View Full Version : The beginning of it all for me.

Flattie Assassin
16-11-2007, 06:27 AM
After a few unsuccessful trips, It has got me wondering. What drives me to venture out for all night sessions and the like. It certainly seems like an expensive way to buy fish!! I think it all comes back to my first fishing memory.

Iím not sure how old I was, maybe five. But I can remember my uncle taking me to this creek. He had an old cane rod and Creel. Iím pretty sure this was a freshwater creek as he lived out Dalby way. The setting was just ideal and he caught fish. I was amazed. The memory is a bit hazy being 30 yrs on. But Iím certain this is what has started my lifetime obsession with fishing.

Anyway I find myself thinking about this more and more lately. Having children now of my own, hitting the same age. Iím grateful my old uncle took me fishing that day. Whether it be fishing for snapper in the bay, or kayaking up an estuary to just plain sitting on a creek bank and tossing a line in. Iíve certainly got a love now of just plain fishing. The sights, sounds and smells are the same as that very first day I watched a fish landed.

Thought Iíd share. Tell me of your first fishing memories and how you think they have affected your life.

Little grey men
16-11-2007, 08:35 AM
My first memories are fishing on the Condamine river when I was about the same age. My Grandfather and my Father both grew up fishing that river.
It was only natural that my Father would take his three boys out there almost every weekend to setup a small camp and just fish, shoot and basically learn about the bush and the finer things of life.
These fishing trips have stuck in my memory ever since. Back then the river was much cleaner, a beautiful dark green as opposed to the way it is today, the colour of milky tea:-/ with the very unwelcome addition of the dreaded carp.
The smell of a smoky fire slowly smouldering,catching big blue crayfish, cockatoos screaching at each other, chasing wallabies and rabbits through the scrub, watching my older brother fall into the river in the middle of winter;D and the fish....oooh the fish. Murray cod, Yellowbelly and Eeltail catfish seemed to be limitless.
I still take my Father and my son out on that river but it's just not the same.
But the companies good:)

Flattie Assassin
16-11-2007, 08:45 AM
Thanks for sharing Little Grey Men. I plan on visiting the condamine at some stage. My family is originally from Miles. My aunty drowned in the condomine. Apparently there is a plaque there. This may even be where my earlier memories are from. Being out dalby way.



Little grey men
16-11-2007, 09:00 AM
Sorry to hear about your Aunt mate. The Condamine runs pretty close to Dalby.
I was raised in Chinchilla. I'll be fishing it for a few days at Christmas, the fish don't excactly jump onto your hook but when you do get one it's rewarding.
My Dad and two brothers fished above the Chinchilla weir a few months ago. total score Dad 8 yella's, older bro 5, younger bro 3. not too bad for three hours of bobbin' and thankully no carp.

16-11-2007, 09:21 AM
I grew up in Melbourne but my grandfather had a farm in the Wimmera district between Nhill and Kaniva in Western Victoria. Every school holiday as a kid was spent on the farm. Part of these holidays were the inevitable 'fishing trips'.

They included chasing Murray Cod and Callop (Yellowbelly) at Loxton on the Murray River in South Australia, catching Redfin at Lake Hindmarsh near Jeparit or Rocklands Reservoir or Lake Wallace at Edenhope, spearing flounder in the Coorong in South Australia and trolling lures for Murray Cod in a small lake in Western Victoria where they were first being bred artificially. My earliest fishing memory is catching a small redfin from the dam on his property at around age 6.

He also taught me to hunt, camp and live off the land. Later he retired to Wellington on the Murray River in South Australia and we had many fishing sessions on the river for the 20 years he lived there. Unfortunately he passed away in 2003 aged 83.

I am trying to pass these skills onto my 15 year-old son (KH 15) who already loves fishing as much as I do.

When I am stressed or having a problem, the best way to constructively relieve the pressure is to get the boat out and head into the bay for a few hours. The scenery, the fresh air, the saltwater and the wildlife all contribute to stress relief - and, if you're lucky, you may also catch a fish or two!

