STINKER: Easy to catch; hard to eat

RECREATIONAL fishing is a funny game. It has evolved since my early days on the Tweed River into a monster industry that caters for all expectations.

Fishing for me was such a simple thing. Time to go was when it was time for a feed. The extended family all lived under the one roof and all could catch fish. My mother and grandmother could match it with the best.

When the decision was made to go fishing, the main target fish were generally bream and flathead in the river, or tailor off the beach.

During the summer months, whiting were the preferred fish.

The men all had cane rods and Alvey reels, the women chose handlines on corks or bottles.

Dark moonless nights on the top of the tide guaranteed bream. Mullet gut on a 2/0 French hook and a pea sinker did the trick.

To attract the fish, a prune tin was filled with mullet scraps and half a brick before the lid was hammered down.

Wire was tied to the tin before it was under-armed into the water – a “Stinker” berley pot.

The bream went crackers. With no bag limits (that we were aware of), we filled the bag into the night.

Around a long wooden table, the family eagerly awaited the tray of bream, which had sizzled in the hot oil on the old wood stove.

Pepper and salt, a few lemons and a pile of sliced dry bread were essential items to accompany the meal.

A shake of the salt, a squeeze of the lemon and you were in business.

The reason for the dry bread soon became evident as family members began grabbing their throats and choking on the bones.

Quickly swallowing the bread cleared the digestive tract and feasting could continue.

This was all part of the bream eating experience.

By John ‘Stinker’ Clarke