Marine Research
A MATE OF MINE
Pat was pretty good in the water. He’d been diving
out on the Mahia Peninsula since he was a kid and had no problems gathering
as much seafood as he needed to feed the family. Like many of the locals
it was only natural he developed this ability and carried on to make a
living from it. He was only small-time but he made a reasonable living
until those buggers in Wellington changed the rules.
They dreamed up this thing called a quota system. It was way too complicated
for Pat to understand but the way he saw it was he had to buy the crayfish
and paua’s first, then go out and catch them. It seemed arse about
face but the one thing he did understand was that some jumped up little
snot nosed turkey could come along and confiscate all his gear.
Pat didn’t get a quota because he didn’t have any up-front
cash and the Government in all their wisdom offered him training programs.
All this for the same pay as the dole, with no guarantees of a decent
job afterward.
Pat did the courses, weighed up the pros and con’s and carried on
fishing anyway. He didn’t call it fishing he called it marine research
without realising that years later, Japanese whalers would get the idea
and cause all kinds of havoc. He couldn’t sell the fish because
that would be illegal. He gave it to people and they gave him a koha (that’s
the Maori word for a gift) in return. The fact that 98% of the time the
koha was in cash which just happened to be around the going wholesale
rate was purely coincidence. To add in the taxation factor would only
create confusion so Pat wouldn’t mention that bit.
He just kept doing what he always did for a couple of years until Jimmy
Small came back to town. They had a friendly rivalry when they were younger
and Pat had pinched a girlfriend off Jimmy once putting his nose out of
joint, but now the rules had changed. Jimmy had gone away and trained
up as a bloody Fisheries officer!! They treated each other with cautious
respect but there was always that feeling they were on opposite sides
of the fence.
Pat had to tighten up his operation because Jimmy also had a lot of local
knowledge. Still, Pat managed to keep his research one step ahead of Jimmy’s
zest for policing the quota system for quite some time.
One day Pat had just tied up at one of the landing spots he used when
Jimmy appeared out of nowhere in his ute.
Bugger!
Things were going pretty well until Jimmy decided he wanted to look in
Pat’s sacks. He had a couple of sacks of kina which Jimmy wasn’t
overly interested in but the sacks of paua and crayfish got him going.
It wasn’t the size that got his attention, it was the numbers.
“Looks like I got you this time Pat. I’m going to have to
do the business”
Jimmie ticked off the penalties;
“Your catch confiscated.
“Your boat forfeit to the Crown.
“Your ute forfeit to the Crown.
“And probably a ten thousand dollar fine.”
Pat scratched his head for a moment.
“You know Jimmy, we go back a long way but I guess you’re
just doing your job, mate.”
Jimmy looked up from counting the paua, trying to keep the surprise off
his face! He had expected some serious resistance and when he stood up
to face Pat he asked.
“No hard feelings?”
“No, Jimmy,” he said, “no hard feelings.” And
that’s right about when Pat hit him.
What a cracker. Right on the button! It was done so sweetly, Jimmy crumpled
into a nice little heap on the ground without knowing what hit him.
Pat rested Jimmy’s head on an old swanny that had been absorbing
fishy smells for a couple of years to make him a little more comfortable.
When he came to, Jimmy was still a little groggy but he definitely wasn’t
impressed. He abused the shit out of Pat and said he was going to throw
the book at him, including assault.
Pat ended up in court, pleaded guilty to assault and was dealt with accordingly.
Because he was a first offender and it was totally out of character he
received a $250 fine plus costs and he had to apologise to Jimmy publically.
A couple of years down the track I was having a beer with Pat and I had
to ask him.
“Why the hell did you deck him? A bit drastic wasn’t it?”
“Nah.” said Pat, with a grin.
“You remember when them buggers in Wellington changed the rules
about fishing then sent me on those courses?”
“Yeah.”
“One of those courses was about making financial decisions, so when
I tapped Jimmy on the chin I was making a financial decision!!”
Pat had me thinking on that one but I sensed the best thing to do was
to sit back and listen.
“Jimmy threatened me with losing my ute, my boat and a $10,000 fine,
so by giving him a bit of a slap on the jaw I only ended up with a $250
fine”
I couldn’t help myself and I had to point out that he had been charged
with all those fishery offences as well. Pat looked at me as if his honesty
and integrity had been brought into question.
“I stayed with Jimmy until he came around to make sure he was OK
and when I helped him up he couldn’t find any evidence!
“But-”
He spoke with a gleam of mischief in his eye.