Sorry for the ramble!


the gecko
16-11-2007, 12:39 PM
Dad wasnt much of a fisherman, but since we were poor, he figured fishing was gonna be cheap entertainment on the family holidays back in 1968. He found an old bakealite reel in the shed that was antique even back then, and taped it up to a 6ft length of dowl! He used bent nails for guides! He took me to a pier at Lakes Entrance, Vic, and I got my first fish on it, a leatherjacket in purple and yellow colors.

I look back on this and laugh every time I buy a new rod with graphite in it, lol. You can catch a fish on anything, I reckon.

Somehow I think more than a leatherjacket was 'hooked' that day.


16-11-2007, 01:03 PM
About 1949 -1950 fishing Plantation and Ocean creeks at Ayr up north with my mum and dad and friends. Catching barra, red bream, samon and shovel nosed sharks. Seagull outboards, heavy planked boats, big crocks and fishing shacks. I was only 4 and 5 but I will take those memories to my grave. My ambition now is to pass that passion on to my grandkids. The love of the water, the respect of the fish and the need to be gentle with the land we live in.

We are fortunate to live in aus.

Bush Budah;D :D :) :-* :-/

With five grandies, always one not happy.

16-11-2007, 01:25 PM
as a 'tacker" I can remember sleeping in the bow of our old clinker "Putt Putt" on Hessian bags, he taught me to "see" things that a lot of People are totally blind to, like certain clouds and the weather they might bring, little "signs" and seeing Fish in the water or even how to look where Fish might be lurking, I just wish I had paid more attention to him when it came to ropes and splicing and so on (even though I can now splice) and I am very proud to have made a good attempt to pass the same thing onto my own Son and Daughter, both very keen Fisherpersons, and especially my Son, has a keen eye and can see "stuff" most people will miss, he now loves to take other small kids "rockpooling" and he will see (say) an Octopus that will seem to be Invisible to others untill he gets a small crab and holds it near the Ocky, Kids are astounded when a Tentacle appears out of nowhere, or in the Creek at the Back of our House, he can catch a feed of Flathead, Whiting and even crabs from a minute Creek that most will not even glance at, a lot of people do not really see whats around them, regardless how good their eyesight may be, they might as well be blind!!!

17-11-2007, 03:16 PM
Was about seven I guess. The brother took me down to the old Shorncliffe Jetty near the mouth of Cabbage Tree Ck. We travelled by train from Nundah Station. I remember lots of Golden Circle Cannery workers on the same train, some with a bit of a smile as they checked us out. This was circa 1958. I remember breaking the old two piece rangoon cane rod just above the joining ferrule when I inadvertently had the tip under the walkway handrail before executing a cast. Ended up fishing with half a rod. Caught two whiting though. Massive, at least they seemed to me. I was highly disgusted when the brother cut them up for bait to try to catch a flathead.
Thanks for the thread Flattie Assassin.


19-11-2007, 10:41 PM
Ive been out in the boat with my old man for as long as i can remember, i can just remember out fishing for some King George Whiting one day, and they were running hot and there was no way dad was baiting up my hook, he was to busy slaying em, and he kept reminding me that i had to do it on my own. From this day on ive just loved it, doesnt matter where or what im catchin its just the challenge. Although some of my fondest memories are catchin 60lb salmon and halibut(huge flounder) in about 300m of water of the west coast of Canada, if you ever get a chance anyone, its a must. And personally, i dont reacon u can go passed pulling in a snapper on light gear especially, just for fun. ;D I cant wait to retire so i can fish all the time, and im only 17, so for now, ill just have to be satisfied with weekends.

19-11-2007, 11:11 PM
my memories are from down south in the blue mountans where i used to fish alot, catching trout, they were our target. i think i was bout 6-7 at the time but i remember, camping out on jindabyne lake, just in the car, leaving the rods out all night in hope for a late night fish, we also had our dog there, i caught a rabbit for her, she loved it.(rabbits are in plagues down there)anyway, i woke up at like 5 and went for a walk, then i came back and my mum was up checking her rod, she asked if she can check mine, she did and as she was winding in she hooked up!. there was a loud scream !cameron! i was like huh? i ran over started fighting the fish,my mum kept telling me this is a big fish or something like that,after bout 2 mins it jumped did a head shake and it snapped me clean, it was awsome though i can still remember it, also had some nice crays down there,big ones.
ever since then i have been hooked on it, i would even go carp fishing at tuggies lake in the middle of the day and catch nothin lol, just for the fun of it.

