Fishing for the Past: Casting nets and lines into Australia's early colonial history 0648043940, 9780648043942

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Fishing for the Past Casting nets and lines into Australia’s early colonial history

Julian Pepperell

Fishing for the Past

Redthroat emperor, Lethrinus miniatus, of Norfolk Island, painted by John Hunter 1737–1821. National Library of Australia. nla.obj-138550195.

Fishing for the Past Casting nets and lines into Australia’s early colonial history

Julian Pepperell

ROSENBERG

For Loani, my constant muse.

First published in Australia in 2018 by Rosenberg Publishing Pty Ltd PO Box 6125, Dural Delivery Centre NSW 2158 Phone: 61 2 9654 1502 Fax: 61 2 9654 1338 Email: [email protected] Web: www.rosenbergpub.com.au Copyright © Julian Pepperell All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher in writing.

An eastern smooth boxfish painted by Ferdinand Bauer on board the Investigator, most probably at Thirsty Sound, Queensland. Natural History Museum, London.

Front cover: John William Lewin, Australia, 1770–1819. Fish catch and Dawes Point, Sydney Harbour c.1815, Sydney, oil on canvas, 86.5 x113.0 cm. Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide.

ISBN 9780648043942 (paperback) ISBN 9780648043959 (epdf) Printed in China through Colorcraft Ltd, Hong Kong

Contents

Acknowledgements 6 Preface  7 1. First Cast  10 2. Pacific Coast I: The Endeavour  20 3. Pacific Coast II: The First Fleet  43 4. Pacific Coast III: Voyages North and South  85 5. The Wild West  96 6. Southern Waters  139 7. Pre-European Fishing in Australia   172 8. Last Cast  200 Bibliography 210 General Index  214 Scientific Names Index  220

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Acknowledgements I would like to sincerely thank many people who helped my tentative steps into the world of history research, in particular, Diana Jones of the Western Australian Museum, for listening to my questions and helping me with much advice and access to difficult to obtain material. Myra Stanbury, also of the Western Australian Museum, was a wealth of information on the Dutch voyages of the west coast, and pointed me towards the poignant fish hooks left behind after the tragic wreck of the Batavia. Dr Edward Duyker, Dr Jean Fornasiero and Dr Danielle Clode, apart from writing wonderful books themselves that inspired, were all generous with sage advice while Sarah Drummond kindly offered insights into the fishing history of King George Sound. Jean-Louis Boglio of Jean-Louis Boglio Maritime Books very kindly translated several passages from Peron’s and Baudin’s journals. My friend and colleague Dr Peter Last of CSIRO Marine Research was a huge help in interpreting the probable fish species caught by the Europeans in Tasmania and advising on present-day abundances. Mark McGrouther of the Australian Museum helped with attempts at identifying some of Watling’s paintings of fish from Sydney Harbour. Dr Val Attenbrow of the Australian Museum kindly discussed interpretations of fish bones in middens and generously provided photographs of Aboriginal fish hooks and engravings. I also thank Keith Vincent Smith for leading me to the story of Tupaia and his drawing, and I am especially grateful to my sister, Jenny Isaacs, who was always available for encouragement and expert advice, especially regarding the chapter on pre-European fishing. To my agent, Sally Bird, thanks for your professionalism and friendship, and to Diana Hill, thank you so much for believing in this project throughout. I also thank John McIntyre, who ably assisted in research, Kathy Bown of the New South Wales Department of Primary Industries (Fisheries) library, and the librarians at Queensland State Library, the State Library of New South Wales and the National Library of Australia for their enthusiastic, generous and professional help. I am also indebted to Lisa Di Tommaso of the Natural History Museum, London for arranging for me to view the original artworks of the Endeavour artists and others, as I am to Gabrielle Baglione of the Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre, France for arranging my viewing of the fish illustrations made by Charles Lesueur on the voyages of Nicolas Baudin around Australia. These were truly special privileges. I am also greatly indebted to Carl Harrison-Ford for his editorial expertise which greatly improved the manuscript. And to my wife, Loani Prior, thank you for putting up with this project with love and joy. Finally, I gratefully acknowledge the NSW Recreational Fishing Trusts for support of an earlier project that was the genesis of this book. 6

Preface What were fish populations and coastal environments like before Europeans arrived on Australian shores and began to cast their lines and haul their nets in the pristine bays and inlets they found? Were they struck by the abundance of fish from Australia’s waters or were they disappointed? How have coastal fish diversity and abundance fared over the past 200 to 300 years? And if one fished the same locations today, using similar methods, would the same fish be caught? In thinking about the environments and abundances of animals in the past, there is often a tendency, termed ‘shifting baselines’, to compare today’s ecosystems with earlier but already depleted ones, and in doing so to mask the scale of any declines. One method for trying to get around this problem is to carefully examine the earliest recorded descriptions, in this case, of fish catches, that may be buried in the journals and diaries of the earliest maritime explorers, crews and settlers. From the time of the arrival on Australian shores of Dutch, English and French seafarers, observations and accounts of fish in coastal waters form a small but continual part of the narrative of exploration and subsequent settlement. Fish were obviously an important source of fresh food to mariners and settlers, so it is not surprising that their supply was of more than passing interest in early writings and records. After lengthy voyages over stormy seas, hungry crews needed to be fed and fishing was an obvious source of fresh protein. Most vessels carried fishing gear as a matter of course. On board every ship were the keen fishermen, akin to today’s recreational fishers, catching fish to eat to be sure, but also enjoying the experience and probably competition with others on board. And on a number of the more important voyages of discovery, there were the resident naturalists and artists, recording, sketching and painting each new species found – some familiar, some completely alien. In exploring the journals of most of these earliest seafarers for any references to fish and fishing, I don’t promise that this book will answer all the above questions since the information hidden in the written records is patchy and often generic, for example often simply recording that many, or few, ‘fish’ were caught. Even so, there is enough detail in the accounts in the form of common names and descriptions of fish, along with the pictorial work of on-board artists, to gain a feel or sense at least of some aspects of biodiversity and abundance of fishes, especially in some key locations. Perhaps surprisingly, the answers that do emerge are not always what might be expected. I have purposely confined the scope of the book to coastal fish and fisheries of Australia 7

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since these are the first areas observed and fished by the earliest European mariners and, later, settlers. The focus is therefore on marine and estuarine fish and fisheries occupying coastal bays, inlets and rivers, sometimes extending to rocky headlands and near-shore reefs and habitat immediately adjacent to the coast. Importantly, I have also constrained the time period covered from the earliest Dutch records up to the early 1800s (although some later voyages to more remote areas are included). The reasons for this are twofold: To lessen the possibility that fishing activities of the growing populations of settlers were already impacting fish populations and hence altering virtually pristine ecosystems, and in the case of observations of Aboriginal fishing, to minimise the possibility of influence of European fishing methods on those observed Aboriginal methods. The chapter on pre-European fishing is by no means comprehensive since the primary intention is to cover European observations on Aboriginal methods and fishing gear, especially at the time of first contact. I have not attempted to consider the question of whether the activities of Aboriginal fishers over tens of thousands of years impacted on coastal populations of fish or shellfish. Interested readers may wish to consult the archaeological literature on this topic, although definitive information is quite patchy and still requires much work. During the course of research for the book, I had the privilege of visiting both the Natural History Museum in London and personally viewing the original depictions of fish by artists on Cook’s Endeavour voyage, as well as those by First Fleet artists and on board Matthew Flinders’ monumental circumnavigation of Australia, and the Muséum d’histoire naturelle in Le Havre to view and examine the numerous paintings and drawings of fish made by Charles-Alexandre Lesueur who accompanied the scientific voyages of discovery and circumnavigation of Australia led by Nicolas Baudin. There is no more evocative way to be transported back to those times than to hold such artworks and see the brushstokes and annotations made at the time by those on-board artists. Historians have of course read and reread the same material and have indeed commented from time to time on various references to fish and fishing. However, from my perspective as a lifetime fish biologist and fisheries scientist, previously unknown snippets of information came to light, especially regarding fish biodiversity and first records or artistic depictions of some of Australia’s best known fish species. Many fascinating fishing stories emerged from the pages of journals and diaries including, among others: the seventeenth-century adventurer William Dampier’s description of finding a partially decomposed and very smelly ‘hippopotamus’ in the stomach of a large tiger shark, caught in where else but Shark Bay, and the first recorded shark attack in Australia – the surviving victim being a French sailor in, again, Shark Bay. Arthur Phillip’s pronouncement of the catching of the first fish by a white man in Sydney Harbour – a bream, caught by American boatman Jacob Nagle. William Bligh’s three visits to Adventure Bay in Tasmania, where he enthusiastically fished with a rod

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for ‘trout’ and bream. Matthew Flinders finding in the stomach of a great white shark a seal that had been previously speared by an Aboriginal hunter. How Captain Cook was nearly fatally poisoned by eating the liver of a puffer fish. Joseph Banks’ amazement at the fine fishing lines and small ‘very neat’ shell hooks used by Aboriginal women in Botany Bay, and how the Sydney Aboriginal taboo of eating stingrays was respected by Matthew Flinders. Modern day fishers, both recreational and commercial, often dream of what it must have been like to arrive at their favourite fishing spot at a time in the distant past and to be the first to cast a line into those waters. I hope this book helps to fulfil that dream in some small way.

