Giant Tuna At The Peak...from Another Era

[dogtooth]

Hi Guys ,

i used to fish yellowrock and bondi murk in its day and ever since the ocean outfalls were changed to there outer offshore locations the fish stopped coming in . My guess is that when the outfalls were close to land it was like a giant food chain any livie floated out was smashed by something and the fishing was unbelivable . Once the offshore outfalls were setup the dirty water or murk line was pushed out much further and in doing so it stopped the foodchain as the small fish were not there in numbers attracting the bigger predators. our beaches maybe a bit cleaner but the fishing is not as good.......

Cheers John.... Dogtooth......

[Ross Hunter]

Hey Rossco,

I enjoyed reading the story on the tuna at the peak, I consider myself very fortunate that I was lucky enough (as a much younger Bat working the deck on Broady), to be able to see the tail part of that era with you, I can still remember as a wet behind the ears kids feeding out a pillie without enough drag on the reel and having a big tuna immediatley birdnest the reel and snap off - I didnt know what the f**k had happened, you just looked down and laughed! They were great days no doubt, it makes me sad that I dont think we will ever share them together again, they were good times, no they were great times - truley 'Glory Days'.

Cheers - Capt. Bat

Ah! my dearly beloved Bat,

As a long suffering deckhand on Broadbill you have great memories of wonderful tuna days we spent together, far too many great times to recall, over those 10 years you worked with me. It is a special bond that is built up between Capt and crew when you spend that much time in each others company for such along time and to me that is most special and always will be. To this day we have remained great mates and although you live in Cairns and we don't get together so much as I would like we stay in contact regularly...I do remember that guy backlashing the reel back then I did laugh because from the bridge there were ten other tuna in the slick. So let's get the next rod in and catch another one and get on with it. Do you recall the days when we would catch 6 fish and let go another 15 and take it for granted that's how it would be forever.

Bring back the Glory days When men drove fj holdens, Days of big fish and sore backs

I have added a chapter from some memoirs I have written you may enjoy Good luck 'Lord Barron Batsrum"

THE DAY THE BAT WENT WHITE

The Bat first came fishing with me one blustery westerly wind-blown day in 1990. We left Botany Bay on a beautiful clear January morning, the air had a superb clarity and crispness to it, it was that sort of early start that made me glad that I had made the effort to get up at sparrow fart. The afternoon forecast was for at least a 30 knot westerly. It was a sultry day, quite warm. It's always intriguing just before a good summer westerly how every bug in the world arrives just before the wind arrives, especially if I am on the shelf. Imagine a hot, balmy day, no wind, just a sea of glass.

Normally there is temperature rise, perhaps a couple of degrees, still no wind, then come the moths, and insects of all types, filling the cockpit and the bridge. That is the sign that a westerly of good velocity is not too far away at all, bearing in mind that on the eastern seaboard of Australia, the westerly is off the land.

If I had the choice of my least favourite gale-force wind, a westerly would win hands down. Westerlies when we are close to the shore, say eight nautical mile offshore, tend to flatten the sea. However, at 12 miles out, the sea is starting to build, and at 20 miles out the sea is three metres high and two metres apart. I am yet to find a boat that will do anything but shatter my teeth on the way home, when the westerlies are cranking over 30 knots.

The problem we face is that they blow constantly at 30 knots; therefore, the waves are now coming at us from the west at a very brisk pace. They are sharp and they are breaking off the bow of the boat sending white spray over the fly bridge. Each oncoming barrage hits the bow, sending shudders through the boat and its occupants—no I don't like westerlies at sea.

The day was still glorious as the Broadbill cruised around in flat, calm conditions; we were trolling a brace of my favourite albacore and yellowfin lures, the black feather. It was the Bat's first trip. We had thrown him on with a nice bunch of guys and he had just caught his first ever yellowfin, he was rapt. He couldn't get up to shake my hand quickly enough, but he didn't stay long, he wanted more. So back to the cockpit went our Bat.

