the bay and stand out to sea.

It is an ideal fisherman's morning ; and as I climb on board the smack " Pet," with fisherman Peter and his partner, Louie, as crew, I feel that we are in for a really good time. We are about the last to get under weigh, for our nets had to be brought aboard before we could start. But they are stowed away at last in a neat heap in the centre of the smack, while just forward of them, and under the half deck, are four small tubs, their interiors filled with many coils of strong, tanned line, and their edges literally bristling with baited hooks. These are the deep-sea lines which will presently be lowered overboard and left till such, time as we think fit to haul them in again, and from which we expect great things. Everything having been arranged to Peter's approval we hoist our mainsail, and waiting till the smack's head falls away on the right tack, drop our mooring buoy with a rousing splash, and hoisting

the jib, stand off after the rest of the fleet.

Now that we are fairly wider weigh we have time to look about us and enjoy the beauties of the scene. There, snugly ensconced in the curve of the bay, lies the little fishing village, a motley collection of tarred canvas cottages. To the eastward the coast sweeps -away in bold, rugged outlines that melt in the blue distance, whilst midway between lie the islands of Mana and Kapiti looming, mistily in the morning air. On the other hand we have Cook Straits, bright and sparkling with the freshness of the morning sea breeze, and backing them up, the distant ranges and peaks of the South. Island standing clear cut against the sky.

As we get further out into the bay the breeze freshens perceptibly, and soon, instead of the gentle rippling that has hitherto sounded from our bows, there comes the sharp slapping of the rising wavelets, and t3ie water to leeward and in our wake becomes strewn with twisting creamy lines and a thousand sparking bubbles, over which the mackerel gulls hover and call querulously to one another. We shall, run to Cape Terawhiti today, setting our nets and deep-sea lines along the coast in likely bays as we go, then fish for schnapper till late in the afternoon, when once more weighing 1 anchor we shall stand for home, picking up our lines and nets in succession as we reach them.

One short tack and we are out of the bay, and running along the

coast line under the great, towering tussock-grown clifis. We pass a couple of small bays without stopping, and then as a third comets into view we lower our mainsail, and standing in under the jib, get ready to set our first net. Louie now takes the tiller, whilst Peter, standing up in the middle of the smack, clears the net sinkers and makes everything ready for a start. " Fetch her up/ calls Peter suddenly, and obedient to the helm the little vessel swings round into the wind ; then waiting till she slows up, he heaves the stone sinkers over-

as the smack stands away again, her brown sails swelling to the breeze, is left floating an oil can to mark the presence of our net. Then as soon as the six nets which form our complement have been successfully laid, we haul up to the wind and stand off on a long tack to seaward. The breeze has steadied down now to a good fresh nor'wester, and the seas are capped with white flashing tops that burst against our staunch little smack's bows with a steady drumming ; the air is crisp with the flying spray that rises from each plunge of our

side and commences slowly paying out the net. • With, her jib just drawing the smack, crawls slowly ahead, the net paying out over her counter as she goes until presently the last cork bobs overside, and leaning out, Peter pa^s out the buoy line with an oil tin tied to it to mark the net. Then " set your mainsail !" is the cry, and hoisting away, we soon ha,ve it spread and are under weigh once more. Each bay that Peter fancies is visited in like manner, and in each,

craft and the wind whistles through the rigging with a hearty, joyous note. Here and there along the coast to north and south of us may be seen the sails of the other smacks, warm, ruddy patches of colour against the blue of sea and sky, or set in the middle distance of purple hill and cliff side. Further away still, as if they disdained to be seen with mere smacks, steam launches buzzed busily about searching for sport. Presently it is down mainsail

again, and, as we ride slowly against the sea with our jib set, the tubs are hoisted on. to the thwarts and the deep-sea lines are paid out overside in succession at short distances from one another. Then, each having been carefully buoyed, sail is made once more, and with a fair wind we run swiftly down to our schnapper ground at the Cane. Here the anchor is let «o, sail stowed for the day, and the business of the trip commences. Keenly expectant of great sport, my line is quickly baited and thrown out, and as I sit ready to tug fiercely

