They went big game fishing

and caught a mackerel

By a staff writer

The Englishman, rocking back on his heels, a pipe clenched between his teeth, said: “Got to get up early. That’s the trick.” His wife, a tall, hearty lady in bell-bottom pants, agreed enthusiastically. I also agreed, though less enthusiastic ally. It was 5.20 a.m.

We were about to go big game fishing, and we were waiting on the jetty at the Fijian Hotel, the luxury hideaway on Yanuca Island, Viti Levu, to be rowed to launches, some 100 yards from where we stood.

As we waited, we talked about this and that, and I learned from the English lady (she had to be prompted) that she was something of a champ ion fisherwoman. Actually, as she explained, an ex-champion. Some years ago she’d caught a record sawfish, and then some chap in Panama had gone and caught a bigger one.

The English couple were to fish in the Fleet Lady and I was to fish (or rather, to watch the fishing) on board the Susan Jane 11.

I was rowed to Susan Jane II by a deck hand, and I was welcomed on board by Harry Dutfield, owner/ skipper of the launch (and managing director of the UK’s Axminster Carpets and one of the directors of the Fijian). There were six others besides myself and Mr. Dutfield on board.

Blown up

The Susan Jane II was built in Cornwall in 1967 to Mr. Outfield’s specifications, and freighted to Fiji.

Her predecessor, Susan Jane I, fishes in the English Channel and she must be one of the hardiest launches in those waters. Some years ago she hit a German torpedo. She was blown into the air and her steering mechanism and engine were blown off their bearings. But the only repair needed to her hull was a little caulk ing, and within weeks she was back in service.

The only annoying thing about the torpedo was that the owners couldn’t get any insurance money for the damage it caused. The insurance company said that the accident wasn’t an accident but an Act of War, and Susan Jane I wasn’t insured against Acts of War.

Anyway, as soon as the introduc

tions were over, we made for the entrance of the reef and we were soon out on the open sea..

A crackling news bulletin was turned on and the weatherman said that the seas would become in creasingly rough.

The weatherman was right on the mark. Minute by minute the seas rose, and Susan Jane II began to pitch and toss, and salt spray stung our faces.

We rode against the seas for some time and then turned to ride with the seas (thereby reducing the pitch and toss). Shortly after we had turned to ride with the seas there was a strike on one of the four lines.

Hopes dashed

For a moment, great excitement!

All of us, except Mr. Dutfield and the fisherman with the strike, fled the fishing area—just as we had been instructed to do in such an emergency. We peered at what was going on from amidships, hoping for a record marlin and some spectacular pictures.

Our hopes were dashed. Whatever it was had managed to shake off the hook soon after it had taken it.

For a couple of hours or so we cruised this way and that (sometimes with the sea and sometimes against it), and then, as the seas grew larger, we made for home.

It was then that we had a real strike. Again everybody, save Mr.

Dutfield and the fisherman in the hot seat, fled the fishing area. For a moment or two the rod swung about in the fisherman’s grasp. Then he began to wind in the line.

And there it was! All 30 inches of it. A Fijian mackerel.

“Make good bait,” murmured Harry Dutfield.

By the time we reached the Fijian, we all had huge appetites, salt tans and a feeling of well-being (after all, the trip hadn’t been completely abortive).