Friday, June 1, 2012

Heat

As I was saying ... I was climbing into my wet weather gear, struggling to fit the plastic pants over my boots, when a silvery grey four wheel drive cruised past all kinda sharky, no lights in the gloom before the sun. They drove onto the beach, turned around and went past our camp again. Plain clothes, looking for an escapee, I thought. Maybe. No doubt. Cops.

Fisheries. Old Salt hadn't seen them and they didn't stop to say gidday. An hour later I watched them chatting to Unruly, as we picked up the rivermouth net. "They're not cops or tourists. Better check where your demarcation point is," I said to Old Salt.
"Well, fuck. I dunno where it is. Must be where I chucked that buoy. Anyway. Let's get this net out of the water, go in and say good morning like the gentlemen we are."


  They measured every fish from every single box.


Even the big ones


Old Salt looked stressed but he had nothing to worry about. Everything was size. "I've been fishin' for sixty five years and never been convicted of nothin'!" He told them. "Betya I don't get charged for another sixty five."


There was a quibble over his license because, like a drivers' license, you have to have it on your person. Old Salt rambled around his glove box and his wallet, his caravan and his dog, stalling and telling yarns.
"Just ring the office and ask them if he's got one," I suggested.
One of the officers walked off to follow his satellite phone around and find some range. Old Salt went into the caravan and made some coffee. I chatted to the other officer while I packed fish. Eventually the first fisheries officer came back, shook his head and they drove away.

They've been watching him for a while now, well for a few decades actually. They would have liked to have got him on a single under sized bream or an overdue license but they were out of luck this day.
Life goes on. New fisheries officers are born, go to school, to university, get a job. The Old Salts of the world just live on, lurking the inlets, getting wilier and smellier every year.

19 comments:

  1. Those boys look like they spend too much time in the pub eating pies and drinking beer.
    Hint of you reflected in the rear window. Evidence.

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  2. Those boys look like they spend too much time in the pub eating pies and drinking beer.
    Hint of you reflected in the rear window. Evidence.

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  3. Hey Little Hat! Are you going to leave some room for everyone else? LOL :0

    Long live the Old Salts.

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  4. This is a familiar tale around these parts. You tell it with great humour.

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  5. Thanks Laurita, of course, your neck of the woods would have much the same sort of characters I imagine.
    I might leave all of your comments there Mr Hat. It makes the place look pretty and like they'd been eating and drinking twice as much.
    Long live the Old Salts alright MF.

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  6. "Life goes on. New fisheries officers are born, go to school, to university, get a job. The Old Salts of the world just live on, lurking the inlets, getting wilier and smellier every year."
    Hilarious and exactly how many of us lecturing at TAFE feel about Portfolio Managers!

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  7. Lurking. Smellier. The fisheries guys must have little to do these days with fewer commercial fishing types. Better to apply lurking to the amateurs who also now need a piece of paper to chuck a line in.

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  8. Try this for size http://www.theaustralian.com.au/arts/a-tasty-offering-of-fish-and-ships/story-e6frg8n6-1226377712673

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  9. Beautiful Mr Hat, sad though to see those big old grand mamas turned into trophies.
    Chris, the officer on the left is one of two who have the beat from Hopetoun to the South Australian border, so I don't think he'd get too bored.

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  10. Here in a Treaty of Waitangi settlement, the Crown gave the dominant South Island tribe, Ngai Tahu a 550 million dollar cash and quota payment.
    The tribe then on-leased that quota to Korean slave ships, the Govt. turned a blind eye, all the while their fisheries officers hunted high and low for Old Salt's with undersize fish.
    Until the slaves started turning up in numbers on our shores, abused and wretched. Still pretty hushed though.

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  11. What an amazing story! Sounds like something from an Ursula le Guin book. Tahu weren't always the dominant tribe though, were they? One of my friends is Ngai Tahu and she still cops some flak from the locals.

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  12. Now that's another story, and being Pakeha I don't get involved other than to try to know the history. Suffice it to say, it's got alot to do with who holds the mana not necessarily the mana whenua, at any given time.
    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mana

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  13. Like Laurita says, the fish officer dudes (called Ministry of Natural Resources officers here) are everywhere. We're always a little afraid of them. Buggers.

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  14. Just get the camera out and start taking photos Cathy.
    Unruly asked me, "Why do you love taking photos of fisheries?"
    "Because it tends to turn them a bit coy and giggly."
    Much fun.

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  15. Maybe their ancestors were transported for poaching.

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  16. P'haps.
    P'haps the presence of a camera just creates an urge to tuck ones shirt in and smile.

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  17. I wasn't being mean, just my clunky way of knowing that there are layers of meaning here for going over to the law, and because we still have ancestral take, for tangi usually, the fishery officers are viewed with some distain, and many of those with polynesian ancestry need fish to feed their families, and many officers do too with the Govt. pay.
    It's a very complex issue here.

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