1 First Cast Less than 24 hours after lowering the anchor of HM Bark Endeavour into the waters of Botany Bay, Lieutenant James Cook went fishing. Did he find fish so prolific in this new land that he could proverbially walk on their backs? Were they leaping into the nets and onto the hooks? And Cook was not the only explorer to cast a net as soon as he reached safe anchorage. Time and again, the journals and logs of early sea captains, officers and crew members, visiting Australian shores for the first time, record that fishing was one of the first activities undertaken.

Artist’s impression of the HM Bark Endeavour entering Botany Bay. Geoffrey C. Ingleton, 1937, National Library of Australia. nla.obj-135348965. 10

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Think what it must have been like for early mariners entering a bay or inlet where few if any Europeans had been before. Often, this would be after a voyage of weeks or months, battered by storms and rough seas, constantly nervous about uncharted reefs, finally to anchor in a safe harbour or cove. Apart from relief, one can imagine that the keen anglers and net fishers on board may have also been trembling with anticipation and excitement about what they might catch. Today, those who go down to the sea to fish often wonder what it must have been like to first cast a line or a net into untouched waters. Teasing out the first tales of fishing from those early voyages, what was caught and in what abundance may help to satisfy that curiosity and at the same time holds the potential for telling us something about the coastal environment at that time. But of course, the coastal waters around the Australian continent were not completely unfished. For tens of thousands of years before the arrival of Europeans, Aboriginal people had been fishing these waters with spears, hooks, nets and traps, and gathering shellfish from the beaches, rocks and reefs. These activities were of considerable interest to the early mariners and were therefore also recorded in the same journals and

Aboriginal fishing methods including spearing and diving for crayfish depicted by Joseph Lycett c.1817. National Library of Australia. nla.obj-138500727.

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diaries. Again, by gleaning these records we can learn through these direct links how the original inhabitants of this land fished at the time of arrival. Between the early seventeenth and early nineteenth centuries, a surprising number of voyages of discovery plied the coast of Australia, nearly all of which emanated from three European nations – Holland, England and France. The motivation for the voyages may have varied, from commercial, to political to colonial to scientific discovery, but they had one thing in common. Those on board had to be fed, and catching fresh fish was either a necessity or a welcome change from salted meat, and rock-hard ship’s biscuits. Between 1606, when William Janzoon on board the Duyfken set foot on the western shores of Cape York Peninsula, and 1756, when Gonzal explored the Gulf of Carpentaria, there had been an intermittent Dutch presence around the northern and western coasts of Australia. During the seventeenth century, a number of vessels belonging to the Dutch East India Company were wrecked on the west coast, while some master mariners, including Abel Tasman, made important discoveries right around the continent. French contact with Australia began in 1687 when Abraham Duquesne-Guitton on board L’Oiseau on his way to Siam sighted the western Australian coast and passed by the Swan River. To the east, in 1768, Luis de Bougainville also stopped short of a landfall on the coast of northern Queensland when he was confronted by surf crashing on the Great Barrier Reef. Four years later, in 1772, Louis Francois de Saint Aloüarn sailed across the Indian Ocean in the oddly named Gros Ventre (‘Big Belly’) to claim the western part of the continent for France. This was followed by a procession of French voyages of discovery, not least of which was the Napoleon-supported scientific expedition of the ships Geographe and Naturaliste in 1801–1803 under the command of Nicolas Baudin. The earliest English landfall on Australian shores was by the privateer and adventurer William Dampier, firstly in 1688 to what is now the Kimberley region of northwestern Australia, and then, in 1699, further south at Shark Bay. In 1770, James Cook was not only the first Englishman, but the first European to sight and set foot on the Australian east coast, charting its entire length. Apart from fleeting visits to Tasmania by Tobias Furneaux in 1773 and Cook in 1777, the next English arrival was that of the First Fleet in 1788, led by Arthur Phillip, to establish the first colony at Sydney Cove. There followed a wave of English naval voyages to explore and survey the continent, the most extensive of which was that of Matthew Flinders in the Investigator in 1801–1803. As we will see, these and many other voyages left behind a rich record of discoveries and observations in their journals, logbooks, diaries and letters, including, among their pages, the first fishing stories from these shores. Most of the materials referred to in researching this book have been well read and studied by others, but searching them all for insights into the fishing activities and fish catches at the time has not been previously

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attempted. Some fish taxonomists, most notably the late Gilbert Whitley of the Australian Museum, have attempted to identify some of the fishes referred to in various journals, but by revisiting these and others with a fresh eye and a feel for contemporary fisheries biology, I hope to be able to provide a new perspective on this overlooked aspect of early Australia. My approach has been to concentrate on the earliest records of the first explorers, visitors and settlers, with a self-imposed cut-off date of the early 1800s for inclusion of any records (but as with any rule, there are one or two important exceptions). This is to try to avoid ‘contamination’ on two fronts: the possible effects of later fishing in previously pristine areas, and in the case of the consideration of pre-European fishing, the subsequent influence of European contact on fishing activities of Aboriginal people. Some of the accounts of voyages were largely mechanical, with the captains merely recording in their logs the navigational and maritime details along the way, with little in the way of biological Title page of privateer William Dampier’s bestselling observations, let alone, tales of fishing book on his travels and observations, including landing activities. Others, though, especially those on the northwestern coast of Australia, published in 1703. with naturalists on board, left much more detailed records of the plants and animals they found, including fish. On the other hand, there were those like William Dampier who, though not a naturalist, exhibited a genuine interest in the flora and fauna of the new continent, although one of his motivations may have been a lucrative publishing deal – if and when he returned to England. The public’s appetite for these sorts of stories was strong – as might be the case today for a space voyager’s account of some alien world – and indeed, Dampier’s publication of his Voyage to New Holland was a runaway bestseller. There is no doubt that fishing was important to many if not all of the early European voyagers to distant shores. However, some journal keepers make very little mention of their fishing activity or catches. This might be simply because they did not fish, or

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if they did, were unsuccessful. Or it may also be because fishing was so routine that it was not noteworthy enough to mention in a daily journal of ship’s life – along with the routine jobs of obtaining firewood and fresh water when a landing was made. Whatever the reason, mentioning catches of fish was not particularly common among the entries (compared with, say, recording encounters with Aboriginal inhabitants, sighting and charting important landmarks, reefs, and so on). In other cases, fishing may not have been high on the agenda since plenty of food was in store, or other sources of fresh protein were more easily procured. Such locally obtained produce commonly included birds (everything from seabirds to bustards to, very often, black swans), kangaroos, dolphins, seals, turtles, turtle eggs and a wide variety of shellfish, ranging from oysters and abalone to giant clams. One of the challenges in teasing out the fishing-related stories is to try to determine the actual species of fish that were caught at the time. Unfortunately, this is often all but impossible since the generic term ‘fish’ was used so often when recording catches. Nevertheless, sometimes, because of the locality, habitat or methods used, we can speculate a little as to what types of fish these might have been. The most interesting and useful records are, of course, those that put names to the fish. Naturally, these were mostly the common names of the day for fish that at least looked familiar – more often than not the names given to fish by sailors (usually not by the captain, who tended to defer to the crew on such matters). For English names, we can usually be fairly sure of at least the group of fish being referred to (for example, leatherjacket, bream, mackerel), but French common names present greater difficulties, especially if the sources of these names are English translations in which the translator has provided interpretations which on close inspection may turn out to be examples of the facts being lost in translation. On those voyages that included naturalists, we might expect more reliable naming of fish. But again, this was not a common occurrence, since, perhaps simply through bad luck, few if any fish specialists were included on the major expeditions. Joseph Banks and Daniel Solander on the Endeavour were botanists, as also were Archibald Menzies (who sailed with Vancouver), Jaques-Julien Labillardière (who sailed with d’Entrecasteaux) and Robert Brown (who sailed with Flinders) while Francois Peron and other French naturalists were mainly absorbed with the discovery of new species of jellyfish, molluscs and other small invertebrates – which they called ‘zoophytes’. As a result, none of these paid as much attention to fish as they did to other aspects of nature. In some accounts, the contemporary scientific names of fish were used, or applied to new species. In those cases, the species being referred to are usually traceable since the history of biological nomenclature is normally well documented (assuming, of course, that the identification at the time was correct). There are even some original descriptions of fish that appear in journals, for example, those in the journal of First Fleet Surgeon General, John White – largely written by the Zoologist George Shaw on the basis of drawings and specimens sent back to England.

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Fortunately, though, we don’t always have to rely on the written word when trying to identify various fish. A number of artists left a legacy of drawings and paintings of fish caught at the time. Some were professional artists or scientific illustrators, specifically employed to record new biological and anthropological discoveries. Some were amateurs with a flair for recording the flora and fauna of the new land, while others were military officers who had fashionable hobbies of painting wildlife, some of whom even gave patronage to convict artists to paint the new and exotic flora and fauna, fish included.

