Nature or Nurture?

[Owen]

Just wondering how many of us developed our love of fishing through being introduced to it by an influential figure in our life, and how many found ourselves attracted to it despite having no early introduction.

I grew up on a dairy farm and we kids were always shooting through down to the creek for a swim, or to fish or whatever.
I can remember my older brother in law taking me fishing a few times when I was a kid, but he was not what I'd called an influential person in my life. As I got older I gravitated more to hunting, but in the last six years or so fishing has taken over.

I reckon you're born to it, but some of us just need that one crack at it to set the hook ;D

[el_carpo]

Dad took us (my brothers and I) fishing when we were little squirts. I can still remember hooking my finger on one of those round, plastic red and white floats when I was four years old. How I managed that I'll never know but it didn't turn me off to fishing. I'm 32 and am still at it (fishing I mean, not hooking my fingers on floats.)

Thanks Dad!

[finga]

Never known any different.
Other then getting into strife for doing something stupid with my brothers I can't recall any earlier memory then going fishing.
It was catching eels under the Murwillumbah bridge and I was about 4 or 5.
Actually I thought of an earlier memory...making a canoe out of corrigated iron with my big brother to take down the creek.
Luckily we never got it to the creek. :)

[bushbeachboy]

I was a late starter. Moved to Townsville in 2000 for work, saw a few workmates having lots of fun fishing and XXXXing and just had to get started. Bought my first boat in late 2002 and it's been a ride ever since. I'm now on my 5th boat, have more fishing gear than 10 people can use, and go fishing at every opportunity. It's an addiction!;D And I'm starting my kids off too. My youngest is a bit too young to go boating yet, but my girl is 9. On Wed this week she caught her best bream to date at 38cm!!!!!8-) ;D ;D ;D ;D There's no prouder dad in the country!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[revs57]

Yeah, blame me Dad!!! Definitely nurture for me...

cheers

Rhys

[buhky62]

My mum and dad were the influential people in my fishing the both loved fishing but from the first fish i ever caught that was it i was hooked dad was allways going fishing and me and my bro would be there with him ,out in the boat ,reefies,bream,whiting,flattys, or up DI fishing from the beach,tailor, jewies, or out in the creeks ,bass ,mullet what ever was bitting and had some of our best times of our lives ......BOB

[finga]

Never known any different.
Other then getting into strife for doing something stupid with my brothers I can't recall any earlier memory then going fishing.
It was catching eels under the Murwillumbah bridge and I was about 4 or 5.
Actually I thought of an earlier memory...making a canoe out of corrigated iron with my big brother to take down the creek.
Luckily we never got it to the creek. :)
My mum is with us just for the moment and I asked her about the canoe.
She reckons we made it to go fishing and I was 5 and my brother was 7...so there ya go.
She also said we made a fish tank for when we catch something. I can't remember that but mum wouldn't lie. Would she??
As a side line she said my brother was more passionate about fishing then me.
He used to go down to the storm water drain or gutter and go fishing for tadpoles with a safety pin and dad's stringline. He was always getting booted up the bum for pinching the stringline.
He also catch something huge oneday....our sister ;D

Maybe I was just scared of dad's size 10 workboot imprint in my posteria :-[

[nigelr]

Back in 1962, as a six year old only child freshly arrived from England, the old fella next door took pity on me. My parents had no knowledge of fishing, although many generations of my family have had a direct involvement with the sea one way or another.
So the classic Aussie 'bloke next door', warm, generous, kind hearted, laconic sense of humour, loved a smoke, a beer and a punt, the surf club, and of course fishing, took me up from Manly to Narrabeen lagoon one sunny weekend afternoon.
First throw with the hand line, mullet for bait from memory, a nice silver bream that we ate that evening!
(There were good numbers of fish to be caught in Sydney in the early sixties.)
The kindness of this bloke and his wife, and the thrill of that first catch, inspired something that is probably dearer to my heart now at 50 than ever!
Being an independent little tyke, from that point on I progressed to fishing Queenscliff lagoon, Manly Wharf, Fairlight and Forty Baskets, Shelley Beach, and at 11, armed with a 5" alvey and a 9' Jarvis Walker rod, started fishing the beach and rocks at Queenscliff.
Nowadays its a toss-up between surf and inshore, hey its all good!
If you're up there in heaven old mate, thank you, you will not be forgotten!
Cheers!

[Wahoo]

yeh i remember my dad takeing me fishing early saturday mornings, and the fishing bug is still with me 30 odd years on, have always lived near the water even when we spent 6 years in WA

Daz

[thatp1g]

My dad fishes. He was never a fisherman though. I always outfish him.. He just doesn't listen. I guess though what rubbed off on me was the respect he had for people who could catch fish. Some wierd romanticism of fishing that he held.

My personal fishing guide was an old black woman. When I was little we lived out bush and this old lady never went 'fishing', she went catching. She would say she needed 3 fish for tea and we would walk down to the river and she would catch three fish and then we would go home.

She would get an old rake handle or a fallen stick and wrap some 40lb line round one end put a hook on the other and some witchety grubs then we would bob the grub up and down near the 'right' tree. (she knew which tree on which day) and she would catch just enough for tea.

