Chapter 12: Hastings River

The Hastings River starts high on the Great Dividing Range running east down through the picturesque Hastings Valley, through unique river towns such as Mount Seaview, Ellenborough and Wauchope before entering the Pacific Ocean at Port Macquarie.

Fishing is popular particularly from October through to June each year with peaks during Christmas and Easter.

The river has a wide range of fishing opportunities from freshwater bass and catfish in the upper reaches to estuarine species such as bream, flathead and luderick [black bream, or blackfish] near the entrance.

I wasn’t intending to do any “recreational fishing,” but I paid my $7 for a three-day permit. But I learned that next Sunday would be the “Second NSW Gone Fishing Day,” and decided that Friday would be a good day to depart – Saturday morning at the latest.

Last year, Minister for Primary Industries Katrina Hodgkinson said that “The new initiative recognizes the importance of fishing to the NSW community.

“There are currently around one million people that love wetting a line each year and now we want to encourage a million more to participate in the joy of fishing,” Ms Hodgkinson said.

“In order to recognize the importance of fishing in NSW, the Baird Government will dedicate one (weekend) day every year to be recognized as NSW Fishing Day.

“This will be a day to enjoy and promote fishing as a vital part of our Australian lifestyle, to educate our young generation and importantly, promote our local seafood industry. “ [Northern Star, 23 March 2015] Of course, that was before she voted against the government on the “greyhound scandal,” and lost her post (though re-elected to her seat).

In the morning I discovered that none of the shoe stores opened before ten, so I just went over to the pier and spoke to a large red-headed woman about my footwear.

“Dinna worry, boy-o,” she said. “There are mats on the day-cruise boats.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to harm the deck.”

She grinned. “That’s good o’ you. The only thing I bar is young ladies in high heels. Those metal tips’ll splinter anything.”

No one had come by while I was standing there. “Which boat? And when?”

“That one,” she pointed. “An’ real soon.” She picked up the phone. “Alex? How many bookings you got? Oh. He’s here. Tell you what. I’ll take the li’l one and take him out myself. No. Don’t fret. I’d bet he’s older than I am. Right. I’ll lock the kiosk and we’ll be back before three. Right.”

She turned to me. “You’re it. I’ll take you in the smaller cat. We’ll take a bit of food along. I’ll give you a good tour.”

In a few minutes – devoted largely to the greying red-head fetching two coolers and stowing them – they were casting off and motoring cross-channel.

“My name’s Morna,” she said, thrusting a hand. “I know you’re Meester Hollister.”

“Gordy, Morna.”

“Thanks. Any road, this is the Hastings River, first charted by Europeans in 1818, after its discovery by Oxley, who named it for Francis Rawdon-Hastings, then Governor-General of India. We’re headin’ to the north side of the Hastings here and then we’ll head westward around the top of Little Rawdon Island, past Rawdon Island on the Caswell Channel, an’ then up the Hastings towards Montrose. We’ll see how far we go before we head back.”

“Sounds fine to me, Morna. Just remember that I’m no mariner and not familiar with the water.”

She laughed. “Well, I’ve been muckin’ with boats all my life. My da’ was cap’n of a shrimper and his was a hand on a coastal steamer carryin’ beef down to Sydney and goods and mail back to ports as far north as Cairns. His dad was killed at Gallipoli at the beginning of 1916.”

“My dad was born in Queensland. His father came here to work on the railroad. Your folks have been here far longer than mine.”

“Oh, yes. At least two of my great-great mums came here with the great flood of Irish orphan girls. They were both lucky and pretty enough to get married, not sold to become a drover’s broodmare.”

Over four thousand young female orphans from Irish workhouses were shipped to the Australian colonies at the time of the Great Famine (1848–50) to meet a demand for domestic servants. Some settlers greeted them with hostility and some were exploited or abused by employers and others. Although a number eventually died in poverty, others made upwardly mobile marriages, often surviving older husbands to experience long widowhoods. The Catholic Church only became involved in the 1870s, when its relief agencies in England were overwhelmed with Irish immigration.

“That’s Maria River, comin’ in from the north. An’ Blackmans Point. Then we’ll go under the A1 bridge and between several o’ the piers for the new bridge. They begun it last year and claim they’ll be done end o’ nex’ year. I don’ believe it. No guvmint projek ever got done on time!”

“I’m afraid that’s true. But how about you? How did you get to captain a cat?”

“Och! I bin workin’ since I was 13. I started cleanin’ the catch on Taz day trippers. Then I left school at 17 and worked full-time as a hand. Got married. Pumped out some kids. Worked onshore for a while. Takin’ bookings. Filleting catch. Sellin’ tickuts. Once me youngest was over ten, I went back to workin’ full-time.”

“What does your husband do?”

“Oh. He’s the boss. Takes care of the big cat and services the engines on this one. ‘Tween us we own ‘bout three-quarters o’ the business. Bank owns the rest. Now we’re goin’ onto Munns Channel, that’s Little Rawdon to port – on the left. What’s your story?”

“My dad had a small station in Queensland, near Roma. I went to Brisbane, then to UNSW. I got a job with the CSIRO in Brisbane, then in Canberra. I got sent to Western Australia and met my wife. The CSIRO moved me to Perth and we lived there for over twenty years. Two kids, my son got a degree in law and works for a ministry in Sydney, my daughter just got married – I think – to a native Hawaiian. I’m on a long leave right now from the Australian Museum in Sydney.”

“And the missus?”

“Died quite suddenly a few months ago. That’s why I took the leave.”

“Poor lad. So you’re wandrin’ about tryin’ to find yoursel’?”

“Your a clever woman.”

“Mebbe. That’s the Rawdon Channel, separatin’ the two islands. Then we’ll be on Caswell Channel and Rawdon Island’ll be to port. Then, when we veer a bit starboard, we’ll be on the Hastings proper agin.”

“Lots of farming, I see.”

“Yes. You innerestid in fishin’?”

“I’ve never really done any. A few times from a rowboat on the Margaret River, years ago. I know there are a lot of fish in this area. But I wouldn’t know what to do, nor what to do with whatever I caught.”

“Waal. The last is easy. You catch for the fun and you release. We generally use circle hooks, so it’s less of a problem to release fish. Were you to haul in a prize, we’ll talk about it. I’ve a digital camera, so you c’n have a picture of your prey.”

“Where do we do it?”

“Pretty much anywhere. The best time to fish in the weed-strewn shallows is durin’ the rise or fall o’ the tide. But the fish are around, anyway. The most frequently-caught species around here are bream, luderick, and kingfish. There are cats on the bottom. You don’ even need bait: lure fishing in this region is specially rewardin’.”

“What about tackle?”

“We got whatever rods an’ reels you favour. I’ll cut back on the speed to about 2.5 knots – that’s under five kph – and you can troll a bit. I’d suggest a spoon or a plug, if you want a surface fish, an’ I’ll stick a weight on the line if you want a cat. But if you want a cat, wait till we get to the Pappinbarra. It’s dryin’ out an’ weed-choked.”

“OK.”

The Pappinbarra River, a perennial stream, starts at an elevation of 392m and ends at an elevation of 16.2m merging with the Hastings River.

Morna opened a locker and took out a sectioned rod, a reel and a tackle box as well as a tennis racquet-shaped net.