But soon their haven is invaded by other anglers. And they all concentrate on the area near the river mouth. The Whale Caller knows immediately that it must be the kabeljou run. During this season shoaling kabeljou is found wherever the water is dirty. The sandy bottoms of river mouths are the favourite haunts of the shoals. They are very elusive though, and are mostly caught by divers in spearfishing expeditions. But anglers always try their luck. Stories are told of anglers who grew old trying to break a record set by one Mr. W. R. Selkirk, who landed the biggest fish ever caught with rod and line to date anywhere in the world. And it happened right here in Hermanns on April 28, 1922. No decent angler forgets that date. And the fish? It was a four-metre-long shark that weighed 986 kilograms, drawn from these waters after a five-and-a-half-hour struggle.
Most anglers are realistic enough to know that this record may be broken only in tall tales. In any event harming sharks is regarded as objectionable. South Africa was the first country in the world to outlaw shark fishing. The objective, instead, is to break another Hermanus record set by the Honourable William Philip Schreiner, K.C. C.M.G., who caught a fifty-kilogram kabeljou. The prestige of breaking a fishing record set by none other than that distinguished son of a German missionary who became the prime minister of the Cape in 1898, a Rugby Union official, a constitutional lawyer who was part of a fondly remembered 1909 delegation to London to petition for a franchise for black people, and brother of author Olive Schreiner, is what spurs the men gathering here to return year after year for the kabeljou run. None of them, however, is able to say what year exactly the great man actually caught the kabeljou. Most believe that it is a record even older than the Selkirk one. There is debate about that even as they choose their prime spots and ceremonially cast their nylon lines into the water.
They are not really match anglers in the true sense of the word in that they do not engage in organised competitive fishing. They do not compete to see who will have the biggest catch in total weight. Most are specimen anglers looking only for the kabeljou. There is no official referee or judge, and at the end of the day no trophies or cash prizes will be awarded. Anglers come and go as they wish, without anyone timing them. Some get tired of trying and walk back to town to sample other pleasures. But there is some competitiveness though, since each one is looking for that prized catch, and the ultimate glory will be in breaking the Honourable Schreiner’s record.
The Whale Caller is not happy with the invasion. He comes here precisely because it is a quiet spot. But then it is the mouth of a river and therefore it attracts such characters. There is nothing he can do about it except mumble his disapproval when an angler does something unseemly, such as use a piece of lead to sink the hook. Although it is illegal to do so since it pollutes the water, selfish people do it all the time. He mutters even more when an angler has a snag because of the rushing waves. An inexperienced angler loses his whole tackle and another one’s line snaps.
“Forget about other people,” Saluni tells him, “and focus on your work.”
“It is dangerous to the wildlife, Saluni. Hooks and tackle in the sea will kill many innocent fish and other sea creatures.”
“We are catching them here, man. They are going to die in any case. And we’re going to eat them. What’s the difference?”
Oh, this Saluni! She will never understand these things. He chuckles at her logic.
There is a bite. A fish is toying with the bait. He lifts the rod sharply in order to drive the barbed treble hook home. There is a struggle. He stands up and braces his foot against the boulder as he plays the fish, trying to tire it. But the fish is too strong. He slips and is almost dragged down the cliff into the sea. He does not let go of the rod and manages to dig into the ground between two firm rocks. The struggle continues. By now the other anglers have become spectators. They cheer and egg him on. When the fish seems to be getting the upper hand three men instinctively rush to assist him but others stop them. A man needs to savour the glory of catching the big one on his own.
“Come on, man,” screeches Saluni. “You can’t let it go now.”
It takes him more than an hour to land the fish. It is the biggest kabeljou that the spectators have ever seen. It is longer than the Whale Caller’s height and certainly bulkier than Saluni’s body. It still has some fight left in it. But not for long. Soon it is dead and he is gutting it.
“Get us a weighing basket,” says one man. “Who has a weighing basket?”
No one has a weighing basket that can weigh such a big fish.
“He must have broken the record,” says another man. “This must be the biggest kabeljou ever caught in the waters of Hermanus. Of the world even.”
“Who ever thought big-game fishing can be done so successfully from the cliffs?” yet another asks of no one in particular.
The Whale Caller is exhausted. He lies next to his fish, trying to catch his breath. His arms ache and his knees are bleeding. His overalls are torn at the knees. While Saluni is massaging his sweat-drenched nape and shining pate, assuring him that he will be fine again in no time, a man lifts up the fish and poses with it. His companion takes some photographs.
“He is going to lie about that when he gets home,” Saluni whispers to the Whale Caller. “He’s going to claim that he caught the fish.”
“It doesn’t matter, Saluni. The fish knows who caught it.”
When a second man and a third want to pose with the fish Saluni puts a stop to it. They must pay, she demands, before they can pose with the fish. The Whale Caller is embarrassed, but he is unable to do anything to stop her. Soon there is a long queue of people who want a picture with the fish. Saluni collects the money while the Whale Caller sits on the ground looking astonished. In an hour she has collected more money than they have ever made in a week of selling fresh line fish.
“This is going to be our business, man,” says Saluni as they negotiate the winding cliff paths back to town, with the Whale Caller carrying the heavy fish on his shoulders. “We are going to make a lot of money renting out this fish.”
“All I want to know is how much this fish weighs,” says the Whale Caller.
When they reach the town they find that people have been alerted to the big catch. There are newspaper photographers, and radio and television reporters waiting to interview the Whale Caller. They take the kabeljou to the fishing club to be weighed on their very accurate Atlas scale. Forty-three kilograms! It does not break the record but it is big enough to celebrate.
“What are you going to do with this fish?” asks a woman in the crowd.
“Taking it home, of course,” says Saluni.
“I want to buy it,” says a fishmonger. “Name your price.”
“I want to buy it too,” says the man who runs the restaurant on the stilts.
“We are not selling it,” says Saluni.
“We are not?” asks the Whale Caller. “Is that not why we catch fish… to sell it?”
“Not this one,” says Saluni firmly.
As they walk home with the fish on his shoulders she mildly chastises him for disagreeing with her in public. And she adds: “And don’t think that because you are now going to appear in newspapers and on television you are more famous than me. People who sing are more of celebrities than those who catch fish.”
“I never claimed any fame, Saluni. I am sure those photographs they took of me and the fish are just for brochures and videos that advertise Hermanus. Nothing important.”
“Just as well because they left me out of the picture. And you said nothing, man. You were happy to keep all the fame yourself. I was there when you caught that fish but they only photographed you. And you didn’t complain.”