The Legendry Swainer

Four Mates, Seven Days and Far Too Much Confidence

Foreword

There are fishing trips, and then there are the trips that begin taking on a life of their own long before anybody has even put a bait in the water. The Big Cat Trip became one of those somewhere between the planning, the packing, the arguments over equipment, the creation of trophies nobody had yet earned and the growing certainty among four men that, whatever happened at Swains Reef, each of us would probably remember it differently.

On paper, the idea was simple enough. Four blokes would travel to Bundaberg, board Big Cat Reality, spend a week fishing the reefs and return home with a few photographs, some fish and perhaps several stories worth exaggerating. That was the plan, although plans involving fishermen tend to become unreliable the moment pride, competition and witnesses are introduced.

Trevor, Ian, Steve and I arrived with different levels of experience, different approaches to fishing and remarkably similar confidence in our own opinions. Between us there were enough rods, reels, lures, theories and accumulated wisdom to suggest that the fish of Swains Reef were about to experience a very difficult week. The fish, unfortunately, had not been consulted.

What followed was seven days of wonderful fishing, questionable sporting behaviour, relentless sledging, improbable explanations and the rapid development of a scoring system that became increasingly important whenever it happened to favour the person discussing it. Fish were caught, fish were lost and, as fishermen have done since the invention of line, some of the ones that escaped grew substantially larger before the story had finished being told.

There were coral trout, red emperor, sharks, birds stealing baits, lines crossing, tackle failing and moments when something enormous disappeared into the reef carrying both terminal tackle and somebody’s dignity with it. There were also card games, snoring, food, arguments, lessons in charter-boat life and the gradual realisation that the people aboard Big Cat Reality were becoming every bit as much a part of the adventure as the fishing itself.

Somewhere during the week a trophy called the Legendry Swainer acquired a significance far beyond the small piece of timber from which it had been made. What began as a bit of fun became an entirely serious contest conducted by men who would immediately deny taking it seriously. Rules were interpreted, statistics examined and unsuccessful fish elevated into evidence whenever the official scoreboard produced an inconvenient result.

That contradiction sits at the heart of this book. Nobody really cared who won, except that everybody cared enormously. Nobody was trying to prove anything, except during almost every conversation in which fishing ability was mentioned.

Yet beneath all the nonsense was something much better.

There is a particular freedom that comes from disappearing for a week with people who know you well enough to insult you properly. Nobody needs to perform, nobody needs to impress and affection rarely arrives wrapped in sentimental language. Instead, it appears as somebody untangling your line, handing you a bait, laughing when you make a fool of yourself and then reminding you about it for the rest of your natural life.

That is the part of fishing trips that photographs never quite capture. A photograph can show the fish, the boat and the colour of the water, but it cannot properly record the laughter that preceded it, the argument that followed it or the version of events that will eventually be repeated over a beer several years later.

This book is my attempt to capture those parts as well.

It is about the anticipation of going somewhere special and the excitement of waking each morning knowing another day on the reef lies ahead. It is about the small disasters that become the best stories, the triumphs that become slightly larger with repetition and the peculiar satisfaction of being surrounded by people with whom almost anything can become funny.

Most of all, it is about mates.

Swains Reef provided the backdrop, Big Cat Reality provided the stage and the fish provided just enough cooperation to keep us believing we knew what we were doing. The rest came from four men who probably should have known better, a crew willing to tolerate them and one magnificent week in which ordinary life was left somewhere back on the mainland.

If you are looking for expert instruction on how to fish Swains Reef, there are undoubtedly better books available. If, however, you have ever travelled away with mates, competed over something that did not matter, defended an indefensible fishing story or discovered that the best part of an adventure was the people sharing it with you, then much of what follows should feel strangely familiar.

And if you happen to know Trevor, please feel free to remind him that the Legendry Swainer Trophy is now safely displayed in my Man Cave.

Some historical facts deserve proper preservation.

About the Author

Jeff Banks has spent much of his working life as an accountant, adviser, business owner and writer, occupations that have encouraged a dangerous belief that most things can be improved by observation, preparation and keeping score. Fishing has repeatedly tested that theory.

He has fished rivers, dams, estuaries, reefs and offshore waters with friends who generally regard themselves as more naturally gifted at the pastime. Jeff prefers to rely on patience, persistence, probability, suspiciously close attention to what everybody else is doing and, where necessary, an interpretation of the rules that places his own achievements in their proper context.

His fishing record contains moments of genuine competence, periods of prolonged optimism and enough evidence to suggest that success sometimes arrives simply because a line has remained in the water long enough. He has caught good fish, lost better ones and listened patiently while mates explained why the fish they failed to land was almost certainly larger than anything he managed to bring aboard.

The trip to Swains Reef aboard Big Cat Reality therefore offered Jeff an irresistible combination of ingredients: fishing, mateship, competition, trophies and three other men whose confidence in their own ability was at least as questionable as his. The resulting contest produced more argument than science, more laughter than dignity and, against certain expert expectations, a result Jeff considers historically significant.

Away from the water, Jeff writes about ordinary lives, business, family, resilience, travel and the strange collection of experiences that become important once someone bothers to stop and notice them. His books tend to find humour in human behaviour and meaning in moments that might otherwise pass without much attention.

His approach to fishing is remarkably similar.

Prepare carefully, pay attention, keep casting and never underestimate the value of being the person responsible for the scoreboard.

Jeff currently maintains that possession of the Legendry Swainer Trophy represents conclusive evidence of fishing ability. Trevor and Ian may hold alternative views, but history is usually written by the person who gets the trophy home first.