One beautiful sunny and calm afternoon, in August of about 1965, I was fishing in and around The Alley with Dad and his friend, Paul Barnett. The tide was dropping quickly and the one or two tailor and bream that had been there when we first arrived had gone off the bite. I suggested we work our way out along the reef at the back of The Alley; there was beautiful tailor water out on the north-eastern tip of the reef and reasonable bream water in the northern corner of Snapper Hole. I took my bream gear and waded to the highest cunjevoi cluster about 20 feet from the edge of The Hole. I noticed that I had to be a bit careful as there was a hole about 3 feet deep cutting back under where I was standing.
I had only just cast out when I saw a lovely schoolie, about 8 or 9 pounds, swim at considerable speed up the break in the cunjevoi in front of me and disappear under the rock I was standing on. I had only on two other occasions seen jewfish swim in clear shallow water, and both of these were when they were chasing a tailor I had on my line. I was transfixed. Then a few seconds later, this schoolie emerged with a rather large wirrah wedged crosswise in its jaws. It had been chasing something, I just could not see what it was. It swam slowly through the shallow water out into Snapper Hole, where it immediately disappeared. I was fascinated by the whole performance, never having experienced anything like it.
I puzzled over the grip the schoolie had on the wirrah. I had always assumed jewfish took their prey however they could grab it, but I had not had definitive evidence before. If they were chasing migrating mullet their victims would, presumably, be grabbed from behind, and then they would have to turn them around to swallow them. The speed with which a big jewie could swallow a large live bait had led me to believe they had the ability to turn their prey around almost at will. I had assumed this was possible even if the prey is rather large and facing the wrong way. If the prey was particularly big and their hold was tenuous, they could always swim to an open location to turn it around. If it gets away in the open, clear of rocks or other structures, it can presumably be relatively easily recaptured. This assumption appeared to have been supported by what this schoolie had done. But my sample size was one and I never did see anything like this again.
I thought about this incident and my assumption about its significance a lot, particularly when I was trying to work out the best time to strike after a fish has taken a live bait. If jewies did take a big live bait by grasping it crossways, and not always turn it around immediately, then this would explain at least some of the high miss-rate I had when using live bait. I had no doubt jewfish could swallow a live fish extremely quickly when they wanted to, but they obviously did not always do that.
Shortly after this incident Dad came out to join me fishing in Snapper Hole. After I had told him of my wonderful experience watching the schoolie do its thing, I suggested that I leave this spot to him while I went to see if there were any tailor out the end of the reef. I knew Dad much preferred to fish for bream than tailor. We discussed the possibility that he would catch the schoolie I had seen. A different one would do; obviously they were about.
With tailor rod in hand I made my way on top of the rocks and the cunjevoi to the end of the reef. Conditions were perfect to cast a pilchard with no sinker over the edge of the submerged reef and let the waves of 2 to 3 feet wash the bait from right to left in front of me into the deeper foamy water. Conditions were so good I was confident a very slow retrieve would then produce a positive outcome. About third cast it did. A lovely tailor of almost 5 pounds obliged. Three or four casts later a slightly smaller one joined him in my shoulder bag. It was tailor fishing at its absolute best: the day was magical, the water was blue and beautiful, the small swells were curling around the point. Looking through the unbroken swell you could see good numbers of drummer and luderick on top of the reef. Then the waves would break to produce just the right amount of foam for tailor, and the ones that were biting were a good size. A short cast with no sinker on my 15-pound line was working well. For a tailor fisherman life does not get a lot better.
I called to Paul to come and join me. We stood on separate rocks about 10 feet apart and proceeded to get a bite about every four or five throws. Great fun. Then I hooked a good tailor that after an initial attempt to take all my line off me turned and charged straight at me, a certain indicator that a large predator had it in its sights. There was just enough foam to provide cover for a big jewfish, and as I had just recently witnessed a good schoolie demonstrating a lack of fear of shallow, clear water I had little doubt the predator would be a jewie. I hoped it might take my tailor. But that didn’t happen.
I pulled my tailor up onto the cunjevoi without further incident. It was an excellent fish of about 4 pounds. My next cast landed well to the right as I anticipated that it would drift slowly into the bite zone. To my surprise a tailor took the bait immediately it hit the water. It was in clear water to the right of the foam and it started to jump and then head towards me. I saw a rather large greenish-brown shape charge at it. The tailor sped straight at me with the shape in pursuit. It charged up into the front of the wave on my right and I saw that what was in pursuit was not a jewie but a big kingfish. As my tailor scooted to the top of the beautiful blue wave that was cresting around the corner of the reef I pulled hard and ‘yanked’ it out of the top of the wave. It had been swimming in my direction as fast as it could to avoid the kingie and so, as I added my help, it flew high in the air. To my amazement the kingfish came out of the top of the wave, virtually flying, only a yard or two behind the tailor.
The tailor landed on the cunjevoi about 6 feet in front of me. I was stunned as a split second later the kingfish landed next to it, right between Paul and me. I looked at Paul in wonderment. He looked similarly amazed. A quick decision was necessary. As the fish was being presented to me how could I refuse? Without the build-up of lactic acid that results from a protracted battle it would almost certainly be a premium specimen. So I stepped forward and as it thrashed on the rock I grabbed it by the gills. A 40-plus pound kingfish that has not been played out at all is a formidable creature to hang on to. It bucked ferociously. It was a serious struggle for at least thirty seconds, but I managed to stay connected to the fish.
Paul had witnessed the whole event, but Dad had not; he was still looking straight to the front, into Snapper Hole. Once I was confident I had won the battle I called out to him and held the kingie up. As soon as he saw the size of what I had ‘caught’ his surprise was obvious: ‘Jeez you got him in quick. I never even knew you had him on.’ I had some explaining to do, but at least in Paul I had a witness.