Like other naval officers of his time, the legendary William Bligh enjoyed painting natural subjects. A lovely illustration of a dolphinfish and a pilot fish from his journal while commanding HMS Providence. State Library of New South Wales.

Much of this art is conserved in the collections of institutions in both Australia and Europe. For example, the beautiful paintings and drawings of the young artist Sydney Parkinson produced on board the Endeavour, much of it unfinished due to his untimely death before returning to England to complete the works, are held by the Natural History Museum in London, as are the exquisite works of Ferdinand Bauer, who sailed with Flinders on the aptly named Investigator. Also priceless is the large portfolio of meticulous scientific illustrations of Australian fishes produced by Charles-Alexandre Lesueur, in partnership with the great naturalist, Francois Peron, on the Geographe, captained by Nicolas Baudin. With the apt status of a national treasure, this body of work is stored at the Muséum d’histoire naturelle in the French port town of Le Havre.

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One of the problems in attempting to gain an understanding of the full suite of fish species that were being caught is that scientists, and to some extent, shipboard and landbased artists, were often drawn to the exotic over the dull. This is understandable, but it leaves an open question as to what more ‘mundane’ species of fish were also being caught at the time but going unrecorded, either pictorially or in writing. A good example of the thrill of the new. An exquisite painting of a pygmy southern leatherjacket by Ferdinand Bauer, an artist who sailed in the Investigator with Flinders on his circumnavigation of Australia in 18013. Natural History Museum, London

Another example of the fascination of early naturalists with unusual, exotic Australian fish. Three illustrations of male rainbow cale, Heteroscarus acroptilus. Top left: by Thomas Watling, Sydney area, 1790 (State Library of NSW), Top right: by Ferdinand Bauer, southern Australia, 1802 (Natural History Museum, London), Lower right: by George Raper, Sydney area, 1790 (State Library of NSW).

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Some particular harbours, bays or inlets were visited by a succession of expeditions because they offered safe anchorage along otherwise hostile coastlines. In the southwest, after its discovery by George Vancouver in 1791, King George Sound, on which the town of Albany was established, became a haven for many voyagers along the southern coast, most of whom took the opportunity to fish in its sheltered waters. On the southeastern coast of Tasmania, Adventure Bay – named after the Adventure, the vessel of its discoverer, Tobias Furneaux, after he had become separated from James Cook’s vessel, Resolution, in 1773 – became a similar magnet for voyagers. With the promise of good anchorage, Furneaux was followed to Adventure Bay by such notables as Cook himself (in 1777), William Bligh on no less than three occasions (1777, 1788, 1792) and French captain Nicolas Baudin (1802). Shark Bay on the west coast was similarly a favoured destination and haven while cruising along that exposed coast. Even before William Dampier had named that large embayment after the sharks he found there, the Dutchman Willem de Vlamingh had anchored there in 1697 and recorded the catching of large sharks.

John Allcot (1888–1973). Roebuck. Depiction of William Dampier’s ship anchoring in what he was to name Shark’s Bay, Western Australia, August 1699. Courtesy Australasian Pioneers Club.

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With knowledge of the bay well established, the sequence of early explorers who dropped anchor there, and sometimes went fishing, includes Saint Aloüarn in 1772, Baudin in 1801 and Phillip Parker King in 1822. It is one thing to glean from the written record information about what fish were caught where and when, but in interpreting such catches it would be helpful to have an understanding of what fishing gear and methods were used at the time. This turns out to be a rather tall order, though, since virtually none of the fishing gear used is described in detail in any of the journals or diaries. What we do know is that the usual gear used on nearly all voyages for attempting to catch enough fish to feed the crews was the hand-hauled beach seine net (although we are not given any dimensions of such nets, or the number of men needed to haul Nicolas Baudin’s chart of Shark Bay, 1803. One of his crew was the first them), and that hook and recorded European to be attacked by a shark, the incident occurring in line was the tackle of choice Hamelin’s Pool (‘Havre Hamelin’ on the chart). for fishing from anchored vessels. Harpoons, and ‘grains’, or fish spears, were also used in some instances, while a trawl or net dragged behind a row boat is mentioned only on two occasions, both for scientific sampling of bottom fauna. The sizes of the catches by seine net are often recorded in terms of the amount of fish

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caught per person on board the ship, which attains some perspective when we realise that ships’ complements were often surprisingly large. For example, in 1696 Willem de Vlamingh recorded that he sent 86 men in a landing party to explore the Swan River. The Endeavour carried 92 men into Botany Bay, La Pérouse had 114 on his two ships that stayed in Botany Bay in 1788 for six weeks, while the First Fleet arrived with a staggering 1373 souls. Matthew Flinders took 88 with him on the Investigator while Nicolas Baudin had 118 on the Geographe and 120 on the Naturaliste (plus eleven stowaways). Given these sorts of numbers and the duration of their voyages, it is reasonable to imagine that among any given crew, some would be experienced in the nuances of net fishing – looking for signs of schooling fish on sloping beaches, for example – while others would be skilful in the use of the humble handline. Hook-and-line fishing can be fun, but hauling a beach seine net is hard work. Once the net has been paid out the back of the rowboat, and the two ropes holding the net in a sweeping arc are picked up by teams of men and hauling commenced, the sheer weight or resistance of water in the bulging net can be felt. Very slowly, either hand over hand, or by holding the rope and walking slowly backwards up the beach away from the water, the net is gradually brought to shore. As we will see, such arduous work was not always rewarded with bulging nets of splashing fish, and nets would need to be hauled again and again. In contrast, hook-and-line fishing seems to have been carried out in more of an opportunistic way. There are many accounts on different voyages of calm days or nights when the handlines were broken out and fishing was engaged in off the deck of the ship. I can’t imagine this being much different from the same thing today. After dinner, in a still harbour with perhaps the moon glinting off the ripples, the handlines would be handed around. Some bait would be cut into strips, and hooks cast over the side. What sort of bait might this have been? In the absence of any real information in that regard, we can readily speculate. Strips of salt meat, perhaps, or cockles, mussels and other shellfish gathered on shore for this purpose. Maybe some fresh seal or swan or even kangaroo? In many places, one can imagine not having to wait long for a bite, and as fish were hauled on board plenty of banter would no doubt have been flying around, maybe lubricated by what was left of that day’s ration of rum. Some of the fish would have been quite familiar, some would bear some resemblance to fish from home, and given those names, while others would be completely new.

2 Pacific Coast I: The Endeavour On 18 April 1770, less than three weeks after departing the shores of New Zealand, HM Bark Endeavour, captained by James Cook, was nearing the east coast of mainland Australia, the first European vessel ever to do so. On board, the gentleman naturalist and paying passenger Joseph Banks was as usual, recording various biological activities. That morning he noted in his diary: Stiff gales and a heavy sea from the Westward. In the morn a Port Egmont hen and a Pintado bird were seen, at noon two more of the former. At night the weather became rather more moderate and a shoal of Porpoises were about the Ship which leapd out of the water like Salmons, often throwing their whole bodies several feet high above the surface.

Left: A ‘pintado’ bird illustration from William Dampier’s A Voyage to New Holland (1703). Right, the same bird, now called the cape petrel, J. Gould and H.C. Richter, 1848. National Library of Australia. nla.obj-139490227.

The Port Egmont hen is believed to be a skua, Catharacta sp. and the the Pintado bird the ‘cape petrel’, Daption capensis. These, together with the presence of a pod of dolphins, were taken to be signs that the ship was nearing land. And indeed they were. The next morning, at about 6.00 a.m., Lieutenant Zachary Hickes sighted land in the distance, a small promontory about 70 km southwest of the present Victoria/New South Wales border, now called Point Hicks in his honour. Cook observed that the coast 20

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headed in a westerly direction, so immediately changed course to the northeast, soon rounding the kink at Cape Howe that is the southeastern point of the entire east coast of the continent, stretching 3400 km northwards to the tip of Cape York. Left: James Cook. The first European to cast a fishing net on the eastern Australian coast. Wikimedia Commons. .

Above: Self portrait of the naturalist and artist Sydney Parkinson. Although he produced over 130 illustrations of fish on Cook’s first voyage, only four of these were drawn or painted during the Endeavour’s four-month sojourn on the east coast of Australia. Natural History Museum, London. Left: Joseph Banks in 1773, at the age of 30, three years after his epic voyage with Cook on the Endeavour. Portrait of Sir Joseph Banks, Joyce Aris; artist; 1970, Sir Joshua Reynolds; after; 1773. Courtesy Te Papa, 1000-0000-59.