Dad and his mates would employ all the latest gear and half a dozen different baits and have a little success. But Mrs Draper could 'whistle up' the fish.

(no whistleing actually involved0

She could do the same thing with cod if you had a big do coming up.

An old tyre tube, some 60lb line and a huge hook. She would bait it up with a little fish or a whole yabbie or a steak or whatever she had and throw it out in the 'dead end' (the council pumping hole) and when you came back in the morning there was a 40lb + murray cod on the end.

I have never been able to recreate Grandma Drapers magic but I swear if you really listen you catch more fish.



Personally I enjoy asking questions of the blokes who are actually catching fish and not skiting too much. The quiet old blokes who go fishing more for the time to themselves... Man and boat, Man and water, man and maybe fish... They have some great yarns and usually in between all the bullshit they have a tip or two that really pays.

Eg. In the burrum, fish the shallow water, 6 inches and less. You will never come home without fish.

[TIMMY 666]

Like many, I was introduced to fishing by my dad. And today it's probably something he regrets! He always says that I'm obsessed with fishing, and I don't deny it :P. Also another favourite: "Tim, If you spent half as much time on your school work as you spend fishing you'd be a bloody genius!"

Fishing in the Pumicestone passage is probably my earliest fishing memory, catching whiting, crabs, bream, stingrays, entertaining myself with the ever-present toadfish, watching jellyfish, the smell of mangroves, being eaten alive by sandflies...

I always liked fishing but only in the last few years have I really started to fish more, and enjoy it more. I've got a feeling I'll be fishing for quite some time yet. I just love the outdoors; camping, 4wding and fishing is what I have been brought up with and I'm thankful for it.

It's interesting to hear from others, keep them coming.

cheers,

Tim.

[onerabbit]

I was raised with our back boundary going straight to the mud & the water in Gosford, I cant really remember a time when I wasn't into fishing in some way.

However, in the last few years of his life, my Grandfather instilled in me an un-dying passion for fishing, unfortunately he died when I was 9.

I'm 44 now, & still remember many of his "little tricks", & when I do get a great fish, I sort of sense how proud he would be............................Thanks Graff

Muzz

[Davemclean]

10 years ago when I was 8, I was ill t homa and had the remote, lol, flicking through the channels I came across a rex hunt fishing program. and that had me kooked :D

[wombat 100]

Mum and Dad from the time I could suck a bottle on my own in the bottom of the boat in the Hawksbury. Joined the RAAF in 64 and took every opportunity to fish no matter where I was . Had some great times and still do on the water now enjoying teaching anyone of the 8 the grandkids and any other kid who whats to tag along.

Thanks for the thread it has made me remember the good times of my childhood

[mattooty]

When i was 3 (15 odd years ago) fishing over at my grandads wharf next to the old nets that they had from their pro days, on my $30 combo.
i hooked a good sized flatty and can remember bringing it in till it was in the shallows and waiting for someone with a net, (dont ask me how i knew that the flathead had to be netted), my pop came over and told me just to lift it up "you little pansy" and about halfway up it bit through the line.
From then on ive beena fter that fish >:[
My old man taught me a fair bit of the basics but i read and read and read and eventually it paid off, with a few jew, tuna off the rocks, double figure flathead and whatnot.
Its the best feeling getting out on the water again with my dad. Its more about getting some time together than the fishing, (cause he's always after that jew with the biggest bait he can find).
Matt

[kingtin]

OK, bear with me here as I need to use this thread, and my current thoughts, for something to add to my autobio. You may be interested, or not, some like my ramblings, others don't, so my apologies in advance for those who I bore to tears or who may not relate to the characters or times in this post.

My recollection of even recent events, is sometimes practically nil, but strangely enough, my recall of my fishing exploits is total. These are my current thoughts on my childhood.

I was raised in an "orphanage" for a good part of my childhood and nurturing was non-existent. From the age of 6, I was constantly running away from that place and we are talking here of 1954 or thereabouts.

On the central promenade of Blackpool (my home town) stood 2 large clinker boats that were the old ships lifeboats that we see in old movies. There was also 4 Rusty old 4tonners and a couple of tractors. The 4tonners were old open army trucks with the seats removed and in the back of them were trawl nets. Invariably there would be dried shrimps and small flounders and other fish still stuck in the mesh and these fascinated me as did the smell. I thought that smell was wonderful......... It wasn't the smell of rotting fish as I know it today but a smell peculiar to those boats and vehicles. I used to clamber over these trucks until the local bobby or some other person shooed me away.

One day, on my visit to these vehicles, I saw 2 of these trucks pulling down the slade (ramp) near where they parked and making their way across the open beach to the low water mark and I followed them. They went into the water, just short of their axles, one turning North and one South and as they did so, a man payed out the net from the back of the truck. I decided to follow the one South and walked parallel to the tide watching the gulls swirling at the rear of the truck.

When the truck reached the central Pier, it turned around and headed back, with me following, and as it did so, I could see that the other truck had reached the North Pier and also turned around. The two trucks met in the middle, back at where they started directly opposite the slade where they had launched and they turned out of the water and up onto the beach, both with their nets bulging at the cod end and the gulls swirling above and squawking at each other on the beach

The guys in the back of the trucks jumped out, as did the drivers, and they grabbed the cod ends and tipped them into an array of baskets that were always stowed in the vehicles.

