The Three Jolly Boatmen

The Three Jolly Boatmen

Or An Homage to Kangaroo Island

Dreamland

Captain Codpeace was dreaming. He was not altogether sure what about exactly but it involved a motorbike, a donkey and a party. He was riding the bike through the party and he was not sure where the donkey came in but there was a very annoying woman, who kept saying ‘The person you need is Nanny McPhee’. He stopped the bike and turned round and there was Nanny McPhee just three feet from him, hairy mole and all, staring him directly in the eye. That was when he woke up.

Lying in bed he tried to recollect his dream and then the night before. It had been a big night. He knew this as though he was not hung over he felt like he had been shunted into a wall by a bus. Looking at his watch he saw the time was getting on and he had to get up to go fishing.

Captain Codpeace sat up on the edge of the bed. Before standing up he thought he should take a few seconds to let the blood flow to wherever it should flow in order to stand up. He guessed it should be to his feet but he was not going argue with anyone about it just now.

It was then that he noticed the hole in the plasterboard wall about the width of two cricket balls. It had not been there when he went to bed though he had been in no position to know that for sure. He then remembered he had got up in the middle of the night to relieve himself. He had slept in this bed so many times that he knew the way to the bathroom but somehow he had managed to fall on the floor during the night.

This had been no minor stumble but more like the felling of a large tree. He certainly landed with a thud loud enough to wake his wife. He then launched into a stream of invective using strong Anglo-Saxon terms for human genitalia and how these genitalia were to blame for his fall. As we all know genitalia are dangerous free agents causing untold trouble for mankind. Needless to say he woke up the rest of the shack if only briefly.

Given the size of the hole Captain Codpeace thought a body inspection might be in order. First the head then the rest of the body but surprisingly no bruises or sore spots. He was at a loss to know what part of him had struck the wall but the wall had come off second best.

He decided to get up and go into the kitchen luckily covering himself with a dressing gown beforehand. His wife, Chrissie, dressed in just a nighty was already maniacally cleaning. He was not sure what but she was probably polishing the gravel round the house. No one else had stirred but a pot of coffee was definitely in order. On putting the pot on the stove the Captain had a slight chuckle. He had remembered what happened last night.

Rum comes a calling

Captain Codpeace and his crewmates Sir Evelyn Whiting and Muttley had come on holiday again with their wives to Kangaroo Island. Strangely enough these were not their real names. Sir Evelyn Whiting’s real name was Bob. His nickname came from one fishing trip when he had not caught a single King George Whiting. Bob was a keen and competitive fisherman so lack of fish was a source of much angst and Anglo-Saxon.

Muttley, whose real name was Doug, was an ex-military type, who was used to his orders being obeyed without question. In Civvy Street no such obedience was present nor in fact could be expected. This was much to Doug’s chagrin and he could sometimes be caught muttering under breath about this, that and the other. Captain Codpeace was in fact Jack and how he got his nickname is not for the delicate eyes of the reader. An explanation is best saved for the rugby club.

The trips to KI were always a source of great expectation and merriment. Somehow KI always lifted the burdens of the world and it was a chance to kick up one’s heels. Some put this down to the sea, sun, fishing and beaches though the cognoscenti realized all of this was topped up by liberal doses of wine and whatever booze the holidaymakers could get their hands on. First Night Frenzies were as common as the rising sun. However much they promised themselves not to go too hard on the first night they could never control themselves. This could be excused of those in their twenties but as they were in the latter half of their fifties you would think they would know better. Not a bit of it.

To be fair the first day had started at a gallop. A 10am ferry allowed them to get to the oyster farm at American River to pick up oysters. Then on to KI Spirits but the Captain wanted to take the crew to the KI Brewery. This would involve a detour and if he suggested a visit Mrs. Codpeace would flatly reject it. Instead our brave Captain had a word with Muttley, who then suggested they visit the brewery and so as not to offend the guests Mrs. Codpeace agreed.

What initially looks like a shed in a paddock is in fact a laid-back rustic bar attached to the brewery. A quick Pale Ale and then it is on to KI Spirits to pick up some quality gin. After that a stop at The Islander cellar door for a lunch of charcuterie, cheese and the odd drop of wine. Finally they were on the road to the shack in the dunes by the river.