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The Endeavour proceeded northwards along the coast, keeping mostly well offshore in depths of around 50–75 fathoms. Along this coast (now southern New South Wales) Cook named various prominent features such as Point Howe, Mount Dromedary, Cape Dromedary (probably Montague Island) and the ‘Pigeon House’ behind Ulladulla. While he had previously seen smoke from fires near the coast and suspected their human origin, Cook first observed Aboriginal people fifteen leagues (45 nautical miles) north of what he called Cape Dromedary. They had not touched land along this coastal trip, but they did make one aborted attempt on 28 April to land on a beach at what is now Bulli, just to the north of Wollongong. On the same day, Banks made his next observation of marine life: The Countrey today again made in slopes to the sea coverd with wood of a tolerable growth tho not so large as some we have seen. At noon we were very near it; one fire only was in sight. Some bodies of 3 feet long and half as broad floated very boyant past the ship; they were supposd to be cuttle bones which indeed they a good deal resembled but for their enormous size.

This observation is interesting in that, given their location, and especially their size, these were most likely the internal cuttle bones of the giant Australian cuttlefish, Sepia apama, the largest cuttlefish in the world. This species is reported to grow to half a metre mantle length or one metre full length although the maximum length of the internal cuttle is about 60 cm. This is still somewhat short of the three feet noted by Banks, but given the height off the water of his viewing platform, and the excitement of seeing such unusually large cuttles, perhaps he can be forgiven this slight exaggeration. On the following day (29 April 1770), Cook found the entrance to what is now Botany Bay and decided to enter. He recorded: At daylight in the morning we discover’d a Bay which appeared to be tollerably well shelter’d from all winds, into which I resolved to go with the Ship, and with this View sent the Master in the Pinnace to sound the Entrance, while we keept turning up with the Ship, having the wind right out. At noon the Entrance bore North-North-West, distance 1 Mile.

Having entered the bay, anchored and reconnoitred in the ship’s pinnace, on his first full day on Australian shores, Cook went fishing. He accompanied a netting crew to a gently sloping sandy beach on the north of the bay, probably at present-day Kyeemagh, and there recorded the first catch of fish by Europeans on the east coast: After I had return’d from sounding the Bay I went over to a Cove on the North side of the Bay, where, in 3 or 4 Hauls with the Sean, we caught about 300 pounds weight of Fish, which I caused to be equally divided among the Ship’s Company.

Banks was also a member of this historic fishing party and recorded this important event in just a few words:

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Myself with the Captn etc. were in a sandy cove on the Northern side of the harbour, where we hauld the seine and caught many very fine fish, more than all hands could Eat.

Unfortunately, neither described the type of fish caught in this first haul, or their size. However, Banks’ mention of ‘very fine fish’ suggests fish of a good size. Bearing in mind that the total number of men in the ship’s company was about 90, this initial fishing foray that fed all of them was a promising sign. But as we shall see, the vagaries of fishing did not always live up to the promise. The net that was deployed to catch these fish was the standard hand-hauled seine net – correctly spelled, by the way, by Banks, but spelled ‘sean’ by Cook, in this instance, and ‘saine’ in other places. This was the standard method used by all ships of this period to try to catch a quantity of fish in a short time. The seine net (still used today, and called a beach seine or beach haul net) is a length of net paid out behind a rowboat in a semicircle from and to the beach. It is then slowly dragged to the shore by ropes at each end. The net itself is a simple wall of reasonably fine mesh, perhaps one inch (2.5 cm) from knot to knot, weighted along the bottom rope by spaced lead crimps and buoyed along the top by cork floats. The depth of water in which it is used is often but not always no deeper than the distance between the float line and the lead line. The middle of the net might have a conical bag, or ‘cod-end’, sewn into it where the catch is concentrated, although such cod-ends are never alluded to in any of the numerous accounts of fishing by seine net by any of the European voyagers or settlers mentioned in this book. The net is normally run out over shallow, gently sloping sandy substrate, or over seagrass beds, and is then hauled to shore by teams of men on each end, pulling slowly and steadily on the ropes and then the net, making sure that the lead line stays on the bottom. Resistance of the water to the net makes the job of hauling the seine quite an arduous task. Unfortunately, we are not informed of the size of the seine nets used by Cook, or for that matter by any of the other early fishers, but they are likely to have been of the order of 100 metres long, several metres deep, and handled by perhaps three to five men at each end. Before commercial fishing was banned in Botany Bay in 2001, I often watched professional fishermen hauling similar nets on the same shores, with the only real difference being the use of mechanical winches to do the hard work. Otherwise, the gear and method used had hardly changed in over 200 years. One amusing story is recounted by Banks regarding the relative size of their seine net compared with those used by the Maori in New Zealand. His entry is dated 4 December 1769: after having a little laught at our seine, which was a common kings seine, [they] shewd us one of theirs which was 5 fathom deep [9 metres] and its lengh we could only guess, as it was not stretchd out, but it could not from its bulk be less than 4 or 500 fathom [730–900 metres].

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Hauling a beach seine net, Western Port Bay, Victoria, 1836. Once the net has been rowed out in a semicircle, the hard work of slowly hauling the net to shore begins. This is essentially the same method used by all early mariners around coastal Australia. State Library of Victoria.

Regarding other fishing equipment carried on the Endeavour, we know that Banks had at some stage taken angling gear on board, since he attached a hoop net to ‘a fishing rod’ to catch some macroplankton (salps) quite early in the voyage, north of the Canary Islands and later, described the fishing lines made by Tahitians as being ‘infinitely stronger than silk lines which I had on board made by the best fishing shops in London, tho not so thick by almost half’. The use of handlines was also quite common by Banks and other crew earlier in the voyage. There are a number of references to trolling at sea (towing a baited hook or lure behind the moving vessel) and of handlining while at anchor in New Zealand harbours with considerable success. In contrast, the use of hook and line on the Endeavour was not often mentioned during their lengthy trip along the entire east coast of mainland Australia. The catch on this first fishing sortie in Botany Bay must have been very encouraging, although it needs to be stressed that ‘three or four hauls’ were required to catch about 300 pounds (140 kg) of fish. And as many a fisher knows, fishing can be notoriously unpredictable. Cook’s diary entry for the very next day (1 May) is a case in point: ‘In the evening I sent some hands to haul the Saine, but they caught but a very few fish’. And again, on 5 May, not long before they left Botany Bay, a third fishing expedition with the seine net was mounted, as well as a specific hunt for stingrays which had been seen in numbers in the shallows. In both cases Cook noted good catches, and this time we are given an indication of the types of fish caught:

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In the P.M. I went with a party of Men over to the North Shore, and while some hands were hauling the Sean, a party of us made an Excursion of 3 or 4 Miles into the Country, or rather along the Sea Coast. ... Upon our return to the Boat we found they had caught a great number of small fish, which the sailors call leather Jackets on account of their having a very thick skin; they are known in the West Indies. I had sent the Yawl in the morning to fish for Sting rays, who returned in the Evening with upwards of four hundred weight [448 pounds]; one single one weigh’d 240 pounds Exclusive of the entrails. In the A.M., as the wind Continued Northerly, I sent the Yawl again a fishing, and I went with a party of Men into the Country, but met with nothing extraordinary.

Banks had accompanied Cook on their northerly exploratory walk, and his account adds some further interesting observations: While we were employd in this walk the people hawld the Seine upon a sandy beach and caught great plenty of small fish. On our return to the ship we found also that our 2nd lieutenant [John Gore] who had gone out striking had met with great success: he had observd that the large sting rays of which there are abundance in the bay followd the flowing tide into very shallow water; he therefore took the opportunity of flood and struck several in not more than 2 or 3 feet water; one that was larger than the rest weigh’d when his gutts were taken out 239 pounds.

On the following morning, Gore returned with the yawl proudly displaying two more huge stingrays with a combined weight of, according to Cook, ‘near 600 pounds’. Banks gives another account of the day, including the taking of the largest single stingray: As tomorrow was fixd for our sailing Dr Solander and myself were employd the whole day in collecting specimens of as many things as we possibly could to be examind at sea. The day was calm and

Herman Sporing’s delicate pencil sketch, done on the spot, of one of the huge stingrays harpooned by John Gore in Botany Bay. It is readily identifiable as the smooth or giant stingray, Dasyatis brevicordata. It was because of these rays that Cook originally named Botany Bay Sting Ray Harbour. Natural History Museum, London.

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the Mosquetos of which we have always had some more than usualy troublesome. No Indians were seen by any body during the whole day. The 2nd Lieutenant [Gore] went out striking and took several large Stingrays the biggest of which weighd without his gutts 336 pounds.

The Endeavour’s chief artist, Sydney Parkinson, had also been keeping a journal and recorded the taking of a number of big stingrays: On these shallows we found a great number of rays, some shell-fish, and a few sharks. The rays are of an enormous size: one of them which we caught weighed two hundred and thirty-nine pounds, and another three hundred and twenty-six. They tasted very much like the European rays, and the viscera had an agreeable flavour, not unlike stewed turtle. These rays, and shellfish, are the natives chief food.

A whaler shark, also caught in Botany Bay and sketched by Sporing. The first European illustration of an eastern Australian shark. Natural History Museum, London.