I marveled at the contents of the baskets as the guys gave me a nod and a wink and beckoned me over. They got out a riddle (sp) each and tipped some of the basket contents into the riddle and walked towards the water. As they riddled, the small shrimps and fish fell through into the water and as I write this, I realise now, that even back then, these old pros who we often deride nowadays, were practicing conservation. Retained in the ridles were the larger, and famous, "Morecambe Bay shrimp and a host of crabs, small flatfish, "nasties" such as weevers that could give you a helluva sting etc. These were picked out by hand and thrown back into the water. I didn't recognise those species then, but would later come to recognise them all, and also learn a great deal from these kindly old gentlemen with pipes dangling from their mouths and dew drops on their nose ;D

To be continued..................

kev

[finga]

Tell the story about donging the conga eel and Bridget...please :)

[Chris Ryan]

My memories was my Pop giving me a road & reel as about a 6yr old fr Christmas one year. Then spent the holidays with Dad and Pop just down from his place in Ballina. Dad when he was my age used to pump yabbies and flog em at the boat ramp as a supplementary income for the family.

I had a period there where I didn't fish at all (about 10+ years) but man I missed it. Now finally have my own boat and am wetting a line when I can. One of the best times had so far was my Dad, my brother, my 5yr old boy and I all standing there together yacking and fishing. It really does bring families together this hobby.

Cheers,
Chris

[kingtin]

I continued to run away and wag it from school and it took a while, but I figured out that these shrimpers would put in approx 2 hrs before low and work till 2 hrs of the run in. I didn't know of low water times then of course, but my "body clock" just seemed to tell me when they would be there, and from catching up with them, over a period of time, I got to learn about tides.

There was 4 of them......typically (old time) named, (as I realise now) Bert, George, Alf, and Charlie. ;D Charlie was the younger, short tempered, grumpy one, who, unlike the other 3, smoked cigarettes as opposed to a pipe. he also swore a lot, particularly when he had a few weevers in his riddle ;D Bert was the oldest and seemed to command respect from the others.

They seemed to accept me being there but never put me in the back of the truck...........I always had to follow them up and down the beach. The seas were ripe back then and even in only a couple of feet of water they sometimes had the odd fish that was almost as big as me. These were the atlantic cod that put a run in in winter. There was whiting, dabs, flounder, sea bass, plaice, the odd edible crab, and others, but the target was the small MB shrimp.

By this time I had become obsessed with all things "fishy" and the police could always find me in any "fishy places" and take me back to the orphanage to face the music but that didn't deter me.

I met up with these men whenever I could and became quite attached to Bert who would occasionally give me a wink and beckon me over with a twisting motion of his head to where he was sorting fish, and he would give me a couple, which, after the trucks had left, I would try and sell to passers by and spend the money in the amusement arcades.

I had noticed that these trucks never went straight back to their parking lot, but went, at a slow pace, up a side street on the promenade. One day I followed them as they stopped outside some large wooden doors that looked like the entrance to a stable as it had a door above which, above the door, was an arm from which hung a pulley and rope.

Bert acknowledged the fact that I had followed, by smiling at me and as he swung the big doors open, he beckoned me in. I was aware of a strong, rather unpleasant smell and it was then that I noticed a huge tub with steam rising being attended to by a portly woman wearing one of those "turbans" that women used to wear in the pictures of the war years. The baskets of shrimps were unloaded and Charlie emptied one into the tub. No sooner were they in than he took a huge ladle and began fishing them out again and I was amazed that they had changed colour to a pale brown. They were then spread on a huge bench with steam rising from them, whilst the "crew" sat down for a smoke to wait for the water to come to the boil again and the procedure was repeated.

I was in absolute awe of all I had seen, both now and in the preceding months, and remember telling myself that I wanted to be just like them when I grew up.

Bert peeled a few shrimps, tasted one, smiled, and held one out for me. It was like nothing I had ever tasted, and I asked for some more. He held up his finger as if to say wait a moment.......I realise (only) now, how he was a man of very few words, and that he had an uncanny ability to express himself (to me), purely by body language...........thinking back, I can only remember him saying a few phrases such as "good lad" or "I'll be buggered" ;D

He got up from his stool and went over to a bench on the other side of the room and came back with a small pot and a couple of slices of brown bread. He stuck a knife in the pot and came up with what appeared to be butter with lumps in it, which he spread on a slice and offered to me. "Potted shrimp", he said with a nod as if to say, "Go on, try it", which I did, and I can remember the taste to this day.


He said, that they would be a long time boiling and that I should come back in a couple of hours, so I went off to pursue my other hobby of scraping the pennies from under the drawers of the amusement machines, round the corner on the Golden Mile.

When I returned, I noticed, long before I reached the large doors that housed the shrimp boilers, a different smell to that which I had previously encountered.
Stepping inside, I was beckoned to "come here" by Bert, who was stood alongside the bench from where he had previously brought the potted shrimp. There were 2 more turbaned ladies and the lady from earlier was stood by a big gas ring on which stood a huge pan from which she was ladling what I recognised as molten butter into the pots that were being filled with shrimp by the other two ladies. Now I knew how they got the shrimps into the butter!