Then started the Great Unpacking as the contents of large car boots were disgorged of their contents: several Eskies, crates of beer, boxes of wine, a couple of dogs and even the odd wife. The womenfolk were then left to pack several fridges and freezers in the order that only they would like them and without the interference of the men. Allegedly this is a female bonding exercise.

The Smart Money after having stocked the booze in the appropriate fridges then went to inspect the Tinnie in preparation for the next day’s fishing. This is a meticulous exercise of testing the engine and ensuring the Tinnie is set up properly for a quick getaway in the morning.

Once both genders were happy with their respective arrangements the holiday could begin in proper. It being nearly five the sun was lowering in the sky and the temperature was dropping from a balmy 30 degrees. It was time for Beach Bocce in which the local terrain played a major part in the outcome of the game: soft sand, hard sand, small rocks, big rocks, slopes and the odd dog. All would deviate the ball from the intended place and if beneficial there would be all-round cries of ‘great use of the course’. The only solid rule was that to throw a ball you had to have a drink in your hand. Otherwise rules were made up on the run: to throw a ball you had to stand on your left leg or throw with your left hand or throw from a position where you could not see the Jack. Anything to add to the uncertainty.

Post Bocce the First Night Frenzy continued back at the shack with some focus. There seemed to be some two-fisted drinking and this was just from the women. Chrissie hit the wall first and slunk off to bed followed soon after by Lady Whiting and Mrs. Muttley.

The three jolly boatmen continued on unabashed. This is where Nanny McPhee comes in. Her first lesson is ‘Do they go to bed when they are told?’ Tonight this was not going to happen as the Captain had snuck in a bottle of rum. Lady Whiting had banned Sir Evelyn from drinking rum given his generally riotous behaviour after a few rum and cokes. The Captain ever the sensation-seeker had other ideas and wanted to have dinner and a show.

Liberal doses of rum can be explosive with unintended consequences like errant fireworks. To be honest they were getting a bit loud and just when you thought they could not get any louder the Captain suggested the Dance of the Burning Arseholes. This is an old rugby favourite where the ‘dancers’ or contestants strip naked. Then a piece of toilet paper a length from hip to heel is given to each dancer, who inserts one end between his buttocks. The other end is lit and the dancer has to make it round the course before the toilet paper is fully consumed and his nether regions are singed.

By this time Sir Evelyn and Muttley were well fuelled up on rum and there was not a moment’s hesitation in stripping off. The Captain would have liked to participate but he had dodgy knees. That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. Instead he took the role of timekeeper and chief paper lighter.

The adopted approach was one of a time trial when each contestant ran individually round the shack and the Captain kept time. Muttley volunteered to go first. Toilet paper alight and he was off. It all went well until he reached the end of the deck when he had to run across sharp gravel in bare feet. Plenty of Anglo-Saxon. By the time he finished the course his arse was well and truly singed. Sir Evelyn fared no better and the Captain would have commended them on their efforts if he could have stopped laughing.

Yet there was still enough determination in the dancers to have another go. This time there would be changes and this was vociferously debated. Firstly shoes would be worn. Secondly the dancers would run together with no time kept. This was because the Captain was laughing so hard he could not keep time. Thirdly on completion of the course each dancer had to skull another rum and coke without spilling a drop.

As they lined up together now shoed and with toilet paper rippling in the breeze, their wives came out to see what all the racket was about. It was a view to behold: A full frontal view with just shoes. Somehow this did not align with the public view of their husbands, who were Captains of Industry.

The Captain was not interested in their public profile at this juncture given his view was the hairy posteriors of the Captains of Industry at close quarter. He was more focused on grabbing both pieces of paper and lighting them simultaneously. A ‘Ready, Steady, Go’ and they were off past their wives. While there was much shoving and pushing they made it back to the rum and cokes quickly. Muttley won by half a gulp.

After severe admonishments and orders to go to bed by Lady Whiting and Mrs. Muttley the three jolly boatmen finally made it to bed.

The Fishing Trip

With coffee in hand the Captain decided to wake his crewmates though the reception was less than lukewarm. The Captain decided to do his ablutions and once finished would see if ‘the children’ had learned their second lesson of Nanny McPhee: ‘Do they get up when they are told?’