Parkinson notes in particular that the rays were very common, and also was the only diarist to mention the presence of some sharks. Although not specifically mentioned in any of the journals, at least one of these sharks must have also been caught since a delightful pencil sketch of it was made on the spot by one of the other artists on board, Herman Sporing. From this illustration, the shark can be readily identified as one of the so-called whaler sharks, possibly the common or dusky whaler, Carcharhinus obscurus. While Parkinson was correct about the importance of shellfish in the Aboriginal diet, his inclusion of rays was incorrect. As noted below, Cook made the observation that

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there were no remains of stingrays at the Aboriginal camps he observed, and during the early years of colonisation it became clear that the eating of shark and stingray was taboo to some coastal Aboriginal groups of the Sydney region. These first records of fishing in Botany Bay are interesting for a number of reasons. Firstly, the small fish caught ‘in great number’ were known by the sailors (but apparently not by Cook) as leatherjackets – the same name that is still used in Australia for fish belonging to the family Monacanthidae which would certainly have abounded over seagrass beds on the northern side of Botany Bay and are still common in such habitats today. Later, during the early days of the colony in Port Jackson, swarms of leatherjackets were regarded as a pest for snapper fishermen. Also, as noted in Chapter 7, leatherjackets were a common food item of Aboriginal people living around Sydney Harbour. Indeed, the prongs on their fishing spears were sometimes made from the barbed dorsal spines of leatherjackets. The second aspect of these accounts is the great size of the stingrays and the apparent ease of catching them. Cook notes that he sent a yawl specifically to fish for stingrays which, as Banks and Parkinson mention, had been observed to be in abundance. The third lieutenant, John Gore, was even more observant, noting that the stingrays moved onto the shallow flats at high tide, making them easier targets for spearing. And thanks to an excellent pencil illustration executed by Herman Sporing we can even identify the species of stingray. This was the smooth stingray, also known as the short tail stingray or giant stingray, Dasyatis brevicordata, one of the largest of all stingrays, growing to a maximum weight of 350 kg and a total length of 430 cm. While a seine net was used to catch the smaller finfish, the entries regarding stingray catches indicate that they were ‘struck’, meaning speared or harpooned. The Endeavour’s gunner, Stephen Forwood, mentioned that the rays were struck with the ‘grains’. This was a metal spear with several prongs designed to spear fish, as opposed to a harpoon with which the Endeavour was also equipped. In a postscript to the catching of stingrays in Botany Bay, Banks records on the day that they departed (6 May 1770) that at least one of the stingrays, or parts of it, were eaten by the crew of the Endeavour. Went to sea this morn with a fair breeze of wind. The land we saild past during the whole forenoon appeard broken and likely for harbours; in the afternoon again woody and very pleasant. We dind to day upon the stingray and his tripe: the fish itself was not quite so good as a scate [skate] nor was it much inferior, the tripe every body thought excellent. We had with it a dish of the leaves of tetragonia cornuta boild, which eat as well as spinage or very near it.

As already noted, Sydney Parkinson also thought the ray was good eating, especially the viscera. However, James Roberts, Banks’ footman, was not so lavish in his praise:

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‘served it [stingray] to the ships company instead of salt provisions. It was very strong and made a great many of the Ships Company sick which eat of it.’ Eating the viscera of fish was to later prove nearly fatal to James Cook during his second voyage. In September 1774, he was anchored in New Caledonia and together with the father and son naturalists, Johann and Georg Forster, tasted the liver and roe of a ‘new species’ of fish, ‘something like a sun-fish, with a large long ugly head’. This was almost certainly the silver-cheeked or giant toadfish, Lagocephalus scleratus, the skin, liver and roe of which, are highly toxic. The three became very ill, Cook describing his symptoms of weakness and numbness in his limbs in some detail. The next morning, a pig that had eaten the entrails of the fish was found dead, a fate that Cook and the Forsters were fortunate to avoid. There is a commonly held belief that Cook originally called Botany Bay ‘Sting Ray Bay’. In fact, he dubbed it ‘Sting-Ray Harbour’ at the time but changed the name at some stage after departing the bay for his northerly survey up the coast. The original name, and name change, are noted in the following two passages, the first being Cook’s original diary entry, and the second the version after his hand-inserted changes: 1. Sunday 6th [May]. In the evening the yawl return’d from fishing having caught two Sting rays the one weigh’d [gap] pounds and the other exclusive of the entrails. The great quantity of this sort of fish found in this place occasioned my giveing it the name of Sting-Ray Harbour. 2. Sunday 6th [May]. In the evening the yawl return’d from fishing having caught two Sting rays weighing near 600 pounds. The great quantity of New Plants &ca Mr Banks and Dr Solander collected in this place occasioned my giving it the name of Botanist [altered to] Botany Bay.

The date of these alterations is not known, but it must have been some time later, since Banks still referred to Botany Bay as ‘Stingrays bay’ in June while coasting northwards past the Whitsunday Islands off central Queensland. Nevertheless, the name was duly changed to Botany Bay, which in some ways is a pity, since to my mind there would have been a certain symmetry in having a ‘Shark Bay’ named by the first English explorer in western Australia (William Dampier) balanced by a ‘Stringray Bay’ in the east. After departing Botany Bay, the Endeavour sailed north, charting the coast at a leisurely pace. On 13 May, Banks noted ‘innumerable shoals of fish around the boat’ as they were off Smoky Cape (just to the south of Southwest Rocks), so named by Cook because of fires seen in the area. The first mention of fishing was on the next day, when Banks notes that it was calm in the early morning, and ‘some few fish were caught’. And because this fishing was done from the Endeavour, hook and line must have been used – and therefore the first record of that method being used by Europeans off eastern Australia. Unfortunately, no mention was made of what the few fish caught actually were.

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The Endeavour’s voyage north largely avoided nearing the coast for much of the way. On 20 May 1770, however, Cook found himself having to skirt a huge sandbank that jutted eastwards for some distance from the shore. He named this bank Sandy Cape, which extends from the northeastern tip of the great sand island, Fraser Island. On the shallows, now called Breaksea Spit, Banks observed a great variety of marine life – possibly a feeding frenzy of mixed predators on a school of baitfish: While we were upon the shoal innumerable large fish, Sharks, Dolphins etc. and one large Turtle were seen; A grampus of the middle size Leapd with his whole body out of water several times making a Splash and foam in the sea as if a mountain had fallen into it. At sun set a few Bobies flew past towards the NW.

Sydney Parkinson made similar observations in the same area: We saw a large turtle, some large grampusses that leaped out of the water, a great number of porpoises, many sharks which would not take bait, and several men-of-war birds.

‘Grampus’ was a general term for whales, often referring to toothed black whales such as pilot whales, but also larger baleen whales. In this case, Banks’ description, especially of the leaping and the size of the splashes, leaves little doubt that these were humpback whales. This identification is reinforced by the fact that the northerly migration of humpbacks would place the leading whales around this area in late May. As was often the case, large numbers of sharks were seen, although it may be that these were attracted to the ship’s refuse, especially if it was moving slowly at the time. Parkinson mentioning that the sharks would not take baits indicates that the crew were trying to catch them, presumably by means of suitably strong lines and stout hooks. One interesting aspect of both these accounts is Banks’ use of the name ‘dolphin’ and Parkinson’s of ‘porpoise’. The general common name of the marine mammal dolphins used by most of the English mariners at that time and for the next several decades was ‘porpoise’. Banks himself had used this term when sighting dolphins as the Endeavour first approached the Australian coast only a month earlier. The name ‘dolphin’ was usually reserved for the pelagic fish, Coryphaena hippurus, and is discussed at some length in Chapter 5, so it is odd to find Banks using it here, presumably for the marine mammal (since Parkinson was clearly describing the same scene), but does indicate that care needs to be taken when interpreting this, and other common names of the day applied to any marine animal or fish. A few days later (23 May), the Endeavour anchored off the bay now known as Agnes Water and the Town of 1770, where boats were sent ashore for the first time since leaving Botany Bay. Apart from fresh water, no doubt the men were looking forward to a feed of fresh fish, which were seen in the area, and a seine net was therefore immediately paid out. However, as Banks wrote: ‘The sea seemd to abound in fish but unfortunately at the first hawl we tore our seine to pieces’.

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Once again, Parkinson adds a little more information to the scene and the incident: We hauled the seine, and tore it in pieces, but caught no fish: though we saw great shoals of them in this bay, they would not take the bait. We found a nautilus pompilius, and some of a curious kind of hammer oysters; as also a number of porpoises.