To be continued:

kev

[kingtin]

The time frame is hazy here but I reckon that I must've been meeting up with this crew for at least a couple of years.

On one occasion when I knew that I wouldn't be seeing the "crew" as it was hight tide, I went down to the Golden Mile to do my usual "Artful Dodger" stuff on the Golden Mile. I was approaching the Central Slade where the shrimp trucks were parked and I noticed that the tractors and two clinker boats that were usually there were missing. Then I noticed a queue at the top of the slade and appearing over the top of the slade came a plume of smoke followed by one tractor pulling a boat and then the other. The crew had "been to sea" and this was the first time that I had any knowledge of this operation!

They parked up and started lifting baskets from the boats. I ran over and saw that these baskets were filled with fish. Charlie went over to one of the 4 tonners and pulled out a board and dragged it over to the front of the queue whilst one of the crew filled a bin with salt water from the beach. He up-ended a basket and placed another one, right - way up, on top of this and then placed one end of the board on the basket and the other end on the promenade railings, whose usual purpose was to prevent drunken holidaymakers from dropping into an icy Irish Sea.

The shop was open! ;D

I was gobsmacked to see the speed with which these guys could gut and fillet, dipping their fillets in the icy bin of salt water, shaking them and then holding them up. Some in the queue would hold their hands up, and the nearest of them to the head of the queue would be beckoned forward. They would lay their own piece of newspaper on the table and the fish would be unceremoniously dropped onto it and wrapped with lightening speed. There was no weighing, and from what I gathered after a time, the customer simply stepped forward and came to the head of the queue, they were given a price for that fillet, and could take it or leave it. The whole fish was held up prior to filleting so the customers could see the species or could raise a hand for a whole fish. Cod, whiting, dabs, plaice, sole, flounder, pouting, dogfish, conger eel........a plethora of fish, some still wriggling. I was in heaven, I don't know why but everything fishy just totally absorbed me. I learned from later experiences that these boats, which caught the fish that had so captured my imagination, never traveled further than a mile offshore, and that North Pier was 3/4 mile long!

I remember now, that long after Europe had settled down and the Japanese and Germans were on their way to industrial might, at that time, Britain was still using ration books. The atmosphere though, at this queue was a happy one, no jostling, or arguing, everyone just seemed to be so nice towards each other..........a far cry from the "residents" and "staff" at the "orphanage"

I knew, right there and then, that the sea was the life for me and that fish and fishing were in my blood.

On another occasion, when I was on the promenade on a wild day when the Westerlies were blowing in from the Irish Sea, I heard a bang and saw a flare rise into the air from the vicinity of the "potting plant". I had been told by someone before (I can't remember who now) that this was the "Maroon" meant to signal the life boat crew to quarters and that if I made my way to Central Slade, I would see them launching. As I was close by, I decided to go and see for myself.

I was once again, gobsmacked! Out of a side -street trundled a tractor pulling the lifeboat which commenced a launch down the slade. At the helm was Bert, the rest of "the crew" was also there as were a couple of other blokes. The boat was launched into the huge breakers and I was actually frightened to death. Although I had no knowledge of boats, I suppose the sight of those huge waves breaking over the boat just triggered something in me that simply said, "surely they can't survive this?"

The boat made it's way seaward and I watched as it turned and came back after reaching the end of North Pier. For some reason, I can't remember it's return or how it got back onto the huge trailer, but I do remember that it was only an exercise and that although I was by now, just a small face in a huge spectating crowd, that Bert recognised me, tipped his S' Wester with his finger and nodded towards me............I felt like a king!

In later years, When I had lost touch with the crew and when they built the life boat station next to Central Pier, I went along to the opening day, to see the new station and lifeboat and was shocked to see the crew, who I had always ever seen in oilskins, bedecked in Her Majesties uniform. Each of them displayed a row of medals on their chest. Even Charlie, who I had never taken a liking to (although he did me no harm), looked smart and had at least 4 or 5 medals on his chest. He smiled at me, I think for the first time, but to this day, I don't know if he recognised me.

To be continued:

kev

[kingtin]

Tell the story about donging the conga eel and Bridget...please :)

I'll save it for an embarrassing moment thread ;D

kev

[nigelr]

Great story Kev, as always!
Cheers, and thanks!

[Owen]

Jeeze!
No wonder you got your 1,000 posts up. Pommie bastards never shut up! ;)

Good stuff Kev. I can see I'm going to end up having to buy the book.
I swear to God though, the first time you say
"We'll find out straight after the break...." :rifle:

[Lovey80]

Great read Kev. I love those old school stories told in such detail. Maybe its the amount of alcohol Ive drunk over the past few years but right at this very moment I havent got a clue even where my car keys are let alone what i was doing at that age.

Cheers Chris

[kingtin]

Cont:

Round about the age of 11, I parted company from the crew. This was due to many reasons, but mainly due to the fact that I had passed the 11+ exam. This was an exam that was touted as being indicative of a Britain that led the world in social equality when in reality, it did exactly the opposite.