good thread buddy


20-11-2007, 02:46 PM
I'll go the opposite way
the first time I took my kids for a fish the girl was 5 and the boy was 3 we were fishhing a gutter in a beach we had got some live bait in a catnet and I set up the kids rods and cast them out about 2 hours later with no bites and a sinking sun I said let's wind in and go home the boy wasn't going home till he caught a fish. so 5 minutes later I told him to wind in his line and we would check his bait the livie was now dead with it's guts hanging out I pushed the guts back into place and told the boy he had caught a fish . he happily went home and couldn't wait to tell his mother and granddad about catching a fish.he is now 13 and a great deckie . just loves his fishing it would be better if once in a while I could outfish him though

20-11-2007, 05:38 PM
Hey Flattie :)

Great nostalgic idea for a thread ;)

We came out from England back in 1964 (yup 10 pound pom ;D) to Perth. Why Perth rather than Sydney or Melbourne etc is a long story in itself. As a nine year old, I had fond memories of my (now deceased) father taking us to Fremantle and various evening jaunts to jetties in the harbour chasing tailor.

At that stage, our gear wasn't what you'd describe as 'technical',;D usually consisting of a 40c plastic spool and line bought from Big W or the like. ::)

Still, during the day, with with the addition of burly cages and small suicides, we caught our fair share of skippy and with fish guts on an un-weighted hook, we were into blue mackerel. In the evenings, the line was fitted out with a 3 gang and loaded with whitebait or sardine, for some (then) pretty decent river tailor, as we dangled our young legs over the edge of the jetty, waiting for the taughtness of the line, after the tell tail hit.

I have many fond moments of Dad sorting out 'birds nests' which became even 'better' when we progressed to rods and 'egg beaters' When it came to fishing, his patience for us was infinite. Which wasn't the case otherwise.

I never learned a lot from him fishing wise, it was all very basic stuff. But he introduced me to fishing, and I'll stay hooked for life!

One of so many reasons I love(d) him and miss him. :-/

If I had just ONE wish today, it would be that he could meet my lovely wife and I could take him out on my boat. Winning lotto would be a VERY distant second to that! ;)

So many stories....

Flattie Assassin
20-11-2007, 07:28 PM
Aren't all the Reply's great. Love the stories guys. Thanks for the input.

Rod Fishing
23-11-2007, 05:18 PM
I would have been about 6 or 7 and had just moved up to Murwillumbah from Sydeny. My grandmother use to take me fishng at Oxley Cove in Banora Point long before it was develoed.

I was always bugging the old man to take me for a fish but he was always too busy with work and soccer.

Most Christmas' I would spend a couple of weeks with my grandma at Kingscliff and she would let me go fishing by myself in Cudgen creek. Back then it was teaming with fish, always came home with a feed of fish, whether it be bream, whting or flathead. When i was about ten grandma showed me how to fish for mullet using a very original rig consisting of white elastic and line with small hooks coming off it with samll pieces of cut up pillow case on the hooks, it was her theory that when the mullet hit the bread roll in the elastic and small peices would break off and the pillow case looked like bread going towards the bottom. That was so much fun as i would sometimes get double and even triple hook ups.

This really taught me hpw to fight a fish as we were only using 6 pound mono and some of those mullet were all of that.

Now I take my almost 4 year son with me every chance i get whether it be land based or out in the Haines. He loves it. To date his biggest fish is a 7.5kg cobia caught off one of the bombers about 50km off Townsville.

Cheers Rod....

23-11-2007, 07:03 PM
There is a time machine that can take you back to some of your earlyist memories of fishing and all things to do with fishing as a kid. Running down sandhills, making a tobbogan out of old real estate signs and hurtling down over bracken ferns and taking the odd tumble at the bottom.

Bait nets that my dad and uncle (family friend) dragged and i'd wait on the shore to see what the efforts would bring.

The smells of wood smoke and kero still linger as strong today as it did 35 years ago.

Not a great deal has changed since then except fluro lights and refrigerator run by diesel generator and not your normal generator either a ground rumbling ole clanger. Back then we used to use some rock carbonite or something i can't remember you put it in water in tin and put a cover over it that had ceramic tips that you lit as the gas escaped.

