Now I just have to admit, that catching fish at ‘Straddie’ is not only the natural sport of the Island, but it was actually a necessity, to ensure the supply of the staple dish of most meals eaten by my family in those early years. Mum had perfected, over the years, the standard sized fish serve that she cooked in batter, where the amount of batter was inversely proportional to the amount of fish available. Sometimes it would have been better described as Batter, simmered and sauted in fine virgin oil with just the hint of fresh fish. This description would best suit the times when the family was relying on my catch of the day for its sustenance. Now the most traditional and introductory level at Point Lookout, in order to catch fish, was the surf off Main Beach. I remember the old-timer Mr Spargo saying that he had no need of a fridge for his fish, because he kept them much fresher than that alive and well in the ocean. When he wanted a feed of fish, he would simply go down to Main Beach and catch them. Sadly, by the time I took up fishing for the family he had obviously taken all the fish close to the settlement near the headland. This fact was fully understood by Dad who made us hike about 10klm along this 20klm beach in order to get to those fish that no one had yet discovered and caught. Now, why the fish only lived 10klm form the settlement and never thought to swim any closer, was never really questioned by me it was just accepted as obvious that all the fish close at hand must have been already caught. Not great logic, but it did have a certain probable ring to it. Now, the beauty of surf fishing is that the crashing waves on your line, gives that tantalizing feeling of biting fish and can envelop your mind for hours, whilst you wait for some really stupid fish to swallow your pippy bait, complete with hidden hook. Was that a bite? no, just a wave. What about that? no just another wave, and so on .. Incredibly, the fish I usually caught were just meters from the shore. They would somehow attach themselves to my hook as I would wind in my line, mostly out of abject despair. Well, the other activity encouraged by Dad to pass the time between wave bites, was the search for pippies. These local beach mussels buried themselves in the sand to about ankle depth and were unearthed from their hiding place by a special Straddie wriggling twisting action of the body, legs and feet. Now if my family had had the same culinary pallet as those early inhabitants of the area, then we would have been well fed indeed, because dumb non-moving ankle-deep pippies were easier to catch than those dammed illusive fish with brains. Now, I clearly remember the instruction that Dad had given me if ever a fish were to connect with the hook on my line. I was to walk slowly backwards up the beach by keeping the tension on my line and wind in the fish and line with the reel provided on the rod. But I tell you, the excitement I felt with my first unmistakable yank of a fish called a Dart, made me forget most of the more technical aspects of Dad’s meticulous instructions. Still, I tried hard to follow his instructions about tension by just running flat out up the beach with my tense rod carried upright over my shoulder. Fortunately, by the time I got to the ‘go no further’ high bank sand dunes, that beating shinny fish had already been dragged out of the water and was flapping on the dry sand. It took a while to wind in the line and finally be united with my gathered brothers and my first proud fish catch. It may have been just a small catch, but you know Mum, she managed to make a meal for 8 from my special achievement by simply adding just a little batter. Feeding the masses with a few loves and fishes was nothing new or special for my mum.