You sat the exam in your final year of primary school and if you passed, you were directed either to a Technical school, or a Grammar school. Failures were directed to a secondary modern school. The argument went that irrespective of your background, you all had a chance of making it to grammar school. Whether you could stick it out there, was a different matter. ::) The other side of the coin was that the upper middle class kid who failed, rarely went to Secondary, as his parents could afford to send him to private school.

Shortly after being accepted into grammar school I was removed from my incarceration and returned to my "parents". Despite the reminder from others that I, "should thank my lucky stars that I'd been given the chance to make something of myself", and my initial promise that I would no longer "wag it", I nevertheless fell into old ways after a short period of "excellence" ;D and despair at my then current home circumstance.

The truth of the matter was that any "working class oick" with no ars* in his trousers, and parents who had an inability to provide cricket flannels, rugby kit etc, simply didn't stand a chance in that educational system and became a figure of ridicule and a target for the "plum in mouth, smell under nose, bullies" that abounded in that English era............I was back on the streets.........or should I say "beach" and was more feral than I'd ever been ;D

Throughout my past dealings with 'the crew" I had come into contact with many characters who would shape my fishing future, and, as I write now (in response to this thread), I realise, would also shape my view of society.

On the odd occasion when the cod end was full before reaching either of the piers, instead of turning round, the truck and crew would head for the pools that formed under the piers and around the pylons. It was in these pools that they would riddle their by-catch and where I first saw two characters, one armed with a garden rake, and one bent double with his arm up to the shoulder in water 'ferreting around" at the base of a pier pylon.

I learned that they were looking for softback and peeler crab which was the prime bait to be had at certain times, on the NW coast. The man with the rake was a semi pro and the man collecting manually was a pro collector. They seemed to exist in a "symbiotic" relationship, both feeding off each other and deriving some sort of satisfaction from the other, without actually destroying the relationship. I would laugh as one would display a big crab to the other which was invariably met with a two finger salute from the crabless one. They would take it in turns to "extract the urine" from each other but somehow seemed the best of mates when they took a break and lit each others cigarette, each holding their cupped hands containing a lit match, to the others mouth. On one occasion the semi pro actually held out a fag to me, which I took with some sense of pride at being acknowledged.

I cannot recall their names but I learned that the use of the rake could damage the crabs which would make them unsuitable for selling to the tackle shops and only good for immediate use, although it was only a small minority that were actually damaged because the rake was placed up against the pylon, lowered into the water and pulled towards oneself, thereby ensuring that you came in with the rake from behind the crabs that were hiding, backed up against the pylons. I also noticed that the semi-pro had the tips of two fingers missing and learned later that he acquired this injury from a sunken piece of glass during his quest for the crabs which was why he now used a rake. Despite this, my learning experience led me later to fish for the crabs with my hands, as the undamaged ones could be kept alive for a week or more, when handled correctly. The knack was to delve into the sand at the base of the pylon, and instantly on feeling something solid, flick it onto the dry sand at the edge of the pool. I also learned to turn the big crabs over because often the smaller softback or peeler would be clinging to the underbelly of the larger crab which I assume was the mate.

To be continued:

[Dirtysanchez]

My Dad used to take us fishing up the beach when I was a kid, my brother and I.. little did I know he was giving my mum a break, as she suffered 2 nervous breakdowns when we were kids.. No idea why really, but she did

Anyway, I started to dislike those long days up the beach, weekend after weekend, but it stuck with me, and years later when I was going through a major upheavel in my own life and had no real direction, I found myself on a wharf, with a fishing rod, so there ya go.. :)

I went back and visited my dad, and told him, and thanked him, it saved my sanity for sure, and in return he took me over to his beach and showed me how to catch those beach worms I could never master as a kid. I can only hope to do the same with my son.. Pity is, Dad won't be around to see it, he lives too far away and the Big C has got hold of him now and he doesn't fish much :(

[kingtin]

I'll explain here that by now I was in frequent trouble with the police, although they could never pin anything on me. I won't explain fully what I was doing, but if it wasn't nailed down, I lifted it, particularly if it was fishing tackle. I had learned from watching the pros, how to dig worms, how to get peeler crabs, how to set night lines, but it wasn't enough for me. I earned plenty from those activities, hardly attended school and had the time and wherewithal to buy what ever tackle I wanted, and fish whenever I wanted. I simply had no respect for other peoples property and what sacrifices they had made to obtain that property. Looking back, I shat on a lot of people who gave me what my parents should have but I didn't realise that until 20 yrs later.

...............................................
I'll insert here a few excerpts from a previous draft:


I was stealing more now. On the odd occasions when I did go to school, I would deliberately arrive late. This facilitated the "casing” of the cloakroom. I used to hang my coat and then pass down between the racks of hanging coats nudging both sides with my left and right elbows. Whenever I heard a clink of money, or contacted anything that vaguely resembled a packet of ciggies, I would make a mental note of its whereabouts. I would ask to go to the toilet, during lessons, and as these were at the end of the cloakroom, I could stop en route and feel through the pockets of my previously spotted spoils. I would go to the toilet several times in the morning passing down a different cloakroom aisle on each occasion.