“When the judge found out that I had won the affections of a lovely
young lady away from Jimmy all those years ago he felt that fisheries
officers’ evidence was tainted.”
Pat runs fishing tours for Japanese tourists now and passes on to his grandchildren the benefits of marine research. He is also a consultant to the Fisheries Department.
ADVERTISING
Story’s old Stock Agent retired and a new young
fella took over all his clients. David was a keen young bloke and a pretty
good Agent considering his lack of experience and he was also single.
This translated into the fact that if there was an unmarried type female
around his behaviour would change drastically, the clients becoming second
rate citizens for the duration. This wasn’t a problem but everyone
reckoned it was time for someone to pull up his toes to steady him down
a little bit.
One day Story was in the office and when he spied one of the girls with
her fingers flying over the keyboard. A germ of an idea sparked. He walked
over and asked if she could do a little typing job for him. He wanted
an ad put on the notice board.
“Certainly, Mr Story.” she said “What would you like
me to write?”
WANTED
Farmer’s daughter aged between 18 and 24.
(No photo required)
Father’s assets 1.5 million plus preferred
But will consider 1 million with documented proof.
Aim, long term relationship
View marriage.
Phone #########
Anytime, Day or Night.
As soon as she finished typing she looked up at Story with a worried look
on her face.
“That’s David’s number.”
And all Story did was smile and wink. The look on her face turned from
concern to mischief.
“You leave the rest to me.” she said and off she went.
Story didn’t get to see David for a couple of months until he ran
into him at the pub after the stock sale.
“Man you will never guess what happened to me”
And he went on to describe how he had been getting phone calls at all
hours of the bloody night. Some were trying to make a date, some were
farmer’s wives threatening to shoot on sight if he ever set foot
on their property and others were offering him all kinds of warped advice.
Then he told Story how he found the wanted notice on the board at work
and everybody gave him heaps. The word got around but Story couldn’t
tell his mates who did it because it would have filtered back, and the
girl in the office did him proud. Whenever he saw her after that she would
give a little smile which told him they were safe. Story reckons that
even up to this day they are still the only ones who know.
Story really didn’t feel guilty but a couple of years down the track
he found himself in a position to do David a favour.
Most farming districts have a settler’s ball or some such excuse
to have a bit of a shindig and the Waitotara Valley was no exception.
Because it was so far from town the young stock agents were going to bring
their girlfriends out and stay at Story’s place. David by this stage
had got himself a girlfriend and she was the best thing since the bikini
was invented (according to the gospel of St David). Whenever he got the
chance all anybody got to hear about was this Cathy.
Story had been shearing the stragglers and was still in the shower when
they arrived. By the time he got to the lounge they were on their first
round of drinks and Story was finally going to meet Cathy.
David made the introduction and while Story was holding her hand he turned
back to David.
“Mate” he said,
“You put me crook”
“There’s nothing wrong with her teeth!!”
David was a real fast talker but after the initial stunned silence, he
was having trouble with this one.
She gave him grief all night and Story thought it wise to keep a bit of
a low profile and diplomatically kept his distance.
Story heard a couple of weeks later they had split up.
At the next sale it was obvious David had got over Cathy and was on the
loose again. When Cathy’s name came up Story looked David straight
in the eye.
“I did it for you mate”
“What?”
“Just imagine you could have married her!!”
SOME REAL ADVICE
Nifty was young, fresh out of town and desperate to go
farming so Mana took him on.
Mana had come up from the bottom the hard way and knew the country he
was now managing like the back of his hand. When Nifty arrived on the
scene he had to show him how to do every single thing because he was a
little green in matters country. He made a few balls-ups but Mana was
patient and gave him the opportunity to learn, never forgetting the way
he was taught. By the time shearing came around Nifty’s list of cock-ups
was developing nicely and pushing Mana’s good nature right to the limit.
Mana still maintained his composure explaining things quietly and believed
the smack he got around the ears in his day was not the way.
The crunch came when they were drenching the shorn Perendale lambs. They
were lively enough at the best of times but fresh out of the shearing
shed they were shockers, almost impossible to handle. The heat was getting
to everybody and Nifty wanted a drink so he jumped the rail into the pen
holding the lambs to take a short cut to the tap.
The lambs got a hell of a fright and bolted. Not caring where they were
going they just took off and in cowboy terms, way out back in Arizona
it would have been called a massive stampede. The leaders smashed into
the rails at the far side of the yard then the pressure from those behind
forced them down until the weight crushed them to the ground. The pressure
kept mounting until they were piling four deep against the rails. The
lambs at the back kept climbing over the rest until the pile was high
enough for them to clear the fence. They headed off down the road at a
great rate of knots without a single glance back.