No doubt the net was able to be mended (since it was used later, in the Endeavour River), but in its absence the crew still tried to catch fish with hook and line, although unsuccessfully. The most likely fish forming large schools in the bay would be sea mullet (Mugil cephalus), which, being detritus feeders, do not take baited hooks, but even so, it would still be expected that at least some fish of other species might have been caught. The next morning, they got under way again, but were soon becalmed. And as was often the case in such situations, they dropped some baited lines over the side, this time catching, in Parkinson’s words, ‘several sorts of beautiful-coloured fishes’. This is the first real mention of catching what are obviously tropical reef fishes although, unfortunately, Parkinson fails to provide any other details. Coasting north for several more days, the Endeavour neared Curtis Island, where Banks apparently cast a line out of his cabin’s porthole: ‘Before I went out we tried in the cabbin to fish with hook and line but the water was too shoal (3 fhm) for any fish’. However, the area was swarming with ‘vast numbers’ of crabs that were so voracious they were able to haul some on board using handlines. They caught both blue swimmer crabs, Portunus pelagicus, and three-spotted swimmer crabs, Portunus sanguinolentus, with Banks’ description of the former being especially pleasing. The crab was ornamented with the finest ultramarine blew conceivable with which all his claws and every Joint was deeply tingd; the under part of him was a lovely white, shining as if glazd and perfectly resembling the white of old China.

We can be certain about the identity of these crabs, not just from Banks’ description but also because both were sketched by Herman Sporing, almost certainly at this time and place. (The blue swimmer crab was also later beautifully painted in full colour by Ferdinand Bauer, the artist who voyaged with Flinders in 1802/03.) On 29 May, a little further north, a party again went ashore at Thirsty Sound, just north of Rockhampton. Here Banks was intrigued by his first sight of the semi-amphibious fish, the mudskipper, prompting him to write an engaging passage about them: It was about the size of a minnow in England and had two breast finns very strong. We often found him in places quite dry where may be he had been left by the tide: upon seeing us he immediately fled from us leaping as nimbly as a frog by the help of his breast finns: nor did he seem to prefer water to land for if seen in the water he often leapd out and proceeded upon dry land, and where the water was filld with small stones standing above its surface would leap from stone to stone rather than go into the water: in this manner I observd several pass over puddles of water and proceed on the other side leaping as before.

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Top: Blue swimmer crab drawn by Herman Sporing at Curtis Island, Queensland, caught by hook and line from the deck of the Endeavour, 1770. Natural History Museum, London. Bottom: The same species painted by Ferdinand Bauer on board the Investgator with Matthew Flinders, 1802. Natural History Museum, London.

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A week later, on 5 June, Banks made his first mention of sea snakes. The Endeavour was off Cleveland Bay, near Magnetic Island at the time, where he noted ‘Several Cuttle bones and 2 Sea Snakes swam past the ship’. Flying fish were also seen on this day. A little further north, on 7 June, Banks made another entry regarding fish: ‘Just about sun rise a shoal of fish about the size of and much like flounders but perfectly white went by the ship’. These would not have been flatfish of any kind, but because of the Endeavour’s position inside the Great Barrier Reef, it is most likely that these were diamondfish, Monodactylus argenteus, also known as silver batfish, butterfish or butter bream. These fish can often be observed swimming on their sides, indeed resembling white flounders, and are quite common in Queensland waters today. This is an interesting passage in that Banks thought the observation of a single school of fish sufficiently noteworthy to make a diary entry about it, possibly implying that large numbers of fish were not being encountered on a regular basis. On 9 June, Banks again took the time to record a trivial catch of fish: ‘At night our people caught a few small fish with their hooks and lines’. This was the night before disaster was to strike the Endeavour. On the evening of 10 June, the ship was holed on a coral reef and it was lucky that it could be eventually moved from the reef to the shore where repairs could be made. Needless to say, the accident and the emergency actions that ensued over the next several days caused great consternation and fear for all on board since they were acutely aware that they were in such a Detail of a diamondfish from an illustration of ‘The Fish remote and potentially hostile place with of New South Wales’, probably painted by Joseph Lycett virtually no chance of rescue. Fortunately, c. 1810. The fish is labelled ‘Old Wife’, a common name they were able to find the perfect place to bestowed on a number of quite different fishes. State careen the vessel and set up camp – the Library of New South Wales. mouth of the Endeavour River. No sooner had work begun to repair the ship than Banks and Solander set about gathering and drying new species of plants from this tropical locale. Over the next few days, some pigeons and crows were shot for food, kangaroos were seen for the first time, but Banks made no mention of fishing. On the other hand, Cook was recording decided lack of success with their usual fishing methods. On 23 June, a day after careening the Endeavour, he wrote:

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The Endeavour careened for repairs at the Endeavour River, Queensland, William Byrne, c. 1773. National Library of Australia. nla.obj-135951500.

I sent a Boat to haul the Sean, who return’d at noon, having made 3 Hauls and caught only 3 fish; and yet we see them in plenty Jumping about the harbour, but can find no method of catching them.

The same frustration was recorded by Banks on 7 July, presumably after attempting not only netting but also hook-and-line fishing. The river near us abounded much in fish who at sun set leapd about in the water much as trouts do in Europe but we had no kind of tackle to take them with.

And four days later, becoming anxious to supply fresh food for some on board who were ill with scurvy, including the Tahitian noble Tupaia and the ship’s astronomer Charles Green, Cook decided to join the fishing party himself, but with not a lot more success: I went in the pinnace up the Harbour, and made several hauls with the Sean, but caught only between 20 and 30 pound of fish, which were given to the sick and such as were weak and Ailing.

Shortly afterwards, however, the fishing gods smiled upon them – or else, they quickly learned how to catch fish in this new location. In any case, fish were on the menu again. Banks, apparently unaware of the earlier fishing failures, wrote on 29 June: ‘The Seine was hauld today for the first time and 150 lb of Fish caught in it’, and on the next day: ‘Sein caught 213 lb of Fish’. This relieved Cook considerably, who noted that he was able to supply two and a half pounds of fish per man, with ‘no one on board having more than another’. To put these quantities of fish in perspective, if the average size of fish being caught was, say, 1.5 kg, the number of fish caught on these two occasions would be about

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Fishing for the Past

45 and 65, respectively. Good hauls certainly, but not what could be called abundant catches. By now, Cook was sending boats (the yawl and the pinnace) out to search for a passage to escape the outer barrier reef once the Endeavour was fully repaired. These boats were returning with plenty of marine protein, though not in the form of finfish. Banks gives a particularly interesting account of collecting giant clams on one such sortie, and of some other observations in the river. The date was 3 July 1770: The Pinnace which had been sent out yesterday in search of a Passage returnd today, having found a way by which she past most of the shoals that we could see but not all. ... He had in his return landed on a dry reef where he found vast plenty of shell fish so that the Boat was compleatly loaded, cheifly with a large kind of Cockles (Chama Gigas) One of which was more than 2 men could eat. Many indeed were larger; the Cockswain of the Boat a little man declard that he saw on the reef a dead shell of one so large that he got into it and it fairly held him. At night the ship floated and was hauld off; an Allegator was seen swimming along side of her for some time. As I was crossing the harbour in my small boat we saw many sholes of Gar fish leaping high out of the water, some of which leap’d into the boat and were taken.

The mention of an ‘allegator’ is the only reference to a saltwater crocodile being seen on this voyage, even though the Endeavour River would no doubt have supported a healthy population of the reptile. And the ‘gar fish’ that Banks notes were no doubt one of several species of needlefish or longtom (family Belonidae) that occur in this habitat. Longtom often leap from the water when disturbed, and serious injuries to passengers of runabout boats are known to have been caused by them in northern Australia and Papua New Guinea.

A needlefish or longtom (front fish), a species of which was most likely the ‘gar fish’ mentioned by Banks that leaped into his small boat. William Jardine, The Naturalist’s Library, 1843.

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Between 9 and 21 July, as well as a surfeit of giant clam meat, fifteen turtles (many more were seen) and three large stingrays were taken by the Endeavour’s crew on the reefs, about fifteen miles from the coast. However, there was still an apparent need for more food, since Cook again sent seiners out on 21 and 27 July when they made modest catches of 1.75 lb fish per man (about 70 kg) and 0.75 lb fish per man (about 30 kg). Fishing success dropped off, though, and on 29 July only 9 kg of fish was taken. On 2 August Cook wrote: ‘we have now no Success in the Sein fishing, hardly getting above 20 or 30 pounds a day’. After the Endeavour was repaired and refloated, Cook and Banks made a concerted effort to find an opening to the outer barrier reef. They did this by climbing to the top of the highest point on Lizard Island (named by Cook after the goannas found there) and spotting the opening that was to be their escape route. After navigating their way through this passage, the Endeavour sailed north, while the captain and others made notes on their experiences. Sydney Parkinson summarised the marine life of the area around the Endeavour River and the reef as follows: During the time we staid here, we picked up a great many natural curiosities from the reef we struck upon, consisting of a variety of curious shells, most of which were entirely new to Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander. We met also with many new species of fish. Madrepores and other curious corals; sea-weed and other beautiful marine productions.

And regarding shellfish and fish, he wrote: Of fish, we found many different sorts, and a variety of beautiful shell-fish; among them three sorts of oysters; some were found in lagoons; some adhering to the mangrove; and others along the shore: large cavalhe, or scomber; large mullets, some flat-fish, a great number of small scombri; and skate or ray-fish; one of which, that we caught, was curiously marked on the back with polygons finely coloured, and another of an orbicular figure, with a blue greycoloured back, and white belly, which tasted like veal; some other parts like beef; and the entrails as agreeable as turtle. We caught also turtles of a bright green colour, some of which weighed near four hundred pounds.

