Leigh holds Sharon's groper while Rodney toils away in the background!
By Daryl Crimp
Drop. Clunk. Tap tap - thump! It doesn't get much better than that. This was the sequence we all experienced while fishing over the Hokitika Trench with Wildcat Charters out of Greymouth in January, and the action did not let up. After a leisurely two hour steam, during which time coffees were served with homemade bacon and egg pie and a slight detour was taken to marvel at the sight of a humpback whale sounding against a backdrop of rugged West Coast beauty, skipper Leigh Kelly buttoned back the throttle and stated simply, "We're here ... drop your lines!"
This was the first hint that we were about to take part in a magic experience, because in what seemed like a sleight of hand, all the rods materialised fully rigged, baited and ready for action. While our attention focused on other wonders of the trip, Rodney had busied himself preparing the fishing stations and no attention to detail was spared.
However, Rodney could not always be praised for adroitness and dexterity of action, because at the start of our adventure while we were loading the vessel from the high wharf, he conducted a marriage ceremony between his hands and a rung of the ladder. A swell or perhaps a slight wind-shift caused the boat to yaw away from its berth and in the confusion, Rodney's hands decided to stay with the ladder while his feet became determined to cling to the side rail of the boat. The diligent and quick acting skipper secured a grip on Rodney's ankles and then just as quickly released them, obviously deciding there was little point to them both becoming shark bait.
I was descending the ladder at the time and merely thought the lad was being noble by forming a human bridge to make alighting the boat easier. It's good to start a charter trip with a bit of humour and thanks to Rodney's dip in the tide, we scored the comedy routine 10 out of 10 and the pattern was set. To give him credit, he kept his head above water, his fags dry and while he did work a full shift sodden to core we never got the opportunity to accuse him of being wet behind the ears!
Annette and I released the drag on our reels at Leigh's command, and four members of the Greymouth Fishing Club did the same. Leigh's an ex-commercial fisher, so still talks in fathoms and at 100 of the suckers you are along way from the bottom - 200m or thereabouts. Luckily, all the gear supplied by Wildcat Charters is good quality and well maintained so fishing in this depth is a smooth operation. Leigh also supplies shoulder harnesses for everyone and insists they be used to make the fishing easier and also because he doesn't want fatigue to spoil his punter's day - it can be hard work out there on the Trench. I was using my new Black Magic Equalizer Gimbal and Harness system.
We were riding on a lethargic West Coast swell under a cloudless sky and I could be excused for thinking, had we not been swallowed up by an endless panorama of blue, we were amidst a desert with gently undulating dunes stretching to the horizon. But desert it was not, because the moment the sinkers hit the floor our collective reverie was shattered by a clunk, tap tap - thump!
"Hook up," I shouted.
"Hook up!"
"Hook up!"
"Hook up!"
And so the Mexican Wave of excited shouts chorused around the boat.
After a time and a steady amount of effort, the first groper popped to the surface and we soon fell into a pattern that had a rhythm of a healthy heartbeat. Rodney had one of those wonderful names that could be shouted with a 'Kath and Kim' accent.
"Rod-neeee - groper!"
"Rod-neeee - get the gaff!"
"Rod-neeee - gin and tonic!"
The delightful deckie was kept busy dancing about the boat hauling groper aboard, rebaiting rigs, hauling groper aboard, rebaiting rigs and smoking. Apparently he once burnt holes in his socks because he's so quick off the mark (his story not mine)! The rest of us naturally fell into a rotation of rest while another fished, and then it was back to drop, tap tap - thump ... hook up!
The reverie was again broken, this time by the skipper with a simple, "How many we got?" He'd been kept busy trunking the fish and packing them on ice so they'd be kept in best possible condition, while I removed the cheeks to help speed up the operation. We'd only been going an hour and 10 minutes, so we were all a bit staggered to find we had 29 big fat groper aboard, all hovering around the 30lb bracket, and 1 nice trumpeter. Legally we were entitled to 40 groper, but everyone agreed that we'd satisfied our appetites in more ways than one.
The rest of the morning was spent chasing albacore tuna with exciting results, reclining in deckchairs while soaking up the sun, feasting on a good Coast-style barbecue and shouting, "Rod-neeee - another gin and tonic!"