I sensed that he was finding out fast that this fishing business was good fun and I sensed also that he would be coming back, he was going to be a fisherman, he had been validated. Spinning the boat back onto the schooling tuna, a triple-hook-up is encountered, the fish are all around the 20-kilo mark and everyone scurries for a rod. They set up the hooks and go about catching their fish; its action a'plenty and spirits are high in the cockpit. There were lots of high fives from the fishermen standing amongst the tuna in the cockpit, a sea of blood, slush and fish.

Then the moths arrived. The whole cockpit was seething with bogons, wasps, hornets and termites: in fact, just about every kind of flying nasty. That didn't phase the Bat, as one by one they stuck to the sweat on his back, brow and for that matter any part of his anatomy that was perspiring—and that did not exclude much of it at all. Yes! He can perspire a bit, especially on the big jobs, and for the past 1½ hours he had wound in four 20-kilo tuna with a gusto that almost saw them disappear down the guides of the rod.

The heat had become intense. I looked westward to see the telltale ocean ripple. This often is a giveaway of oncoming wind; the ocean's surface goes from a glassy, slick, almost mirror-like appearance to a ripple effect, as if it's nervous about something. At that time the fish sense the change and usually snap their heads off.

That day was no exception. I wasn't too worried about the approaching weather, we were only 13 mile offshore and 30 or so knots was not going to give us too much grief, maybe a little hammering for a few miles then we'd hit the comfort zone and cruise in. We hooked-up a couple more tuna, everybody was having fun, so we kept the dream alive. The wind hit us at 25 knots and it was as if it was coming straight out of a blast furnace: it was hot and dry, so much so that the spray that was being thrown around the boat was drying soon after it landed, thus leaving a white residue on every thing. The boat looked like a Siberian saltmine.

We started to head home, we had a great catch of yellowfin, everyone was tired and they settled down on the bunks for a relaxing snooze and recuperation. But not our Bat, he sat in the game chair, not taking his eyes off the lures, ready for more action. The salt in the dry wind was now intense and with every gust was building up on our intrepid angler in the chair. He sat there in the westerly for the entire trip back, including the trip across Botany Bay.

At the dock, I tidied up the bridge and made my way to the cockpit, where the first glimpse of the Bat reduced me to tears of laughter: he was encrusted with so much dried salt that the insects were in danger of being fossilised on him. He looked for all the world like a giant snow man, the "Yeti of the Tasman Sea".

The Bat had turned white, even his golden blonde hair was now white!

I have always preferred the company of younger people to those of my own age. When I met The Bat I was in my late forties and he was 21. Probably because I have never wanted to think old or act old, or for that matter act too sensibly, is the reason why I enjoy younger company. It was inevitable after a few more trips that The Bat and myself were going to develop a great friendship, one we would both enjoy for many years, a friendship of great respect, a friendship of give and take, but above all a mateship that even today has seen us barely cross a stern word towards each other.

LORD BARON BATSRUM THE THIRD,

IN CAPITULATION AND WAITING

As I said in a previous chapter, no-one should ever be called by his or her christened name, it's just not Australian, and everyone should have a nickname. The Bat christened me "Cogga", because of my busy activities on the forward and reverse sticks when we were chasing backwards a particularly hot marlin—the use of forward and reverse gears in combination with the throttles to chase a fish is always part of the excitement of marlin fishing for a skipper

A marlin of 120 kg on 8 kg line would spool an angler every time if the skipper did not back up, and back up pretty briskly. In the process of backing up a 40-ft boat on a fish, certain things need to be done to get the best performance out of the boat. One is using forward and reverse to change direction, never the steering wheel; the other is not to feed too much power to the props as this will cause what is called cavitation, or propeller slip.

Once cavitation happens, the boat loses a certain amount of efficiency and speed through the water, bearing in mind that they were never designed to go that way, blunt end first anyway. Care of the power and becoming totally familiar with the backing up process requires an enormous amount of gear-hanging from forward to reverse, maybe 50-plus times on one marlin. It takes some time to be really confident and proficient at this, it is fairly easy to drive over a fish and put him through the rotary gaffs, propellers. I have done that only once and it disappointed me so much. I had failed the job that I should be good at; that made me ensure that it never happened again.

