Fishing and Teeth

On previous posts, there is a nice picture of Freshwater Bay. Doesn't it look nice at sunrise? The one above is what it looks like in a storm. We get 100 mph winds nearly every year; bloody English, they get a weather warning if it is over 50 mph. Still, back to the fishing...

Back in the day, when the Mackerel were in abundance, the big shoals, as they migrated, were followed by sharks. Blue, Thresher, Porbeagle, Mako. We also used to get Basking Sharks, and long before that, Whales. Yes, really, Whales used to be common off the IOW, and one washed up on the beach down the back, and the skeleton can still be seen at Whale Chine, which is now a tourist attraction. I don't know what the British records are for these sharks, but back then, the IOW held them all.

I used to work with a guy called Dave, and was best friends with his brother Gib. Both are great guys, and I have been luckily enough to know them as friends. Gib was one of these guys you wanted to be. Good looking, a great guy, good at all sports, indoor or out, and if we went to the pub, he could not get to the toilet for good-looking women hanging on to him! Bastard! I always thought that they were only chatting Gib up so he could introduce them to me, but he never did.

Dave was an excellent boat builder, and strangely enough, I met him in the supermarket yesterday, and after a bit of Yarning, he reminded me of a couple of things.

Dave and his brother were far in advance from us with their boats, and being boat builders, so they should be. Unlike the plodding floating heaps of crap we went to sea in, they had built fast, fully-knitted-out boats. They used to have it sorted out where us low life would beach our boats at the bottom of the slipway then drag them up the ramp; Dave or Gib would hit the beach at full throttle, with the outboard so it could tilt up and have enough speed for their boats to reach the top of the ramp before they finally stopped. Impressive.

Obviously, some pain in the ass reported this, and notices were posted about a speed restriction in the bay, which all ignored. On this occasion, Dave was on his own off Atherfield Ledge, about a mile out, and seven miles from the bay, fishing for Tope. Tope are a member of the shark family, taste awful, but are good fighting fish. So right or wrong, people used to fish for them, catch them after the fight, then unhook them and let them go.

Dave's reel starting shooting out, and he knew he had a big Tope on. As his boat was not anchored, the fish started pulling the boat along; sometimes Dave could reel in some line, sometimes he had to let some out. Then, bang, the line went slack. He had lost the big fish. Dave stood at the 'transom' (the back of the boat) reeling in the slack line when all of a sudden a huge shark shot up with the line in its mouth. The shark had swum under the boat, making Dave think he had lost it. Dave's boat was 5 meters; the shark was 4. Now, one meter may not sound a lot on shore, but when you are a mile offshore, on your own, it makes a hell of a difference, especially when you have hooked a very pissed-off shark.

As I said, I saw Dave yesterday and was talking about this. I should have asked him if he cut the line or it had just got off, but either way, Dave said it was just swimming around his boat looking at him. Dave did the sensible thing, started the outboard, and flat out home, for a much-needed drink.

Around June, the Bass moved in, and we knew this because the seagulls would 'work' where the Bass were diving for the scraps of the small fish the Bass had killed and floated to the surface. Catching Bass, without a license, to sell was illegal. Tough, we all did it, and to be honest with you, what we took never even touched the fish stocks, a box or two, maybe worth £100, if you did well.

One of the places was Brook Ledge, the other was past the Needles called Fairways, about 5 miles out. Every year, the locals would cash in on this time as it only lasted six weeks. Then... One day, two Scottish trawlers came down to the Fairways and started to pair trawl, a big net between them. They were taking 10 tons of Bass a trawl! All hell was let loose out there with rocks, etc., being thrown at the Jocks, and was so bad that the police launch the Ashburton had to go there to stop someone from being killed. I would have gladly killed them for what they were doing.

Obviously, with all these Bass being landed, it flooded the market, and prices went to nothing, so the despicable Jocks took their catch to France. Unbeknownst to them, a fish dealer here had contacted a friend of his in France who had tipped off the local fishermen. As the despicable Jocks drew up at the quay, they were greeted by lots of French fishermen who did not want their market flooded with cheap fish and were all armed with buckets of Diesel. They made it clear that if the despicable Jocks tried to land their Bass, they would throw the Diesel over them, making them unsaleable. So the Jocks cleared off. So with nowhere to sell their fish, they dumped the lot and cleared off back to Scotland. But the damage had been done. They had wiped out the Bass breeding grounds, and to this day they have never recovered. Brook was the same but with Boats from Poole and Portsmouth putting down miles of net. Within two years they had decimated the breeding grounds.

However, after the Bass fishing ban that was introduced a few years ago, I saw for the first time since back in the day, birds working off Brook ledge, so the Bass were back. It was so nice to see.

I remember being out with a friend 'Little John' one evening. It was literally a night in a thousand, one you only get every three years or so. The sea was like a mirror, not a swell, not a ripple. We had anchored up over a wreck, when we heard this noise just before dusk. 'What the fxxxk is that,' I

said. As we looked into the setting sun, we saw the sea boiling. It was a shoal of Mackerel on the surface, chasing small fish. This shoal was as far as we could see, about two miles and half a mile wide, coming toward us. There must have been millions of fish in that shoal. As they went past us, we caught a basket full, then watched them go to the East. The next day the weather changed, and we did not get out again that summer.

This year some friends of mine went out all day and between the four of them caught six Mackerel. And all this in my lifetime. At that time, there were and still are charter boats that take anglers out fishing. Note, some boats only allow you to take two fish home; the rest go to the boat. Find out what their rules are, for as far as I am concerned what I catch is mine! Still, back in the day, one of the Charter boats took a party of anglers out cod fishing.

Cod are winter fish around here so the seas are normally a bit choppy. A lot of people who charter the boats are groups and often have a couple of beers with them to pass the time. Unfortunately, not all are good at sea and many are seasick. On this occasion, one guy was very sick over the side, so sick that he lost his false teeth. One of his mates then took his own false teeth out, tied them to his line then reeled them in for a joke. 'Look,' he said as he took them off his line 'I just hooked your teeth' and showed them. The guy gratefully grabbed them and put them in his mouth, seconds later took them out saying 'They ain't my teeth' and threw them overboard. Two gummy guys landed at the harbor later!

True story,

I didn't realize when I started this Blog that it would go on the Internet, and people worldwide could read it. I thought it was just Islanders. Still, wherever you are, I hope you like my tales, and if you do spread the word. I have so many memories I could write one a day for the next three years, at least, but no point if no one is reading them.

Nik.

Next time.... Help, Flying sharks, and why never to trust buoys.