The remainder were packed in so tight they were starting to smother, one
of the worst things that can ever happen to a stockman. Mana had seen
a few smothers in his career and knew the danger so he dived in and started
pulling them apart. He had to get air to the lambs at the bottom of the
heap and save as many from the crush as he could. Nifty sensed the urgency,
rushing back to help.
ERU
The winter was just about history, the lambs had been born and everybody
was gearing up for docking. The colder months were a fairly easy time
because other than a bit of maintenance the main job was a ‘lambing
beat’. Every shepherd had their areas and everyone knew who looked
after which paddocks. It was the beginning of a new season and time
to blow out a few cobwebs.
Men and dogs started docking fresh but it didn’t take many days
for the long hours and the early mornings to take their toll. Anyone
who could walk or even move, including the kids were chucked into the
docking pens.
After the first couple of days the long hours doing the same thing all
the time got boring. Catch a lamb, put it on the board, do the business
then catch another one. With thirty odd thousand ewes on the place and
most of them having lambs those little buggers never seemed to run out.
To break the boredom anything unusual in a particular shepherd's area
was immediately blamed on the guy who did the lambing beat. If a fence
was broken he was blamed for taking a short-cut or if a sheep was found
dead in a hole he was blamed for chucking it there to save himself a
bit of work! This passed the time then it became the fashionable thing
to do. Anything that some self proclaimed wit thought was out of the
norm was open to comment. It created an interesting situation because
even before someone’s designated beat had been reached they were
defending themselves from any smart-arsed comment that would be tossed
in their direction. The old hands knew their country and were covering
their butt’s before they even got there with the docking crew.
Eru was the youngest shepherd on the place and had just completed his
first winter with the responsibility of his own lambing beat. A major
achievement. He was a quiet chap who rarely felt the need to use a lot
of words and his Maori ancestry determined he was naturally dark skinned.
In the same docking crew was also a general hand who liked to show his
command of the English language and his leaning toward what he called
humour. George’s complexion also made it very evident he had no
Polynesian ancestry at all.
On the first paddock of Eru’s beat a black lamb arrived in the
yards. When there is one black lamb among a thousand white sheep the
poor bugger tends to stick out like a couple of things that aggressive
male dogs are quite proud of. The opportunity was too good and when
the lamb finally came into the catching pen George couldn’t help
himself.
“Eru” he said with a dirty great grin cracking open his
face. “What the hell have you been up to? There’s a black
lamb on your beat”. The suggestion being he had been up to something
totally inappropriate with one of the sheep.
With some rolled tobacco hanging out of his mouth Eru thought for a
while then maintained his reputation for not saying a hell of a lot!
He pointed to the rest of the lambs.
“There’s a HELL OF A LOT more white ones George”!!
After ten minutes of hard slog most of the poor little buggers were
staggering around the yard and the ones still on the ground were puffing
hard trying to get their breath back. Though none died there were a
hell of a lot of crook lambs in that yard and those who had gone over
the top weren’t stopping for nobody.
Another one for Nifty’s list!
Getting his breath back Mana looked at his young mate while the sweat
poured down, leaving channels in the dust on his face. He wasn’t happiest
bloke around but forced himself to keep his cool. When his breathing
finally allowed him to talk he turned to Nifty.
“You’re a keen young fella and I reckon you want to be a top stockman”?
Meekly he nodded, waiting for Mana to blow up.
“You maybe want to manage a place one day, or even own one”?
Again he looked up from the ground long enough to nod.
“You will likely have people working for you”?
“I guess” Nifty was wondering where the hell this was leading?
“When someone working for you has made a balls-up, a really major cock-up”
Mana was emphasising every point. “Which is totally unnecessary, there
is no need to blow your top. I will even show you what to do”.
Nifty breathed a sigh of relief because it didn’t look like he was going
to get a smack around the ear or even worse, sacked.
“You take them over to a fence like this and tell them to climb over”
The youngster dutifully clambered over the fence.
“Now, you ask them what they can see”?
The fence was on the edge of a bluff that dropped sheer for eighty feet
down to the rocks beside the river below.
Standing there for a long time looking at the jagged rocks waiting for
something to happen Nifty finally had to ask.
“What do I do now”?
Mana looked at him with a deep sincerity and a real conviction.
“Jump”.