Whitebaiting stories are legendary and many people have theories and suggestions around whitebait: the season, the well-being of the resource, should we have a licence and so on, but I won’t get into any of that at the moment.
This wee story comes from a mate who is a regular whitebaiter – so much so I think it might be in his DNA. He’s fished for years, yonks and even a bit longer, as he’s getting on a bit (aging disgracefully) but there’s an aspect of his piscatorial interest that is piscing him right off.
It’s an aspect of the annual ritual that perhaps doesn’t get the attention it should. When some people get their nets out, they put away their decency and common sense, because there is nothing quite like whitebait to stir up all sorts of feelings in those of a certain mind set.
For a regular, everyday person, there is a pleasant anticipation at the prospect of getting out riverside, the happiness of getting a good puddin’ in the net and the satisfaction of seeing nice clean bait in the bucket. Then there are those who become jealous, greedy monsters – perhaps you’ve met some of them? They’ve convinced themselves they own the river, with some even liberally spreading male bovine excreta about customary rights where they don’t exist. They think they have rights over and above those who have fished the same spot for years and who have arrived a bit earlier. Often they jump in ahead of another fisher already ensconced and when challenged become belligerent, in fact quite nasty. A very heated verbal exchange can follow, which can readily descend into physical altercation and there have been many a black eye or bleeding nose delivered in the name of local justice. On the up side, maybe they get off lightly with only being biffed in the drink.
One story I heard recently, was of a guy who spent weeks cutting a path to the riverside, chopping back the scrub at his desired spot and had everything ready for the season. While he was doing all this work, another bloke would come down to watch him. On opening morning, he arrived to find the interloper had used his prepared access and was already on his spot, with a nauseating leer on his face, so a robust discussion took place, then our man decided to take up a strategic spot right in front of the bloke. A short time elapsed, then suddenly his long net handle mysteriously swung round and in a very “pole-ished” manouvre, hit the bloke, with no small force, squarely in the back. At this point people of a certain age can channel the Goon show of radio days “he’s fallen in the water.” Emerging sopping wet, he was given some pointed, parting verbals as he slunk off and was never seen back at the spot.
To avoid these “difficulties,” its important to know the longstanding local rules and traditions, but even when you think you’re abiding by them, there can still be a contretemp of some sort. My old school motto could come in handy at that point – Recte sic dirige cursum (thus direct thy path aright) No wonder it’s known up and down The Coast as Fightbaiting!
All this is most unpleasant and largely unnecessary, so why does it seem to happen each year? Maybe the source of it all is greed.
There are many who value their catch as a means of getting a feed and maybe supplying friends and family. But there are others who view their catch in dollar terms only and seem to have an imperative to gouge as much money as possible out of the season and for these dubious characters, the needs, rights and enjoyment of anyone else is of no importance at all.
Now if these barbed darts hit home and you feel offended, well and good, someone has to advise you of your shortcomings. Who knows, with a revised attitude you might enjoy time by the river (and your life) a lot more.