line ; "no schnapper ye— et— too much tide — you ' dolce far niente ' same as me and Peter ; presently you hear him ring up ;" and comprehending the use of the rowlocks, I make my line fast in like manner, and stretch myself out on the loose dry folds of the mainsail to await developments. Half-an-hour passes slowly away, and Louie seems to me to be sleeping. Peter's pipe has gone out, and fallen to the bottom of the boat, but Peter takes no heed of this, and lies motionless along the thwart in the warm sunlight. A

on the slightest sign of a nibble, 1 am amazed to see Peter and Louie, after leisurely passing their lines over, make them fast to two rowlocks that they place in position, and then stretching themselves comfortably out on tha thwarts, li^lit their pipes and puff contentedly away as though fishing were the one thing farthest from their thoughts.

" Tie him up," says Louie, noting my look of astonishment, and motioning with one hand towards mv

dark shadow sweeps across the boat, and glancing up, X I discover a large, black-backed gull hovering high above us awaiting scraps. When will the tide slacken ? The lines are swinging well out with it yet, and there is not the faintest sign of a bite. Suddenly, after what seems an eternity, there comes a sharp ting— ting from Peter's rowlock, and immediately that worthy is upon his feet and pulling in his line for dear life. A final heave of his shoulders, a sudden

splashing alongside, and " flop," in comes a beautiful gleaming schnapper, all silver and gold in the bright sunlight. But there is no time to admire his fading beauty, for Louie's rowlock is tinging away merrily, and an answering note comes from my side of the smack. At it we go and pull in swiftly. There is a steady p^ill, on my line, which zig-zags from side to side erratically as I haul in, then far clown in the clear depths below us I see a pale gleam, which flickers like the light from a mirror thrown on a dark wall. Up it comes rapidly as the line comes home, until ." splash," " flop " — there h another beauty aboard, followed quickly by a third from Louie's line.' Once started the fun becomes fast and furious, and ere the tide commences to turn there is a gleaming heap of silvered beauties lying on the bottom boards of our craft.

Then, all in a moment it seems, the tide turns, the fish cease biting, our lines swing out from the side again, and we know that the fishing is done for the time being.

" Twenty-four bundles," comments Peter, coiling in his line, " not bad as things go, oh, Louie V

Louie grunts contentedly, and proceeds to re-fill his pipe. " Not bad/ is the verdict as we once more lie back for a spell.

It is now early afternoon. The breeze is still blowing steadily, bat the hitherto cloudless sky is now streaked and lined with wind clouds that are slowly spreading in from seaward. Far away, too, on the northern horizon the white cainvas of a ship is now showing up against the sky.

" Liverpool packet/ answers Peter, on my querying her appearance on the coast ; " " bound for Wellington ; bringing a breeze with her, too/ he adds, glancing 1 at the sky as he resumes his position on the thwart.

the others lie half asleep, " taking another watch below/ as Louie has it, I turn my gaze on the

sails of the ship that is now coming rapidly up on the horizon. The water is darkening there, too, in a long line that seems to spread itself quickly out to east and west. It is the freshening breeze coining down toiwards us. And instead of the quick gleam of the breaking wavelets that has hitherto brightened the blue of the sea, there now comes a longer break of white that seems to pause a moment before vanishing. That means a rising sea also, and I wake the two sleepers up to look at it. Peter watches a moment, and then, going forward, commences hauling up our anchor. " Set the mainsail, boys," he says shortly, and we at once set to work and hoist away. Next up goes the jib, the smack's head falls off before the wind and, slowly gathering way, we stretch out to sea once more. The approaching ship is now well in sight and sweeping majestically down towards us under full sail, yet, as we watch her, we see her royals suddenly collapse as it were, and after flickering a moment, contract into little white bunches. They are taking in their light canvas before the freshening- wind, and by the look of the sky there will be a stiff breeze by nightfall. T now note with great satisfaction that, sailing on our present tack, we will approach close up to the ship's course. Down comes the breeze with a steady swoop, over lies our little craft before it until the lee-rail is just level with the water. There she hangs a moment with a gathering burst of foam under her bow until with a creaking of cordage she rushes headlong- into the rising seas. The sailing now becomes exciting, oilskin jackets and sou 'westers are produced from a locker and donned, and the salt spray flies in stinging sheets across our streaming deck. Within a very short time we have the ship close upon us.

