Fisherman's Paradise

I read a column earlier this week about the childhood joys of fishing.  That column brought back a memory of the best, if most unproductive, fishing adventure I ever took.  You see, I am not a fisherman and never was very good at the sport, though I did spend many a day casting and waiting. I guess I just didn't have the patience for it.

So, how, you ask, did an uninspired angler have an unforgettable experience on the water?  Well, it wasn't your average fishing spot for one thing. It was a fisherman's paradise.

Let me set the scene for you, because this story has world-wide roots...

In 1968, on my first overseas trip to Europe, I visited Athens.  While there, I met a man from New Zealand.  We were both in the lobby of our hotel and both asking the concierge about good places to have dinner.  The concierge pointed us toward a nice restaurant near the Plaka and we decided that we would share a table and a meal.

What started as a chance encounter turned into an interesting evening of swapping travel stories.  At the end of it we exchanged business cards and Bob invited me to visit him at his ranch near Auckland if I ever got to New Zed, as the natives call it.

Fast forward ten years, and a drawing at our company Christmas party yielded me a trip on Air New Zealand.  (I worked for American Airlines, and back in those days all the airlines had very cordial relations and reciprocal pass privileges.)  Still having Bob's card in my wallet, I decided then and there that I would take him up on his offer of free lodging and a motor tour of the North Island.

The trip pass was for two, and since my wife wasn't amenable to international flying, I determined to take my 10-year-old son with me on a trip to both New Zealand and Australia.

Brad and I made the trip in April of 1977.  The day we arrived in Auckland, Bob met us at the airport and we visited his favorite pub.  While there, Bob talked me into playing the trifecta for the horse races that afternoon, and we each chipped in $2.50.  You know the rest was preordained... we won about $500 on 100-1 odds. 

With all that bounty, we set off early the next morning for the town of Whangarei near the northern tip of the North Island and its fishing port, Tutukaka.  We chartered a boat for the day and left at daybreak for the Poor Knights Islands and a day of deep sea fishing. 

I'm not going to make excuses, because the weather was picture perfect, and the seas were relatively calm, but the fish, mainly blue marlin, tuna and mako sharks just weren't biting.  We spent the entire day out on the water and never caught anything but bait fish.

Was I disappointed?  Yes, and no.  We might not have caught any big ones, but the scenery was absolutely gorgeous.  Add to that the fact that Mrs. Jones-Parry, Bob's wife, had packed a full picnic basket of food to be devoured on the trip, and we were in heaven.

The captain of the boat wove in and out of the islands and even took us into a grotto, or sea cave.  The water was crystal clear with thousands of fish swimming beneath us.

I took lots of pictures, but this was long before the digital age, so they were either 35mm slides or Kodak instamatic shots, and they have long since disappeared into boxes in the attic.  Rather than spend hours digging them out and trying to scan them, I invite you to view Images of the Poor Knights Islands, a compilation of photos from many fortunate visitors to the area.

Not too long after we visited the Poor Knights, the entire area was turned into a restricted marine preserve, so fishing of any kind is forbidden now. However, it is a scuba divers paradise as well, and probably one of the best in the world. 

Needless to add, my son and I have never forgotten our free trip Down Under.  And I often wonder if we really did win that horse race bet, or did Bob Jones-Parry have the whole thing planned out in advance to deflect any thought I might have had of sharing the cost.