The fish mentioned in this passage by Parkinson are ‘cavalhe’ – a general name for any trevally, of which, many species occur in the region: ‘scomber’ – a general term that could describe any species of tuna or mackerel; in this area, these may have been mackerel tuna or perhaps Spanish mackerel; ‘small scombri’ – any small scad or mackerel, possibly bigeye scad, Megalapsis cordyla; ‘large mullets’, probably the diamond mullet, Liza alata; ‘flat-fish’ – perhaps the large-toothed flounder, Pseudorhombus arsius; ‘skate, ray fish’, the first may have been the honeycomb stingray, Himantura uarnak, which is marked with reticulated spots that do look like ‘polygons’, while the second, with its round shape and colouring, is possibly the black blotched stingray, Taeniura meyeni – a large species that occurs on shallow sand flats between reefs. Meanwhile, Cook was summing up his impressions of the east coast of the continent,

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including an overview of his observations on fish and other marine life during this leg of his epic first voyage: The Sea is indifferently well stocked with fish of Various sorts, such as Sharks, Dog-fish, Rockfish, Mullets, Breams, Cavallies, Mack’rel, old wives, Leather Jackets, Five Fingers, Sting rays, Whip rays, etc., all excellent in their kind. The Shell fish are Oysters of 3 or 4 sorts, viz., Rock Oysters and Mangrove Oysters, which are small, Pearl Oysters and Mud Oysters; these last are the best and Largest I ever saw. Cockles and Clams of several sorts, many of those that are found upon the Reefs are of a prodigious size, Craw fish, Crabs, Muscles, and a variety of other sorts. Here are also upon the Shoals and Reefs great Numbers of the finest Green Turtle in the world, and in the River and Salt Creeks are some Aligators.

From this it must be said that he was not overly enthusiastic about the abundance of fish, as indicated by the term ‘indifferently well stocked’. Where marine resources were impressive or abundant however, he was keen to make the point, as shown by his special mention of the size of the giant clams and the numbers of green turtle on the Great Barrier Reef. In this summation, Cook was obviously covering a lot of ground, from Botany Bay to northern Queensland. In some cases, the general locations are reasonably obvious; pearl oysters, turtles and crocodiles, for example, being tropical residents. The fish are more difficult to assign to locations though. He does mention the two species he recorded in Botany Bay – leatherjackets and stingrays, and also interestingly singles out the old wife, which is likely to be the black and white striped fish, Enoplosus armatus, a species endemic to southern Australia, and therefore most likely encountered by him in Botany Bay (old wives are frequently referred to by later settlers in Sydney Harbour). Dogfish would be small sharks, rockfish could be scorpaenids or serranids, breams may well be yellowfin bream and tarwhine, cavallies could be any members of the large trevally family (Carangidae), mackerel are most likely the Australian blue mackerel but may also include other small baitfish such as the yellowtail. The fish named ‘five fingers’ is sometimes assumed to be a morwong (family Cheilodactylidae) however, that partcular name is more likely to refer to one of the threadfin salmons of northern waters (Polynemidae), especially since Sydney Parkinson produced an unfinished painting of a fourfinger threadfin, Eleutheronema tetradactylum, caught in the Endeavour River. Unfortunately, because Cook does not refer elsewhere to the various other species of fish mentioned in his summing up it is impossible to say where they were encountered, which causes problems in deciding what are the likely species being referred to. Banks also provided a rather lengthy summary of his observations during the voyage along the east coast: The sea however made some amends for the Barreness of the Land. Fish tho not so plentyfull as they generaly are in higher latitudes were far from scarce; where we had an opportunity of haling the Seine we generally caught from 50 to 200 lb of fish in a tide. There sorts were

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Parkinson’s threadfin salmon. One of only two colour paintings of fish from Australian shores by artists on the Endeavour. Natural History Museum, London.

various, none I think but Mullets known in Europe; in general however they were sufficiently palatable and some very delicate food; the Sting rays indeed which were caught on the Southern part of the coast were very coarse, but there little else was caught so we were obligd to comfort ourselves with the comforts of Plenty and enjoy more pleasure in Satiety than in eating. To the Northward again when we came to be entangled within the great Reef … was a plenty of Turtle hardly to be credited, every shoal swarmd with them. The weather indeed was generaly so boisterous that our boats could not row after them so fast as they could swim, so that we got but few, but they were excellent and so large that a single Turtle always servd the ship. Had we been there either at the time of Laying or the more moderate season we doubtless might have taken any quantity. Besides this all the shoals that were dry at half Ebb afforded plenty of fish that were left dry in small hollows of the rocks, and a profusion of Large shell fish (Chama Gigas) such as Dampier describes ... The large ones of this kind had 10 or 15 lb of meat in them; it was indeed rather strong but I beleive a very wholesome food and well relishd by the people in general. On different parts of the Coast were also found oysters which were said to be very well tasted; the shells also of well sizd Lobsters and crabs were seen but these it was never our fortune to catch.

His appraisal of the reliability of fishing is somewhat at odds with Cook, who says the seas were indifferently stocked, while Banks’ recollection was that they caught 50 to 200 lb of fish on a given tide. However, from reading all of the accounts, this seems to be a rather exaggerated summary. The fishing parties certainly did make catches of those quantities here and there, but there were also many occasions when it is clear that fishing was not very successful at all. It is interesting that no hook-and-line fishing seems to have been tried (or at least mentioned) from the Endeavour itself in Botany Bay, nor along the east coast until they were in southern Queensland waters, and then without a lot of conviction or success.

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However, earlier in this same voyage, while in New Zealand, line fishing had been conducted from the Endeavour with considerable success. For example, at the place he named ‘Bream Bay’, near the present-day town of Whangarei, Cook wrote: ‘We had no sooner come to an Anchor than we caught between 90 and 100 Bream’. In New Zealand, the local inhabitants often brought fish to the boat for barter, which kept the crew well supplied. Cook mentions fish many times in New Zealand, possibly because he anchored in many bays where his crew caught plenty of fish, but also, importantly, because fish were constantly supplied by the local inhabitants. The following indicates the variety of fish supplied by the locals, but also hints that the crew of the Endeavour, even though they were successful on occasion, may not have been especially skilled fishermen: Some few we Caught ourselves with hook and line and in the Sean, but by far the greatest part we purchased of the Natives, and these of Various sorts, such as Sharks, Stingrays, Breams, Mullet, Mackerel, and several other sorts. Their way of Catching them is the same as ours, viz., with Hook and line and Seans; of the last they have some prodidgious large made all of a Strong Kind of Grass. The Mackerel are in every respect the same as those we have in England, only some are larger than any I ever saw in any other Part of the World; although this is the Season for this fish, we have never been able to Catch one with hook and line.

Here, Cook must have been referring to blue mackerel (commonly called slimy mackerel in Australia), Scomber australasicus. As he noted, the English would have been quite familiar with this fish since it is so similar to the blue mackerel of their homeland, Scomber scombrus, a favoured food fish. It is odd, then, that his crew could not catch these fish since this species bites readily on baited handlines. A possible explanation is that their hooks were too large, but without this information it is impossible to say. The passages by Banks quoted in this chapter, comprise everything he wrote about fish and their abundance off Eastern Australia. Even though these observations were confined to one week’s stay inside Botany Bay, some brief forays on shore during the voyage north, and the enforced stay in the Endeavour River, it is nevertheless surprising that he did not write more about the marine fauna, given that he wrote expansively about the topic in New Zealand earlier that same year. We might even surmise that, the fact that he extolled the fisheries of New Zealand to such an extent, but wrote so little about the fishing in Australia, suggests the apparent abundance of fish there was, to use the expression, ‘nothing to write home about’. In New Zealand, though, like Cook, Banks was obviously most impressed with the fish and their abundance, as indicated in the following passages: For this scarcity of animals on the land the Sea however makes abundant recompense. Every creek and corner produces abundance of fish not only wholesome but at least as well tasted as our fish in Europe: the ship seldom anchord in or indeed passd over (in light winds) any place whose bottom was such as fish resort to in general but as many were caught with hook

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and line as the people could eat, especialy to the Southward, where when we lay at an anchor the boats by fishing with hook and line very near the rocks could take any quantity of fish; besides that the Seine seldom faild of success, insomuch that both the times that we anchord to the Southward of Cooks streights every Mess in the ship that had prudence enough salted as much fish as lasted them many weeks after they went to sea. … For the Sorts, there are Macarel of several kinds, one precisely the same as our English ones and another much like our horse macarel, besides several more; these come in immence shoals and are taken by the natives in large Seines from whoom we bought them at very easy rates. Besides these were many species which tho they did not at all resemble any fish that I at least have before seen, our seamen contrivd to give names to, so that hakes, breams, Cole fish etc. were appellations familiar with us, and I must say that those who bear these names in England need not be ashamd of their nam[e]sakes in this countrey. But above all the luxuries we met with the lobsters or sea crawfish must not be forgot, which are possibly the same that in Lord Ansons Voyage are mentiond to be found at the Island of Juan Fernandes; they are large tho not quite so large as those at Juan Fernandes and differ from ours in England in having many more prickles on their backes, and being red when taken out of the water. Of them we bought great quantities of the natives every where to the Northward, who catch them by diving near the shore, feeling first with their feet till they find out where they lie. We had also that fish describd by Frezier in his voyage to Spanish South America by the name of Elefant, Pejegallo, or Poisson Coq, which tho coarse we made shift to Eat, several species of Skates or sting rays which were abominably coarse, but to make amends for that we had among several sorts of dog fish one that was spotted with a few white spots, whose flavour was similar to but much more delicate than our skate. We had flat fish also like Soles and flounders, Eels and Congers of several sorts, and many others which any Europaeans who may come here after us will not fail to find the advantage of, besides excellent oysters and many sorts of shell fish and cockles, clams etc.

