Well my first ski boat comp is ticked off and it was an interesting day in many aspects. Well done to the DSBC for putting on a really good comp with stacks of prizes for the ladies
. It was awesome seeing so many ladies on the water and a huge well done to each and every one of them – some tremendous fish came out.
It brought back many memories for me from so many years ago ski-boating with my dad but it was also very different.
I drove down to Durbs on Saturday and our skip picked us up for some boat prep and registration. When we checked the motors, one wouldn’t fire. We tried to jump start it from the other motor battery, but no luck, so Skip was on the phone for some assistance. We then tried to jump start directly onto the starter motor, but failed. Things were getting a bit tense (to put it mildly
) in camp and it was past 6 for registration. We decided to swop batteries but Skip only had a shifting spanner. I started undoing the terminals with Skip standing at the motors with a running commentary of instructions, some totally unrelated to what I was trying to do on the boat, with my head in the little box which housed the batteries. In an effort to keep things relatively sane, Tish suggested that her and Cara go and register. By now I had managed to swop the batteries and the motor fired on the first turn. I had mentioned earlier that the terminals looked badly corroded, so Skip handed me some sandpaper and I cleaned the “bad” battery terminals and connections of both motors. I connected up again and the motor fired. I put the other motor battery back, connected it up and both fired on the first turn. Huge sigh of relief. When I arrived at the club, I was dollied up, now I looked like a grease monkey
! This was my first comp and it had not started well.
Skip picked us up at 4.00am and we got to the club just before first light. A fair amount of chaos ensued getting the boat out the shed, loaded with all the stuff and then we waited, and waited, and waited. Tish had put our golf ball in the pipe but no tractor. Eventually she went to find out what was happening and was told they were not using that system, it was first come first serve. She managed to grab a tractor, but it couldn’t get to us because of the line of boats, so it got hijacked. I am now getting a little nervous – things are not ship-shape more like total chaos. Eventually we got a tractor and we get onto the beach. Skip gets side tracked and the photographer grabs a quick team photo. We turn the boat, push it deeper into the water, we all jump aboard and we off. 50m and Skip saw someone he knows and has to get a marker from him. It is now broad daylight and most of the boats are out at sea. As we are about to take off, Cara notices the hatches are full of water – no problem, as we get on the plane, Cara and I are on our knees putting in plugs – thank goodness the sea was flat.
We finally get going and see a lot of boats milling around on a spot. Skip has to stop and investigate and instructs us to take down the bait rods, which we do. He mills around for a while and then tells us to put the rods back. We go to another spot and eventually start fishing for live bait. 2 jigs and Skip moves, 2 jigs and Skip moves …. And so it went
. We somehow managed to get a few live bait (with a constant instruction commentary from the Skip, peppered with whingeing because there was no coffee on board). Finally we off into the deep blue and the sea looks so good to my untrained eye.
After a long ride, we arrive at the spot and the milling around starts again
. After what seemed like ages, the feathers are put out and we drive around some more – and some more – and some more. Skip decides to head to another spot so we drive another 10km, pulling feathers. We get to Spot B and live baits are put down.
Cara’s has hardly gone 10m and she is on … well, if I thought we had chaos before, now I am truly initiated to chaos
. Skip is all over the deck yelling instructions left right and centre while shouting at Cara on how to fight this fish. I was trying to keep my live bait out the way, but Cara eventually told me to reel it in – which I did then had to try and get it back into the live well while dodging Skip who is all over the place, mostly yelling at Cara. Cara’s attention is now split between fighting what is a really big fish and fighting with Skip
. Tish and I are pouring water over Cara and gently supporting her with quiet words and touches. The fish comes close to the boat and suddenly goes ballistic and nearly pulls Cara overboard. Tish grabs her bucket strap and hangs on for dear life. Skip is yelling at Cara and anything and anyone. Cara tries to loosen the drag as she is now half off the boat and the fish is under the boat going bananas. A comedy of errors results in us losing the fish. On reviewing the fight – the fish may have seen the taxman and gone nuts, Cara in trying to loosen the drag, used the lever and in the fight, it went to free spool, which caused a nest; Taxman takes the first bite (the rod dipped to the water, sprung back but the line is still intact, rod dips sharply again (maybe Taxman takes the next bite). Whatever the reason, ultimately, the line snapped in the bunch. What happened next is best left unsaid – let’s just say the atmosphere on the boat was pretty unpleasant.
We milled around some more, but spirits are now at an all time low. Tish and I are seriously contemplating the wisdom of our decision to fish this comp. We decide to go for bottoms, as we now only have an hour and a half of the comp left. Skip decides to pull our live baits to where ever we are going, so it’s a slow process. I notice our live baits are just under the surface and spinning like tops. I query this – I’m told its fine. Time is running out, so we change to feathers and I keep the dead “live” bait to cut up. We get to a mark, lines go down – we hardly at the bottom and we have to pull up because we off the mark. Back to the mark, we drift – I get a little slinger and we go back to the mark – down, Cara and I bring up a slinger each - back to the mark – down, up back to the mark, down, up back to the mark – *sigh*.
With 10 minutes to go and our final drop, I hook into a decent bottom fish. I am busy cranking this fish up when I am hit hard
. My first thought is
taxman. The fish heads straight for the boat; I hold on for dear life and manage to turn it. Everyone is shouting instructions at me because Skip and Cara’s lines are tangled with mine. Skip manages to get his line free, then Cara. The fight is on. Tish and Cara are pouring water over me; my back is cramping. All my memories of commercial fishing with dad and KP’s come flooding back. It is now about 20 minutes into the fight and this fish is peeling line off my KP. Between using my hand and reeling backwards as fast as I can, I try and control the fish, which is heading out to sea at knots. I can’t let go of the KP to put on a glove, so use my rash vest sleeve over my hand. Tish is sitting behind me to support my back. I blank out the shouting commentary and ask Skip to please use the boat and we go after the fish. I manage to get some line back, put on a glove and start bringing it closer. So it goes, 4 winds to me, 10 to the fish, more to me, less to the fish. Every muscle in my body is screaming in protest, but I am gaining on the fish. My body is saying hand the rod over but I want to land the fish. We are not going to make the weigh in deadline at this rate and you cannot radio in and say you are on, as one does in shore angling. Throughout the whole fight Skip was saying taxman, but my gut said different. This fish was giving head shakes. Oh well, rather land the fish and miss the deadline. 15m from the boat, 2 vigorous head shakes and my line goes slack
. I reel in the line but my body seizes up, so Skip reels in the last few meters. My trace is intact and the top hook is straightened. For half an hour, I could not put my left index finger and thumb together – my whole arm was numb. I downed 750ml of water. That was intense.
I can only surmise the following: I had baited with 2 fresh sand mackerel cutlets; I had a fish on the bottom hook and with it fighting, it was making the top bait jiggle. This caught the eye of either a yellow fin or maybe a big dorrie which took the bait. If it was a shark, why did it not take the fish on the bottom hook instead of a cutlet half the size of my thumb? My trace line wasn’t damaged either. But I'm a greenhorn and we didn't even get a number plate, let alone see the fish
.
All in all, it was an interesting experience. I certainly don’t think that I will give up shore angling for ski boating. It was great meeting Guppi, FFF and STD, putting a face to a name and swopping war stories.
This is what happens when you take a knife to a gun fight:
