By Geoff Thomas
Gone Fishing
"There is more tarseal on the runway at Stewart Island than on all of the roads," said John Leask. "There are only 27 kilometres of road on the whole island," he added.
The reference to Leask Bay on the map reinforces the family roots of the sprightly septuagenarian who runs a charter-sightseeing business on a converted fishing boat which was built by an uncle in 1915.
"But it was done up 12 years ago," he adds with a smile.
While shiny new rods that survived the flights from Auckland are being assembled, Leask unravels a cord line which is about 2mm thick.
At the business end three hooks are attached to short sections of 12.5mm diameter plastic pipe. Each hook has been threaded through a hole in one side, so it can revolve with the twisting of a hooked fish and not twist the line. Such refinements as monofilament trace or swivels are not considered necessary in this fishery.
All of the hooks are connected straight to the heavy handline, with flat pieces of lead folded over the cord for weight.
"This is the light tackle," quipped Leask as he dropped the hooks baited with chunks of octopus over the side.
He was soon hauling in line and three blue cod were flapping in the fish box before the rods and reels had even been assembled.
After the 10kg line had broken for the fifth time, leaving sinkers and hooks embedded in the rocky sea floor, the rods were traded for local handlines and the stream of blue cod, trumpeter and wrasse which came over the side was soon filling the fish bin.
These Stewart Islanders are practical people. It soon became obvious why Leask had changed to gumboots and pulled a pair of plastic leggings over his jeans. The spray from the lines and the slime from flapping fish soon coated the unprotected shoes and trousers.
"We might get the heavy outgear out now," said Leask, as the boat chugged across a short strait to another rocky island off the coast of the main island.
Here, the deep water demands a heavy weight to reach the bottom as the boat drifts with the strong current.
The locals do not bother with an anchor. They just drift over the patches of foul bottom where the fish are found.
If there are no bites within a minute or two, they simply move to another spot.
The heavy gear looked like an anchor rope - about 4mm thick with half a rusty sash weight from a window to pull it quickly to the bottom.
The four hooks were attached in the same fashion, and there were usually three or four fish on the end each time the line was hauled hand over hand over the chromed side rail.
The fishing on the Bluff side of Foveaux Strait is not as productive as that found around Stewart Island, as small boats head out from the mainland whenever the conditions allow - about one day in five.
But the region is a seafood lover's paradise, with paua, giant scallops, and Bluff oysters just lying around for divers.
Pauas may not be collected with scuba gear, but at low tide it is not even necessary to use a snorkel. They can be prised off the rocks in less than a metre of water.
The main strait is only about 30 metres deep but in deeper water off the coast hapuku, or groper as they are called in Southland, are readily hooked along with a variety of sharks and dogfish.
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