The answer was a partial yes with one up and the other sitting on the edge of his bed looking somewhat wary of the day ahead. The Captain said the boat was leaving in half an hour and then made plenty of tea and toast with vegemite. The mood of his crewmates was not aided by the look of their wives. Each was looking somewhat stern with pursed lips as if they had each just sucked on a lemon. The quicker they went fishing the better. With the boat hitched to the 4XD they were ready to go. Then Jock decided he wanted to come.

Jock is a Jack Russell terrier belonging to the Captain’s father-in-law and his wife. Jock is not your average Jack Russell as he is both devious and deviant. Firstly he rarely barks unless he has cornered a wallaby or a roo. He likes action either hunting or walking or a special treat of being with boys, who are always up to something. He can sometimes be seen on the front of a kayak as a boy paddles down the river.

Otherwise he roams the district visiting all he can and just turns up unannounced. He has sometimes appeared in wedding photos especially taken on the beach. There is a myth that he may have-appeared in an international travel magazine. He is also something of a hero. He once saved Sir Evelyn from stepping on a Brown Snake as he climbed over a farm fence. Jock picked up the snake and having shaken it violently he then tossed it away. Come night-time there is nothing he likes better than sleeping with children or women preferably under the covers. Last night as they had no children with them Jock had decided to sleep with Chrissie.

With Jock on board they headed up the track parallel to the dunes and would launch at the other end of the beach. Part-way there Captain Codpeace asked if anyone had packed the bait and the berley. A negative answer produced a stream of Anglo-Saxon and recriminations. After last night it was clearly going to be one of those days. Ten minutes later they were back on the beach with bait and berley.

Beach-launching the 3.75 metre boat is not difficult given its size. The Captain reversed to the sea’s edge and the Tinnie was just dropped in the shallows. Captain Codpeace then parked the 4-wheel drive higher up the beach and on walking down heard his crewmates shouting. Nobody had put the bungs in the back of the boat and so water was pouring in through the drain-holes. Even more Anglo-Saxon.

With bungs back in and as much bailing done as possible there was still too much water. They had to get the Tinnie partially on the trailer so that there was enough of a tilt to allow full drainage. Easier said than done as the weight of the water would make it difficult to winch the Tinnie back on the trailer. With some effort this was achieved and they could finally launch.

Conditions were perfect for a third man and a dog. A calm sea and tiny waves, which is not normally the case. Close attention often has to be paid in getting out past the waves in order not to get swamped. Clearly different conditions to those enjoyed by Jerome K Jerome and his two friends on the Thames. Jock stood with his front legs on the bow. He could smell adventure. The Captain started the engine then climbed in the stern.

After arriving at their first fishing spot the three handlines baited up went over the side and now they waited. While it had been 63 days since they had last fished their run of luck would never be as bad as Santiago’s, who had fished for 85 consecutive days without catching a Marlin.

The Bushfire

The Captain now had a chance to survey the scenery. From the headland going West as far as he could see the land was dirty brown and was the result of the bushfire before Christmas. Two houses in the district had been burnt to the ground but there were no injuries or deaths. Fishing around New Year they could see the smoke from the fires drifting across the water many kilometres to the West. There was enough smoke in the sky to affect the sunsets. The Sun, normally a big orange ball, was compressed to a small red ball not unlike looking at Mars.

Then the big bushfire occurred on 3rd January. Lightning strikes thirty kilometers away in Flinders Chase National Park started the fires. As the afternoon wore on they could see an enormous cloud of smoke to the Southwest. It looked the same shape and size as an atomic bomb cloud. What they did not realize until 6pm was that there was going to be a wind change from the Southwest with significant wind speeds of 35 kph gusting to 45kph. It was going to blow the fire towards them. In fact it flattened the ‘atomic’ cloud flat on to the Island and the fire raged behind the horizontal cloud like a giant flamethrower.

The Captain and his household were going to stay put. The district had already been burned out to a distance of two kilometers from the beach in the Christmas bushfire. The worst that could happen was a lot of smoke. However at 7.30pm a farmer with the local Country Fire Service (CFS) came round advising them to evacuate. While he admitted there was likely only a risk from smoke it would help the CFS to know that there were fewer people in the district to consider especially as the Captain’s father-in-law was 90 years old. The household of six grabbed enough clothes for an overnight stay and met the father-in-law and his wife at the top of the dirt track.

