How to Fish With Mates

Where would most of us be without fishing mates? While there are occasions when heading out by myself can be rewarding, giving me a welcome break from work or day-to-day hassles, on the whole fishing tends to be so much more enjoyable when done in the company of a good mate (or six!).

My earliest memories are of regularly walking the mile or so from the train station to Lower Hutt’s Petone Wharf with a wide variety and number of young buddies. A heavily industrialised area, it had its own peculiar mixture of smells, including rubber, oil, smoke and, often, a whiff of sewage, thanks to a nearby outflow into the harbour. But, strangely, I loved that stink, knowing that it was the precursor to a day of fishing with my friends. 

The walk there tended to have a pattern. We would start off mucking around and chatting and laughing, then, once the beach was reached, we would paddle around in the shallows looking for juvenile flounder, of which there were plenty. 

As the wharf drew closer though, our walking speed increased, until finally we were running along its seemingly never-ending length, rods flailing, and us laughing and hooting with excitement, the gulls squawking and wheeling overhead. The wharf’s sprat population was in for a torrid time!

I now realise the fishing wasn’t great. In addition to the sprats (known as herrings down there), there were hordes of spotties, plenty of very juvenile snapper, and modest numbers of kahawai and barracouta – if you were old enough to fish for them. We weren’t, yet. But that really didn’t matter; we just loved going fishing and experiencing so many new things together. There was always something different to see or do. Otherwise, if the fishing was a little slow, we’d have play fights, bait fights, or inflict practical jokes on each other. The most common prank involved quietly going up behind a buddy standing on the wharf’s concrete edge, then pushing and quickly grabbing him before he toppled in, yelling, “Just saved ya!” That little pearler never got old.

Eventually we progressed to heavier tackle so kahawai could be targeted, and this quickly progressed to chasing kingfish. After all, if you caught one, you were treated like fishing royalty for quite some time. What a shame there were so few kingfish swimming around Wellington’s wharves and rocks!

It’s great to be able to celebrate special catches with good mates!

On the plus side, Wellington had a great fishing club filled with super-keen fishos, and I was fortunate to be taken under the wing of a couple of the older, more experienced guys. 

I learned a lot from them, including the meaning of being a true mate – and how scary that could be when participating in the fishing club’s many hard-fought overnight contests. Some of the more memorable experiences often occurred when fishing the wild Wairarapa coast, a place called Castlepoint in particular. This rocky length of rocks rises steeply from the ocean and is often lashed by huge swells. On the other side, leading up to the ridge, are several memorial stones, silently reminding us of how dangerous this location could be. 

Such was the competitive spirit though, that we put these notions to the back of our minds as we set up camp and fished into the night. Each of us prayed that we were the one to hook up, because if not, and a big fish needed gaffing – perhaps a ray, skate or shark – you were duty bound as a fishing buddy to clamber down around 8-10 metres towards the water in the pitch black to do the honours. Sometimes, the pale yellow beam of a Big Jim torch accompanied you and the gaff down the jagged rocks, but sometimes it didn’t. In all cases we relied more on hearing the hissing or rumbling sounds of approaching waves, rather than on the feeble illuminations of the torches available at the time, or maybe on seeing the oncoming dark walls of water silhouetted against the slightly lighter sky as they bore down on us.   

No wonder my friends and I soon decided that daytime fishing for kingfish off the more northern wharves and rocks was a better proposition, starting with Tauranga before moving on to the Far North’s wharves, Mangonui in particular.     

Some of the best days of my life occurred during that time, and a few of the friends who accompanied me there remain good buddies and still fish to this day, 45 years later!

And you needed a good mate to do well in this situation. While the hook-up and fight were all down to us and often involved nimbly scrambling up and down the wharf’s edge, threading oneself in and out of the many other lines and anglers, the next phase was just as important. After all, having managed to keep the kingfish clear of the other anglers and the line-shredding pilings below so far, one of your mates would then have to clamber down the rusty wharf ‘ladder’ (basically three oversized staples embedded in the piling) to sink the short-handled gaff single handedly, then pass the thrashing fish up, all the while hanging on with the other hand.

Mark prefers the action to be chaotic when fishing with a group of friends aboard charter boats.

Time continued to pass and our fishing horizons steadily widened until they also included such diverse species as snapper, yellowfin tuna, marlin, and trout. This was also when the highly competitive element seemed to creep in, which was both a good and a bad thing. For example, I personally found it highly motivating, with the possibility of failure and relentless ribbing from my friends persuading me to keep fishing through thick and thin. I believed that the combination of some reasonable skills and plenty of persistence should be the keys to doing well long term, and the more I stuck to this theory, the better I got. Looking back though, I feel a bit sorry for some of our less fishing-savvy or unfortunate fishing mates, as my friends and I could be verbally harsh, especially with a couple of beers or G&Ts under the belt. Typical jibes included:

•    “Let me know when you want to contribute to our catch...” 

•    “Gee, my arms are getting sore from catching all the fish – can you massage them for a bit so I can keep going?”

•    “How about putting your rod down and standing there with the net instead – that would be a lot more productive.”

•    “Does your mother or little sister fish? Maybe you could get them to come out instead next time!”

