In less than a minute I was fast to another, and
Petes yell assured mehe was, too. We put down an anchor, or killick, as our guide
called it, in about twohundred feet of water.
Our boatman, Peter, was at aloss what to do. Birds
here at Crescent Bay are rather few and far between. My companions settled down
resignedly to whatseemed futile carrying-on. Never again for one of these six,
Ithought, grimly!
I did not mention that I had one of my rare and
singular feelings ofsomething about to happen. I was, ofcourse, on the lookout for a
big black Marlin. He was not so large, though nearly so, as my big
whaler.
The hours passed, until about mid-afternoon, and
conversation lagged.
If you shoot a shark or throw a Norway whaleharpoon
through him, the battle is ended. Presently I had a good look at his head and then
his eyes. After supper Iwent to look at him, finding him dead and growing dark in
color. We went back to our anchorage and I went on fishing with the lighter rigwhile
the men chummed. And he had hold of another in less than ten seconds, even while
Bill wasbaiting my hook.
Love kept making excuses for the day, andlike a
true fisherman kept saying, Well get one tomorrow.
No, I could not, and after congratulating
Mr.
It cleared up, however, and seemed as natural as
anyother thing pertaining to the sea.
I hookeda fish, all right, and made ready for a
run. The shark gave awag and the gaff handle hit me on the head. I hookeda fish, all
right, and made ready for a run.
We caught no end of bait, and soon were trolling
off Bondi. They really had beauty, if line and contourlending speed and savagery,
can have such a thing.
In Australia, however, the situation is vastly
different. The shark was a whopper and he roared around on the surface andbanged
against the boat.
Whereupon I laid back with my heavy tackle for all
I was worth. I had seen the two gray nurse sharks in the Aquarium at the Sydney
Zoo.
I was introduced to this Sydney fishing by
Mr.
I never felt such satisfaction and justification as
that spectacleafforded me.
These at Bateman Bay have the most dismal,
grievousnote I ever heard birds utter.
The afternoon was too wonderful to give
up.
Bonito and kingfish bit voraciously and we soon had
plentyof bait.
They then engagedin a fight for the pieces our
boatman threw them. They could not identify it, and asked me todo so, which I was
glad to be able to do.
The shark threw the gaff and bit through theleader
in what appeared a single action. They stand upon a sloping bench up from the beach
some distance, and theydominate the scene.