There were eight of them in four cars. The evacuation convoy was led by the father-in-law with the Captain taking up the rear. Initially they saw no smoke but this soon changed as they had to drive parallel to the line of the fire. The smoke got so thick that it was like driving through dense fog and it was hard to see the car in front. Then the smoke on the right turned pink then dark pink.

The fire was getting closer so they had no choice but to keep their nerve and keep driving. Eventually they reached the main highway where there were police preventing access to their road. Turning left the convoy safely headed East to stay with friends on the far Eastern end of the Island. It had been a Sterling Effort by the Captain’s father-in-law to lead the convoy through the smoke.

Coming back the next day along the same route they saw the full devastation of the fire. If they had been on those roads in the fire they would have been literally roasted. In reality the fire came across those roads probably two hours after they had been there.

Coming to a junction they met a farmer and his family. They had lost everything: house, sheds, fences, livestock. The whole lot gone. The farmer was in his sixties and said he would have to start all over again. The look of emotional devastation on his family was too much. The Captain had looked into the chasm of despair.

The father-in-law’s property was unscathed though the smell of smoke lingered inside as did the black ash. Then stories of other districts came in and of people they knew. Some had lost everything and others had miracles. Will from the Rare Breeds Farm managed to save most of his rare livestock. He took shelter by his dam but from neighbouring farms he could hear the screaming of the sheep as they were incinerated.

Some sheep on the Island had survived but were so badly burned they only had stumps for legs. The next day the farmers had the grisly task of shooting those sheep still alive. Only then could they bury thousands in deep pits. The Captain knew of two farmers between them who had lost 15,000 sheep. That was two months ago and the long journey of recovery had only just started.

Dolphins and tuna galore

The Captain’s recollections were disturbed by a tug on his line. He waited an instant then pulled on the line to hook the fish. The first fish of the day. The fishing trip continued in its haphazard way. There was plenty of commotion as fish were hauled in sometimes of the non-edible kind. These would be cray bait. Sometimes the amount of Anglo-Saxon was quite voluminous as lines got tangled or as a hook got stuck down a fish’s throat and took an age to extract. By the end of the trip they had one squid and enough Whiting for nearly two lunches. The pressure was off.

On the return journey they saw a pod of dolphins, which had found a shoal of fish. Their technique for catching them was to corral them into a column of fish with the column bottom being on the seabed. Above the column three or four dolphins would splash their tails on the surface to force the fish down to the seabed. This shrank the size of the column and so increased the density of fish. Then they took turns in catching the fish in the column.

About a kilometer from the beach Sir Evelyn saw a disturbance in the water. Tuna! The Captain slowed the boat. Catching tuna in a small boat can be a dangerous exercise with a 25 kg tuna thrashing about with a 12-inch lure in its mouth. The lures have two triple-headed hooks so hands and legs can easily be caught on the hooks. The Captain and Sir Evelyn had only caught one tuna at a time but this time an extra crewmate meant they could have two lures in the water.

Tuna are either feeding or they are not so either they were going to catch two tuna or none. Could they handle two tuna in the boat, which already had three men and a dog? The Safe Money would have said no. If Jock had a say in it he would have gone for it. Knowing the implications the Captain and Sir Evelyn looked at each other for a few seconds without saying anything. They could not help themselves. They were going for it.

Boat preparation is everything in order to avoid injury when catching tuna in a Tinnie. Clearing the decks is essential. It felt like Hornblower as he prepared his ship for battle. Non-essential fighting items were stored away, armoury prepared and sawdust liberally strewn on the decks to absorb the blood. They had no sawdust, which is a pity as there would be plenty of blood because tuna bleed like stuck pigs.

Each man put on fishing gloves to handle the lines and the tuna. Both Sir Evelyn and Muttley had big hand fishing reels with heavy lines for the big lures. The Captain had a knife next to him to deliver the coup de grace through the crown of the head. It was the only way to kill them humanely while stopping them thrashing around. Once ready the Captain turned the boat in the direction of the tuna and the boat slowly advanced towards them. The lines were out 30 feet behind the boat, one held by Sir Evelyn and one by Muttley.

Onwards they went to do battle with the tuna. Like the Light Brigade they drove onwards and onwards to the fray. Only this time there were no cannon. Jock was standing with front feet on the bow and he started barking with anticipation. The boat was now over the tuna. Any moment now they would know if the tuna were feeding. Jock was still barking. Then Bang! Sir Evelyn was on and his line suddenly veered from the back of the boat to an angle nearly 90 degrees to the Port side. Muttley started to say something then he was on. His tuna did the same as Sir Evelyn’s but decided to dive as well.