•    “Whoops, hooked another one, it’s so much fun – shall I pass you my rod so you know what fighting a fish feels like?”

At other times it could be more to the point: “Seventeen snapper to three – you really suck!”

And so on, both during the sessions and sometimes recalled, greatly enhanced, for months and even years afterwards.

I must admit to being on the receiving end occasionally, with my buddies delighting in my misfortune. In the process I learnt that catching very few fish and getting a hard time from my friends made that fishing experience especially unpleasant. 

Then I met my good buddy Cecil Alexander. Although very competitive and driven himself, Cecil taught me the potential pleasures to be gained by taking turns paddling a small dingy around and casting to the brown trout chasing damselfly nymphs in the Lake Aniwhenua shallows. It was a revelation to share in the successes and experiences enjoyed, as well as commiserate in the disappointments, and this served to start a massive attitude shift in our small trout-fishing group.

But that didn’t immediately translate to the saltwater, where the fishing remained as competitive and cut-throat as ever. This finally changed whilst participating in the DB Gold Match Fishing League, a televised contest that attracted many of the upper North Island’s best fishers. We competed as small three-man teams and took turns fishing in each other’s geographical areas. Our team was led by Terry Williams King and included other excellent anglers such as John Eichelsheim and Paul Senior. Representing Northern Auckland meant we had some great territory to choose from, including Kawau Island, Tiritiri Matangi and Whangaparaoa. I think it’s fair to say we fancied ourselves, and at times we were vindicated. However, what we hadn’t realised was that instead of fishing as a team, we were hard-wired to compete against each other as well. So, upon hooking an especially big fish, it was up to the angler involved to fight and land it, while the rest of us fished on. That attitude cost us some beauties.

It’s comforting to know you have good mates backing you up when that extra-big fish is on!

Eventually, Warren Hay and his Whangarei team came down and gave us a whipping in our own area. Although this really humbled us at the time, we also learned from the experience, watching as these guys combined to make every fish count. They often took turns, with one of them at the ready at the helm while the other two cast out softbaits into the reefy shallows. Then, when a decent snapper was hooked, the other team member wound in while the skipper manoeuvred the boat to help avoid an unnecessary bust-off. Some wonderful snapper were caught as a result.

This experience had a big impact on us and encouraged a much healthier ‘all for one and one for all’ attitude from then on. It even helped us to win the contest one year. Even better, it transferred into our day-to-day fishing afterwards and helped to diffuse our overt competitiveness with each other. 

But don’t get me wrong; although we no longer give each other a verbal hiding – just gentle jibes and a bit of low-key crowing – we’re still mentally adding up the approximate respective numbers to know who was top dog on any given day!

I must say, it was for the best; our trips are a much more pleasant experience these days, especially when fishing in smaller boats with just one to three other good mates (as well as meeting new ones at times). There’s something about being confined within a small boat’s physical limitations over a reasonable length of time that enables anglers to get acquainted remarkably quickly, often spurred on by the amazing shows that nature can put on at times.

Such aspects are amplified when fishing aboard charter boats, especially on overnight trips to the more remote destinations. Generally, you’ll know one or two of the guys quite well, perhaps have a passing acquaintance with another couple, but not know the remainder. They may also be from a wide variety of backgrounds and have very different personalities and goals, yet somehow the common love of fishing draws everyone together and chatting in a remarkably short time as the gear is prepared and beers are consumed, accompanied by the fizz of what might lie ahead. More often than not, lifetime hopes and dreams can be realised over such trips, or something unexpected but amazing happens. That’s one of the great things about multi-day charters.

Whatever the destination, the boat and the quarry though, I prefer targeting the bigger fish such as monster kings, tuna and marlin on stand-up gear. Sure, there's no denying it can also be a real buzz working as a team, perhaps with one of your mates in the game chair, another to 'steer' it, the skipper at the helm, and another two friends at the ready to leader and gaff or tag some huge predator. That way everyone on board gets to share in the success (or failure) of what eventually transpires. But I get a greater kick from being more in charge of my destiny, ideally with other anglers on board also locked in battle around me. These other hooked fish might be kings, tuna, or hāpuku – we’ve even enjoyed multiple hook-ups on marlin – and I love the challenge and potential drama of moving in and out of the other guys whilst following large, powerful fish (perhaps taking me back to my experiences on that crowded Mangonui wharf so many years ago!).

Fighting big game fish from the chair can involve the whole team and is something everyone can feel proud of if it’s successfully brought boatside.

Then there’s another really worthwhile aspect: when you’re safely back anchored-up in the shelter of a harbour, bay or island, and the snapper or bait-catching gear’s out, perhaps with a frosty libation nearby. It’s hard to describe the camaraderie felt during such times, as you chat, laugh and relive the day’s events together, as well as solve all the world’s problems.  

However, despite all these amazing times and fishing experiences, for me there’s still something really special about fishing from a 4-5 metre craft, accompanied by one or two good fishing mates. After all, it’s great to have some help when launching and retrieving the boat, as well as to have another brain on board when things inevitably go a bit awry, not to mention being safer, especially as the years trundle on. Best of all though, it’s great to know that no matter what happens, you’re almost certain to have a rewarding time when accompanied by a good mate.

- By Mark Kitteridge