The Bat was very impressed with the first time he experienced that backing up show. He came up with the "Cogga" nickname—someone who changes the cogs in a gearbox a lot, and the name stuck. We were out fishing one day in 1991. The Bat had finished his apprenticeship with Cummins, and both Glenn and he were working the deck on Broadbill. There was never a dull moment, the customers loved the boys, and the cockpit was a sea of laughter. We were yellowfin fishing, the fish were everywhere, and after putting a handful of pillies in the water we had 30 to 50 kilo fish coming from everywhere.

Big yellowfin were swimming to the transom, virtually being hand fed. The anglers were selecting the fish they would hook up, it was red-hot action, the stuff dreams are made of. The boys worked like navies gaffing, cleaning and icing fish, and the anglers begged for mercy from their stretched muscles and aching backs.

At about 4 pm we pulled up stumps, put out a brace of lures to troll home, and boys went about cleaning up—hosing the deck with detergent and an hour or more of scrubbing the decks that resembled a slaughter works were in store.

We trolled a mile or so and everybody was busy with their chores, when up came a striped marlin on the left rigger, we hooked him solid first hit. "On the left," I screamed, having sighted the huge dorsal. The big fish attacked the lure aggressively and we hooked him first strike, the reel screamed. We had to wake up an angler and tell him that a marlin was on. The anglers were so exhausted from their energy-draining exploits with the tuna, that they had hit the bunks and had fallen to sleep the moment the engines started. "Oh well! Once more into the breach" one shouted as he jumped in the chair and did battle with 120 kg of rampaging striped marlin that by this time was 300 metres over the horizon somewhere.

We tagged the fish after 40 minutes after some serious "Cogging". It was late, we had had a great day, so we really wanted to catch this fish and be done with it, and everyone was tired. It was now dark so we pulled in the gear and I sparked-up the twin Cummins and head in at 25 knots, the radar screen illuminated the darkened bridge.

The perfect end to a great day's fishing. Having shaken our anglers' hands and bid "Goodbye", we did a final tidy up then went home to bed, ready to do the same again to morrow.

Glenn had a date with his girl, so he took off first. The Bat and myself finish off the last bit of tidying over a beer, we were tired and enjoyed the 15 minutes relaxation before we to head home. The boat was quiet, just the lapping of the water could be heard, but the sound was not a familiar one. One thing that a skipper knows after spending half his life on a boat is an unfamiliar noise, or an engine surge, anything that is not normal.

I commented to The Bat that the water seemed to be coming more from "inside than the outside". We lifted up the engine bay to find that the stern gland was leaking badly. That can happen after a lot of serious backing up and is fixed simply by tightening the gland bolts. We have since installed drip-less seals, the best thing we ever did. However, on that night we were going to have to tighten the gland before we left. A diesel engine having been run at high revs. for an hour or so takes a long time to cool down so the engine room is extremely hot. In went Scott with spanners in hand; he hung almost vertical, tightening up the bolts on the gland.

He struggled in the heat and the confined space of the engine room as he tried to dodge the red-hot turbo and the equally scorching exhausts. His John Lennon look-alike glasses were fogged up as he emerged from the engine room, commenting that when he was in the inverted position, "I felt like a bloody' bat hanging in a bat cave!" as he wiped the sweat from his face. I laughed at the comment and the sight of this giant of a man as he emerged from the engine room and replied, "You're certainly a Big Bat!" To this day, many a person who has known The Bat for years could not tell you his real name.

Yes! The Bat was christened for life that night. Having accepted his new name, one day he told me that he thought that one stage of his family tree was involved with royalty. He had been drinking at the time, however his upbringing and his education at The Kings School and the fact that often commented while cutting up the pilchards in the transom that his headmaster at The Kings School had told him, "Taunton, you will never amount to anything if you don't pull your socks up". The Bat would look up at me on the bridge as he hacked away on the cutting board, covered in pilchards and slime, and say "How wrong was the silly bugger, I wish he could see me now?"