" Ready about/ roars Peter. " Mmd the boom," he adds, as the smack flies up into the wind.

There is a great banging of canvas for a moment, and behold, we are away on the other tack. And the ship— such a glorious sight — within a stone's throw of us.

A great pyramid of swelling canvas spread above a rust-streaked hull that is forging steadily through the breaking seas. On the poop a figure waves a hat to us, and away up aloft we can hear some of the crew singing out as they stow the light canvas. On she goes with a steady rush, her sails rounded out in gleaming curves before the wind, and very soon she is

Louie grabs it, and commences hauling in. Meanwhile Peter and I ship two rowlocks, and shoving out the long sweeps help the smack wp into the wind. Louie hauls away steadily, and suddenly up comes a scknapper over the side, then another, next a fine terakei, then a fish's head without a body. " Dogfish," growls Louie, hauling- away. One or two more schnapper, a fine moki, and another fish's head complete the catch of our first deep-sea line. In sweeps, up jib again, and off we rush to our next buoy. Here

hull down beyond Cape Terawhiti. I watch her until she disappears behind the land, and then once more turn my attention to our own course. Louie is now peering out anxiously ahead, and suddenly shouts " Buoy, buoy I" with all his might. Sure enough, . there is one of our deep sea line buoys bobbing about on the tumbling sea. Down comes our jib, and with splendid seamanship old Peter brings us bumping alongside the tin. In a moment

the same operation is repeated, and we hurry on again, for we must pick up our nets before nightfall, and before the sea rises much more. Our deep-sea lines give us a couple of dozen fine fish and a few spare heads considerately left by that enemy of the fisherman, the dogfish. And now we stand in towards the land on the last duty of the day.

The setting sun sinks behind the distant hills of the South Island in a gorgeous glow of orange and gold

and crimson, and the cliffs before us, catching some of the glory of the sky, melt from pink to a warm brown that fades rapidly into gray blending of rocks and beach, and everything into one sombre tint that in its turn will deepen ini.o night. Reaching our first net buoy we bring up carefully alongside, Louie's unfailing hand grabs the tin securely, and with jib down and sweeps out to ease the strain on the nets we heave slowly in on it. In come the dripping meshes with fish after fish hanging by the gills in their relentless grip. A deft shake by Louie and the fish fall tree into the bottom of the boat, where those that have any remaining iife splash feebly for a time with their tails and lie still. Then comes another sample of Johnny dog-fish's work — a great ragged hole through the net big enough to fall through. Louie blesses the perpetrator of it fervently, and continues pulling in till the end of the net comes overside. Then, without a moment's loss of time we set our jib and stand on for the next net. This one also comes in all right with a fair return of fish. The next two we have considerable difficulty in finding, and No. 5 net we overrun twice in the gathering dusk before we can pick up the buoy. Finally, deeplyladen with nets and fish, we start off for home under a double-reefed mainsail with a clear, starry, windswept sky overhead, and minus No. 6 net, which has to be left to its fate.

It needs careful steering now to fetch the bay, for the wind is squally and we have a rugged, surf-strewn coast close to leeward of us ; our oilskins are streaming with wet, and a constant spray drives on to us from the bow. But it is grandly exhilarating, this mysterious rushing forward through the dark with the knowledge that old Peter is taking us home with as much certainty as though he were driving us along the main road in his old fish-cart. In a little while we can see the bright lights of the.' village under our main boom, and we know that we are round the point and heading homeward. And now comes the most astonishing feat of all. How ever is Peter going to find our mooring buoy amongst the other smacks ? On we rush towards the anchorage, and presently Louie takes in the jib, and reaching a boat hook lies flat along- the fore deck. " Starboard a little/ he cries presently, and, behold, we skim silently by one of the smacks lying snugly at anchor. " Starboard," again, and another smack looms up and passes silently by. " Hard up/ is his next order, as he leans far out over the bow. There is a splash, a bump, and our little keg buoy flies on board. Peter and I jump forward and walk in the chain, and in a few moments we are snugly moored, our mainsail is stowed, and we pull ashore in the dinghy to a wellearned meal.