No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy and this was no exception. With just one tuna the Captain would have been able to steer the boat to help Sir Evelyn land his tuna but with two tuna going in different directions this was impossible. The Captain stopped the engine and got the gaff ready. It would be up to each man to haul his tuna to the side of the boat. All the while Jock was getting more apoplectic.

Sir Evelyn got his tuna to the side of the boat first. The Captain stood up with gaff in hand and held on to the bimini for balance. He asked Muttley to lean more to Starboard to counterbalance him as he leant over the Port side to gaff the tuna. You have to be specific on where you gaff a tuna. They have a skin like armour, which is impervious to a gaff so the only way to gaff them is in the throat.

Sir Evelyn was struggling to expose the tuna’s throat to the Captain but eventually they got there. The Captain hauled the c. 25kg tuna over the transom. As he did so Sir Evelyn caught the tail and together they landed the tuna in the ‘pot’, the large rectangular tub in the middle of the boat for any catch.

The tuna took up most of the pot and the tuna was held down to deliver the coup de grace. Once dead Sir Evelyn took out the lure from its mouth and slit its throat to allow the blood to drain so as not to have the blood taint the flesh. On a charter boat they would just stick a hose in the mouth for a few minutes and flush out the blood from the gills. No such luxury in this Tinnie.

They still had to land Muttley’s tuna. It was important to get a move on as the blood in the water would attract Great White Sharks, which are common in these waters. As a Great White is generally larger than the tinnie they have the potential to tip the boat.

A few years ago the Captain had been fishing with a friend, Mark, who was a senior university lecturer. While at anchor a Great White had slowly approached them at an angle 90 degrees to the stern and so was heading directly for the Captain. Mark leapt to the anchor rope and you have never seen an academic pull up an anchor so fast.

With the anchor mostly up and the shark idling slowly past the stern of the boat the Captain started the engine. It was then that the shark heard the engine as it turned 90 degrees towards the boat and dived. Luckily they were under way and the shark could not harm them. Perhaps a lucky escape but they might be so lucky this time with a bleeding tuna in the water. Speed would be of the essence.

Muttley was having more trouble with his tuna as it may have been bigger than Sir Evelyn’s. As they got it in the boat it promptly bounced off the tuna already in the pot. Then it was in the bottom of the boat. Everyone struggled to get their legs out of the way of the thrashing head with its hooks. After much Anglo-Saxon the tuna was held down and the coup de grace administered.

By now there were many litres of bloody water in the boat. They could finally head home but there was nowhere to put your feet except in the six inches of bloody water. Jock had decided to take a look and he too was standing in the bloody water sniffing the tuna. Nobody cared as there was much back-slapping and laughter about the catch.

Heading back to the beach the Captain wondered if the waves at the beach had got up. This could present a problem. To beach in such a small boat you need to make sure you are not caught by a wave in the stern as it will push the boat sideways to the wave. You will then most likely be tipped out of the boat losing the fish and all your gear.

With just two people on board bigger waves would not present a problem as the boat had enough power to come in between the waves. However with three men, a dog and two tuna weighing half a man the boat’s power was significantly compromised. While the waves were bigger than when they launched they were few and sufficiently slow to allow the Captain to surf in behind one wave. They had beached with catch intact.

Once the boat was half on the trailer and lying at 30 degrees the Captain drove the boat higher up the beach. With bungs out they drained the boat of its bloody water into the soft sand. Now started the significant task of cleaning the fish. They would not cut up the tuna here but they needed to drain the blood from the gills as soon as possible. The boat had plenty of buckets and so these were filled with seawater. The tuna were stood upright against the trailer with mouths in the sand and many buckets of water were then poured over the gills to drain the blood into the sand.

Once the squid had been cleaned and the Whiting scaled and filleted it was back to the shack for beer and pictures followed by the filleting of the tuna, which would take some time.

Eventually they sat down to lunch under the umbrella on the deck overlooking the river. By then the wives had gathered a sense of humour about the previous night’s proceedings and there was much hilarity. Lunch was salt and pepper squid followed by Whiting and salad accompanied by chilled Clare Valley Riesling. It did not get much better than this. Jock was asleep under the table. All was well with the world.

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