I always believed that maybe The Bat did have a little royal blood, so one day at sea we anointed him on the left shoulder with gaff handle as he knelt before Glenn and myself and the anglers in a most serious and dignified ceremony conducted amongst the fish slime and pilchards. "I name you in the name of the Queen "Lord Baron Batsrum The Third, in Capitulation and Waiting"………… sorta has a nice ring to it, I felt.

If The Bat sends anyone a letter, he will always sign it with that full title, which is fine for those who know him, but what about those who don't? There is sometimes too much seriousness in the world, but never when The Bat and I are together.

[Ross Hunter]

Hi Guys ,

i used to fish yellowrock and bondi murk in its day and ever since the ocean outfalls were changed to there outer offshore locations the fish stopped coming in . My guess is that when the outfalls were close to land it was like a giant food chain any livie floated out was smashed by something and the fishing was unbelivable . Once the offshore outfalls were setup the dirty water or murk line was pushed out much further and in doing so it stopped the foodchain as the small fish were not there in numbers attracting the bigger predators. our beaches maybe a bit cleaner but the fishing is not as good.......

Cheers John.... Dogtooth......

Dogtooth,

I too remember the yellow sludge and the smell of it all as well. We don't have that anymore now that the outfall is out 2 nautical mile, but we don't see the big tunas anymore......however I don't miss the rest of the trimmings from the yellow sludge.

Roscoe

[Ross Hunter]

Hi all

Ah the good old days, i rememeber fishing as a junior on a boat called Marlin down at the hump, i would have only been about 13 years old, so nearly 20 years ago we would regularly catch yellow fin up to 80kg and there was plenty of them too. before that my father Warren landed good fin up to 70kg at the marley wreck, i wonder if these days will ever return.

Hungie,

It's what I mentioned earlier and there are no outfalls down there

Ross

[plankton]

Hi Ross,

Thanks for the report... This site contains interesting scientific theory. It is also good that it covers a range of information appealing to many fishos in different ways. Personally, I like these reports & think that such material which is also commonly produced by people such as Starlo regarding fish phisiology and behaviour is very intersting.

To be able to know for sure why the big Tuna dissapeared from inshore coastal waters is difficult. I think that long term data collection may need to be considered. similar to theories about Climate Change, an understanding of the past is important but it seems that this information is not considerable. Perhaps a natural cycle involving varied Tuna migration routes is occuring, Similar to El Ninio and dune formation natural processors change.

What Ross says in the report and presented in depth at the Kingsgrove RSL Club about two different populations of inshore and offshore Tuna is very interesting. This is very possible, similar to the different populations of Whales and turtles and so many other animals returning to exactly the same locations along annual migration routes.

The 60mins footage of the large Tuna Ross caught on the Peak is unreal!! Does anyone know if it is available and/or for sale? I would really like a copy.

Cheers, Brett

Edited July 5, 2009 by plankton

[Ross Hunter]

Hi Ross,

Thanks for the report... This site contains interesting scientific theory. It is also good that it covers a range of information appealing to many fishos in different ways. Personally, I like these reports & think that such material which is also commonly produced by people such as Starlo regarding fish phisiology and behaviour is very intersting.

To be able to know for sure why the big Tuna dissapeared from inshore coastal waters is difficult. I think that long term data collection may need to be considered. similar to theories about Climate Change, an understanding of the past is important but it seems that this information is not considerable. Perhaps a natural cycle involving varied Tuna migration routes is occuring, Similar to El Ninio and dune formation natural processors change.

What Ross says in the report and presented in depth at the Kingsgrove RSL Club about two different populations of inshore and offshore Tuna is very interesting. This is very possible, similar to the different populations of Whales and turtles and so many other animals returning to exactly the same locations along annual migration routes.

The 60mins footage of the large Tuna Ross caught on the Peak is unreal!! Does anyone know if it is available and/or for sale? I would really like a copy.

Cheers, Brett

Brett,

thanks my friend glad you enjoyed that presentation as much as i did We must do another one day.The video I have is the only one in captivity I have since transfered it to disc along with a series we made on Hat Head in '76.

Maybe I could burn it although I have never tried.

Ross