Ah yes i remember it well that place is the hut at the slipping sands.

I vaguely remember the original hut, we used to go and visit Mrs Summer with my uncle before setting off, sometimes in the old bondwood with a simplex motor, before that hut washed in. i remember my dad and uncle towing the materials to build the new hut that stands today. Ah the memories.

Ole Mrs Dryer catching her favorite Bream, plenty of fish from that bank over the years. How could one not get involved and grow to love fishing.

A man could do worse than to take his family to a place like that hut and the memories your children would have would last a lifetime.


23-11-2007, 07:35 PM
Thought Iíd share. Tell me of your first fishing memories and how you think they have affected your life.

Thanks for sharing mate. I've posted this before but seeing as it was a while back and the membership has grown, I'll give it another go.

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 were 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. Nowadays, when I attempt to capture the texture of something in a photograph, I see those wonderful old rusty trucks and their various hues.

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 and diving, 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 had 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 and squabbling 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 recreational fisherfolk often deride nowadays, were practicing conservation. Retained in the riddles 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

I continued to run away and wag it from school and it took a while, but I figured out that these shrimpers would put into the water approx 2 hrs before low tide 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 the tides.

There were 4 of them......typically (old time) named, Bert, George, Alf, and Charlie. 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. 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. 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 where, 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, ďwait a momentĒ.......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"

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, ďDivineĒ is a word my wife uses freely when eating her favourites, but it is a word that somehow doesnít do justice to my first taste of Morecambe Bay shrimp

He said, that the shrimp 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!

(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 high 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 to where they were 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!

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!

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.

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

23-11-2007, 07:36 PM
On another occasion, when I was on the promenade on a wild day when the Westerlies were blowing in from the Irish Sea, reducing the normally overcrowded promenade to a barren wasteland, 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, seized with wonder at the many tasks that my shrimping friends were involved in! 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 at the sight. 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 its 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, 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 Majestyís 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.

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" and despair, at my then current home circumstance.

The truth of the matter was that any "working class oick" with no arse 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

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, 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 otherís 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 ther4fore they would only good for immediate use. In reality, 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.

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 peopleí 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.

to be continued................

23-11-2007, 08:39 PM
good to read your life on aus fish kingtin . you certainly had a hard time but also probably a good time at the same time .
looking forward to the next chapter .
haggis .....................

23-11-2007, 08:50 PM
my earliest fishing memory was when my dad took the family to Burntisland on the firth of forth estuary in Scotland when I was about eight years old . now I was there to build sand castles and keep an eye on my little brother . my older brothers were fishing with hand me down rods and reels . I only got to fish when one of my older brothers kept getting birds nests and then through the rod & reel down In disgust so my dad handed me the rod and said if you want you can have it . so my intrest in fishing began .
cheers haggis .......................

Flattie Assassin
24-11-2007, 05:27 AM
Great read Kingtin, Thanks heaps for sharing. :)

It's funny how the wildest lads, can turn into the most centred and honest folks as adults. I was a bit of a wild child. I always meant well in my heart but seemed to find myself in trouble on occasion ::). You get married, have kids of your own then it all comes around full circle to slap you in the face.

Bert and charlie and the crew have obviously helped shaped you into the fisho you are today. These are the memories i was talking about. Ones that last a lifetime and play a deep significant role in who you are now.

Can't wait to read part 3.


Mrs Ronnie H
24-11-2007, 08:09 PM
Hi All
My first mermories of fishing-- Goes back to when we were kids we had to make our fun and didn't have such luxuries of x boxes and computers.
I grew up in Victoria and we had an irragation channel running parralel to our drive way-- great swimmong hole in the summer.
In the winter they used to lower the level as the water wasn't needed and this left the channel really low and with only a few deep holes. Mentioned to dad that there would probably be a few reddies around i dug a few worms, cut a piece of bamboo and went out to try my luck.
Not long after I went screaming inside to show dad a decent sized redfin-- remembering that he told me i wouldn't catch anything.
Thats probably my first memory but the best of all was the day dad turned up with a little jarvis walker and a plastic reel..After that i was out there everyday after school for a nice feed of reddies..