I rarely operated in the afternoons, as most money would have been removed from the pockets to be spent on dinner or the tuck shop. I would sometimes try in the afternoons if I was particularly skint, or had a teacher who would not let me use the toilet in the morning. (Yes, some of them were that perverse, they’d let you piss your pants rather than have you deprive them of the pleasure of your company). I may get lucky and find somebody’s bus fare, but generally, it wasn’t worth the risk. I was still working the Golden Mile and Marks and Sparks.



The cellar at Dickson Rd was full of my tackle and hidden money. I used to hide it under some old doors and mattresses. Perhaps that why I was never questioned about it, my parents didn’t know what I had! I was not allowed to fetch my tackle into the flat, but for all my mother’s airs and graces, she didn’t object to me gutting the fish on the draining board. They both loved a feast of dabs, but I can never recall them congratulating me on my skills, in fact If I had a bad day I would be met with “you’re bloody useless aren’t you?” In retrospect, I think that may have been my dad’s humour."




God! I loved fishing. Sometimes when the sea was breaking over the jetty, and everyone had run for the higher pier, I would tie myself to the railings with my rod bag, and remain on there on my own.



Fishing in these breakers in winter was the best time to catch the cold water species, and I could beat every bugger hands down when it came to catching cod! I was a smug little bastard wasn’t I? In fairness, I had all the gear, The best oilskins etc and if anything got washed overboard, then I just went and nicked some more! I remember that sometimes, I used to go to the public toilets, sit on the bowl, and just cry with the pain in my fingers. Gloves were useless, as your hands were always wet.



I used to set nightlines also. These are long lines with hundreds of hooks, anchored to the beach at low water. The tide comes in and covers them, and they are retrieved again at low water, the fish taken off, and then rebaited. There was a hard core of nightliners and to the best of my knowledge, I was the only child of that age doing it. The reason for this is the amount of bait needed to supply the line and the skill required in digging the bait. I could do it! It was hard work especially in winter as the worms were a species known as Blackpool Bootlaces and they were such good bait that they were even exported to other parts of Britain in a salted state. One literally dug down past the blowhole as fast as you could and on seeing the tail plunged the hand down the hole and slowly worked the fingers along the worm to its body, as the tails used to snap off. The worm was then withdrawn slowly. Now these worms could burrow to a depth of 30” and it took time to feel your way along the hole so you can imagine the punishment that your fingers got, especially if you met shells or gravel en route. I’ve sat on the beach crying many a time with the pain in my fingers but the sense of achievement in filling a bucket was overwhelming. I had cut the pockets out of my trousers, and I used to sit on the worm bucket, with my hands wrapped around my genitals till they warmed up, and I could get back to work again. I used to place my hands under my armpits, but that entailed undoing your jacket. I don’t remember how I discovered the alternative.



I also used to dig worms professionally. I didn’t need the money so I suppose that it was an “ego thing”. I used to wait outside the tackle shop till it was full of customers, who invariably were after bait, which on most occasions could only be bought by order. Mr Waterhouse, the owner may be explaining that the only bait he had was ordered and then he would see me and say words to the effect, “Oh Kevin’s here now, you may be in luck”. Can you imagine it? All these guys trying to buy 5 or 10 worms and this snotty nosed kid says “200 today Mr Waterhouse?”



It was a nightlining trip that got me in my first serious trouble with the police. I was on the beach and I saw a bicycle with 2 fishing rods and a tackle basket strapped to it. I knew that it belonged to this real big guy called Barry, who I thought of as a professional bait digger. It was my misunderstanding of his occupation that got me in trouble! It was very cold and foggy and he was somewhere off in the fog digging his bait, when I decided to relieve him of his tackle. I rode off on the bike and dumped it on the promenade after removing the tackle. I completely changed the appearance of the rods by re-building them and a few weeks later I decided to try them out. I went to the pier but was told to return in 2 hours, on the ebb tide, as it was a spring tide and the waves were breaking badly on the pier, let alone the jetty


I didn’t want to go home so I went to Blackpool Tower Aquarium for a couple of hours. As I was looking in a fish tank a hand grabbed me, and literally dragged me off my feet backwards, and threw me onto a chair in a nearby office. It was Barry. He was an employee of the aquarium, and unbeknown to me, he had seen me riding off on his bike, and recognised me. The police were called and as I was leaving the aquarium, I asked if I could have my tackle back from the cloakroom, where I had left it.


I was taken to the police station, Barry was there, explaining the situation, and I must have done a real good job on the rods because he didn’t recognise them. I argued black was white that it was a case of mistaken identity but unfortunately, when the policeman opened my fishing basket, Barry’s reels were instantly recognisable. One of them was a Penn Long Beach; the Rolls Royce of reels, all supplied by the Tower Company I suppose. This guy’s gear was almost as good as my own. I said I’d bought them from a bloke on the pier, and to be honest I actually did believe my own story. I remember feeling persecuted and wondering why everybody treated me like shit and no one ever believed me! Anyway the outcome was, I spent the day in the cells (all white and green tiles, identical to the public toilets), till my dad came and got me. I remember the policemen were all calling him Louie, and shaking his hand, as if they were all good friends! He actually said to the desk sergeant “if he comes in here give him a ####in* good hiding, like you used to give me. He won’t be back so soon then”. I saw both of them wink at each other!"
..............................................

In later years, I used to fish with Barry on the Gynn wall or North Pier. He had left the Aquarium and dug professionally solely for the tackle shops. It was strange how I had always viewed him as an old man, when in reality, he was only 11 yrs older than me. I suppose at 12 yrs of age, anyone who is 23 looks old ;D


He only mentioned his tackle once and it was in an understanding manner, something along the lines of "we all do silly things when we're younger".


Anyway, it was all over by the time I was 15, I was on probation by this time and had been caught stealing yet again, so I knew that I was going down this time. I went to the army recruiting office and joined up as a boy drummer/bugler. I didn't tell the recruiting sergeant that I was awaiting a court appearance or that I was already on probation. When I appeared in court, the probation officer pleaded for me and the judge released me and wished me well.


It would be 6 yrs before I fished again.


kev

[Marlin_Mike]

I reckon youre right....born with it in your blood as I believe i was.

I was urtured along by my fathe and an uncle. MAin fishing back then was in the Crookhaven River at Culbura and Uncle was at Currarong on Jervis BAy.

Couldnt go without it now..... I can remember scrounging around rocks as a little nipper while dad and the uncle fished, and nan and mum etc sat on the rocks with a little knife eating big oysters straight off the rock. Never did like them oysters, like a big green booger going down the back of the throat LOL

Mike

[kingtin]

So back to the point of the thread.........Nature or Nurture

A lot of nature and a bit of nurture............I would have thought.........till now

I was practically feral as a kid (as you can see) ;D and my domestic circumstance left me with little self - worth/esteem, or direction. Fishing, and it's associated activities occupied me to the point of "burying" my other woes. It gave me a sense of achievement, whereby I knew that I could do things my peers, and even some adults could not. I saw and did things that, unless I took it upon myself to pursue, I would never have done or seen. I met people that I never would have met, people who, in later life, I would recognise as significant others who saved me from God knows what!

People who, when I was running from cruelty, showed me kindness and took the time to show me their skills and compassion. I didn't realise it at the time, but these people shaped who I am today. They taught me that not all adults/people are cruel, cold and selfish. They, as practical strangers, showed me more understanding, patience and compassion than those who occupied a greater and closer part of my life.

Barry with his forgiveness, Bert with his warmth and gentle strength, the old guy that I have mentioned in the past, who, whilst we were fishing on the pier, used to share his flask of hot oxo with me, even the judge showed more compassion than those who were supposed to have cared for me.

The formative years of childhood are the years when your perceptions of the human race are formed. The cruelty that I had experienced and that could have turned me into a bitter nasty adult, was negated only many years later when I looked back on these people and thought about how they owed me nothing but gave me plenty.

"Significant others" are a major factor in shaping who we are. When you lend a hand to a kid struggling to get his tackle off a snag on the pier.......you may become a significant other when he has none. When, as a parent, you sigh, put down your rod, and help your child who is struggling to get a fish off the hook, you are becoming a significant other. When you help a single mother lift her buggy off the bus, who knows? she may be an abused partner who is in the depths of despair and that one small act makes you a significant other and relieves (no matter in how small a way) whatever pains her at that time.

If I hadn't have written this diatribe I would have considered nature to be the biggest influence in my fishing, but I thank you Owen for starting the thread, making me think a bit deeper than normally, and for getting me off on the road to completing my auto again, after a year of writers block ;D

You have become a "Significant Other" :D

kev

[edleigh7]

Good read Kev...whens the book coming out;) .
Like alot on this thread my father got me into fishing, in a way, mainly on holidays but we wouldn't catch much and was a bit of a pain for me at the time. I had a revival when one of my mates started getting into freshwater trout fishing. It took me a long time to land my first trout but after that i was nearly as obsessed with them as he was. One thing led to another and we were fly fishing, spearfishing, LBG the lot.

I then moved to Brisbane and had a lull for about 9 years, caught up with work and not knowing the local spots...i went fishing up in Cairns and various spots, but not right into it. About a month ago i got on the net looking for camp spots and Borumba Dam and this site come up. I couldn't believe it:o . I have been fishing 8 times since then with moderate success. So thanks thanks ausfish and its mostly friendly members.....I'M BACK BABY!!!;D ;D

Ed

[dogsbody]

My dad started me off fishing when i was about 5 or 6. We used to go to Victoria Point and try to get some whiting so that set me on my path of fishing. I even remember pretending to fish from the boat at home, throwing the handline out and pretending that i had caught one.

My dad has been a regular deckie for me over the last 8 years or so in which we have caught many a fish. Over the years he used to go to the Swains and always came back with a good feed and a few stories. It was just the other week that i had finally gone on a Swains trip with him and my brothers and got some memories that i will cherish forever. Thanks dad.


Dave.

[dogsbody]

whoops double post. Damn that log out feature.

Dave.

[sandyd]

but in the last six years or so fishing has taken over.

I reckon you're born to it, but some of us just need that one crack at it to set the hook ;D

That was about the time you met me, started smoking and drinking..... ummm

I have always been around fishing and my first memory's that I remember that is, where when we lived in Bowen.
My Dad and 2 other mates of his built a hut out at Kangaroo creek where we spent most of our week ends, fishing, prawning, crabbing and enjoying life. There is nothing other then huts out there and it is on private property with a keyed gate to get in. Kangaroo Creek is also the gate way to the many little Islands that lay of Bowen. The hut is still there and I keep saying that I would love to take Owen up there as he would really love it. When ever my brother and sister and I get together that is usually all we talk about.

[Chas & Clarry]

Prior to meeting my boyfriend (my husband now for nearly 25yrs) I had always been my dad's fishing buddy. A keen fisherman, he probably saw the potential in me when at about 5ys old caught me sitting on the front stairs and "fishing" with a real of cotton with a twig tied to to the end for bait. I remember it so clearly. I would pack my "fishing gear" and a biscuit or two into a bag and then I would do a few laps of the house on my tricycle and finally reach my fishing destination. I would try to get the twig caught up on the plants that grew under the stairs and pretend that I had caught a 'big one' that would utimately break me off!

For my sixth birthday, Dad hired a boat from Sanderson's Boat Hire that used to be right near the Hornibrook Bridge. I remember it being freezing cold and we didn't catch anything- but I wasn't put off.

The following year we went to Amity Point on North Stradbroke which introduced me to the greatest fishing a seven year could ever have. This was back when the old jetty was there and you could catch everything from 3lb bream to mackeral from it. In fact, that was the holiday when my one and only rod (a very stiff little present from Santa) took a dive off the jetty. We drove to Point Lookout where my Dad bought me a new rod, a Jarvis Walker - Clarence. This rod will always be special and was the reason I chose to be 'Clarry' in our user name.

We had several family holidays at Amity after that, all of them fantastic fishing with my Dad. Would I have been as keen if I'd been born into a non fishing family? I really don't know for sure, but I think there is 'something' there in my genes that would have surfaced eventually- probably not until I was old enough to do it under my own steam. But I think , in my case, my love of fishing is probably 70% nature.

My Dad now comes fishing with us when he can ( he looks after my Mum) and it's funny that I sometimes rig up for him if his arthritus is playing up or he leaves his glasses at home. I smile as I remember the number of times he did this for me so patiently everytime I snagged up on something as a young one. Writing this has brought back some great memories!

OK so now its my turn...I'm the Chas bit of Chas and Clarry.
I came from a non-fishing family, had done a few trips to the pin with a mate and a bit of land based around shorncliffe, but it was just mucking around. THEN..my good luck is to have been introduced to successful fishing by Clarry and her dad about 29years ago and am still fishing with them and especially with my best mate Clarry as "decky". How lucky am I?;D

C&C

[Chas & Clarry]

Prior to meeting my boyfriend (my husband now for nearly 25yrs) I had always been my dad's fishing buddy. A keen fisherman, he probably saw the potential in me when at about 5ys old caught me sitting on the front stairs and "fishing" with a real of cotton with a twig tied to to the end for bait. I remember it so clearly. I would pack my "fishing gear" and a biscuit or two into a bag and then I would do a few laps of the house on my tricycle and finally reach my fishing destination. I would try to get the twig caught up on the plants that grew under the stairs and pretend that I had caught a 'big one' that would utimately break me off!

For my sixth birthday, Dad hired a boat from Sanderson's Boat Hire that used to be right near the Hornibrook Bridge. I remember it being freezing cold and we didn't catch anything- but I wasn't put off.

The following year we went to Amity Point on North Stradbroke which introduced me to the greatest fishing a seven year could ever have. This was back when the old jetty was there and you could catch everything from 3lb bream to mackeral from it. In fact, that was the holiday when my one and only rod (a very stiff little present from Santa) took a dive off the jetty. We drove to Point Lookout where my Dad bought me a new rod, a Jarvis Walker - Clarence. This rod will always be special and was the reason I chose to be 'Clarry' in our user name.

We had several family holidays at Amity after that, all of them fantastic fishing with my Dad. Would I have been as keen if I'd been born into a non fishing family? I really don't know for sure, but I think there is 'something' there in my genes that would have surfaced eventually- probably not until I was old enough to do it under my own steam. But I think , in my case, my love of fishing is probably 70% nature.

My Dad now comes fishing with us when he can ( he looks after my Mum) and it's funny that I sometimes rig up for him if his arthritus is playing up or he leaves his glasses at home. I smile as I remember the number of times he did this for me so patiently everytime I snagged up on something as a young one. Writing this has brought back some great memories!

OK so now its my turn...I'm the Chas bit of Chas and Clarry.
I came from a non-fishing family, had done a few trips to the pin with a mate and a bit of land based around shorncliffe, but it was just mucking around. THEN..my good luck is to have been introduced to successful fishing by Clarry and her dad about 29years ago and am still fishing with them and especially with my best mate Clarry as "decky". How lucky am I?;D

C&C

[Chas & Clarry]

Ummmmm:-/ ...oooops:o ...don't know how we managed to post that twice...(sorry new to the site!)

[Wahoo]

good read C&C
thanks




Daz

[nigelr]

Here here, great story, lucky man, Chas!
Wellcome aboard, C & C!
Cheers!