These passages show that Banks was a conscientious recorder of the marine life he witnessed, and in the case of New Zealand he was obviously highly impressed with the quantities of fish available – certainly in far greater abundance than any locale in Australia that he mentioned. Here, his descriptions also allow the identification of a number of the fish caught in New Zealand. As noted, the ‘macarel’ is the blue mackerel, the horse macarel is a species of scad, most likely the yellowtail, Trachurus novaezelandiae, the Elefant, Pejegallo, or Poisson Coq is the elephantfish, Callorhinchus milii, a relative of sharks and rays, while the white spotted ‘dog fish’ is the New Zealand gummy shark, Mustelus lenticulatus. This further suggests that the fish he observed at Botany Bay, since he wrote so little of them, not describing them or even bestowing common names to them, were relatively trivial in comparison to his New Zealand experience Importantly, the journal entries in New Zealand also show that personnel on the Endeavour could and did preserve surplus fish by salting, something that they did not do in Australia, presumably because they never made any catches that were surplus to their immediate needs.

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There is one odd aspect regarding Joseph Banks’ opinion of fish abundance in Australia. After his return to England, he appeared before a House of Commons Committee in 1779 which was set up to consider the advantages and disadvantages of transportation of convicts and places for this to occur. He strongly pushed for New Holland, and in particular, Botany Bay. His reasons were several, including that Aboriginal inhabitants were not likely to be antagonistic (as he thought might be the case in New Zealand), and importantly, that there would be good soil, adequate water and timber and promise for a fishing industry (my italics), although in those days the term ‘fishing’ included whaling. This official line was in contrast to his journal entries at the time in which he noted prospects of water and timber were in fact not good. When questioned at the commission, he stated: Upon the whole New Holland, tho in every respect the most barren country I have seen, is not so bad but that between the productions of the sea and the Land a company of People who should have the misfortune of being shipwrecked upon might support themselves, even by the resources we have seen.

There were three artists who joined Cook’s first voyage, two of whom were on board the Endeavour during the charting of the east coast of Australia between April and August 1770. The three were Sydney Parkinson, with the title of Botanical Artist, Herman Sporing, Assistant Naturalist, and Alexander Buchan, Landscape Artist. Tragically, all three died during the voyage. Parkinson died on 26 January 1771 of dysentery, contracted in Java, Sporing, died of the same cause the day before, while Buchan never made it to Australia, dying of epilepsy in Tahiti on 17 April 1769. Sydney Parkinson was prolific. Apart from his voluminous illustrations of plants during the voyage, he produced 137 paintings of fish, all held in the Natural History Museum, London. Most are watercolours, many of which are unfinished, but painted with appropriate colours on various parts of the fish so that they could be completed at a later date. Locations of the capture of his fish are not always noted with the works. Many of the fish sketched and painted by Parkinson were caught in Tahiti and New Zealand, where the Endeavour spent considerable time. The question of how many, if any fish caught on Australian shores may have been illustrated by Parkinson has been a vexing one for some time. Some publications are helpful in this regard, but in addition, during research for this book I was fortunate to be able to visit the Natural History Museum in London and examine all of Parkinson’s fish illustrations. By examining the dates that illustrations were done, and notations on the works, it was possible to determine that Parkinson produced just four illustrations of fish while in Australia, representing a rather odd assortment, but no doubt of interest to Banks because of their novelty. Parkinson’s Australian fish were a fourfinger threadfin salmon (Eleutheronema tetradactylum), a spotted sicklefish (Drepane punctata) a puffer fish (Lagocephalus spadecius), these

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three sketched while at the Endeavour River, and a remora (Echeneis naucrates) painted at Bustard Bay. The sicklefish and pufferfish are quite rough pencil sketches, which would have been very preliminary drawings, intended to be finished at a later date. Only two, the threadfin and the remora, have had watercolour added, and as such are very special. His fish paintings from New Zealand and Tahiti were much more complete, while others done in Madeira and Brazil were fully finished (and superb). It seems that Parkinson only had very little time for illustrating fish in Australia since Banks was giving him so much new botanical work to complete. Two of Parkinson’s fish illustrations, although not painted from Australian specimens, are also of particular importance in an Australian context. These are his paintings of the kahawai, or Australian salmon (Arripis trutta), and the pink snapper (Pagrus auratus). Both are unfinished, having been painted by Parkinson from specimens caught in New Zealand, and are no doubt the first European illustrations of these species, both of which are important commercial and recreational species of fish in Australia (and both of which are mentioned often in the early records of other explorers and settlers – see Chapters 3 to 6).

The first European illustrations of two classic ‘Australian’ fish, both painted by Sydney Parkinson on the Endeavour, not in Australia but while in New Zealand. A pink snapper, top, and an Australian salmon (or in New Zealand, a kawahai) bottom. Natural History Museum, London.

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The other artist on the voyage during the Australian leg was Herman Sporing. He produced nine delicate pencil drawings depicting four rays, two sharks, a morwong and two crabs. Perhaps Sporing’s most important illustration is his beautiful rendition in pencil of one of the giant stingrays that Lieutenant Gore had harpooned in Botany Bay – the smooth, or short-tailed stingray, Dasyatis brevicordata (see above). Sporing’s eagle ray, Mylobatis australis, eastern shovelnose ray (also known as the shovelnose shark), Aptychotrema rostrata, and fiddler ray, Trygonorrhina sp., and his lovely sketch of a whaler shark, most likely a dusky shark, Carcharhinus obscurus, were also drawn on the spot in Botany Bay, while the more tropical epaulette shark, Hemiscyllium ocellatum, was sketched during the enforced stay in the Endeavour River, as was his only sketch of a bony fish, the distinctive crested morwong (Cheilodactylus vestitus). And as noted, Sporing’s two crabs, the blue swimmer, Portunus pelagicus, and the three-spotted swimmer crab, Portunus sanguinolentus, were almost certainly caught by Joseph Banks from the porthole of the Endeavour while at anchor off Curtis Island off the Queensland coast.

Herman Sporing’s only fish drawings done at the Endeavour River. Left, an epaulette shark, right, a crested morwong. Natural History Museum, London.

Contrast between fish illustrations by Sydney Parkinson produced in different locations on the Endeavour’s voyage. The sketch of a half smooth golden puffer (left) is one of just four fish illustrations he produced in Australia. The coronation trout (right), like many other beautiful fish paintings, was achieved during the voyage’s two month stay in Tahiti. In Australia, Joseph Banks had Parkinson working round the clock illustrating the great array of new plant species, leaving little time for other work. Natural History Museum, London.

3 Pacific Coast II: The First Fleet After Cook’s epic first voyage, no other Europeans reached eastern Australia until nearly eighteen years later when, on 20 January 1788, Captain Arthur Phillip led the First Fleet, consisting of eleven vessels, directly to the same anchorage in Botany Bay that Cook had described.

Part of the First Fleet at anchor in Botany Bay. Artist’s impression published just over a year after the arrival of the fleet. Thomas Medland, 1789. National Library of Australia. nla.obj-135910024.

The number of personnel arriving on the first fleet is relevant to this book since it gives an indication of how many mouths needed to be fed during the early days of the colony, not only on the provisions that were brought with the fleet, but on the expected fresh produce including, of course, fish. A total of 1420 people embarked at Portsmouth, 43

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of whom 1373 landed at Port Jackson. Records showed that 69 persons had either died, deserted or been discharged during the voyage, while on the positive ledger there had been 22 births along the way. The breakdown of those who landed was as follows: Officials and passengers: 14; Ships’ crews: 306; Marines: 245; Marines’ wives and children: 54; Convicts (men): 543; Convicts (women): 189; Convicts’ children: 22. It is also noteworthy that, since no complete records of crew members have survived for the six transports and three storeships, it is thought that there may have been as many as 110 additional seamen. As we shall see, supplying upwards of 1500 people with food, especially fresh fish, in the early months of the colony was to be no easy task. The fleet had come equipped with a remarkable store of equipment, tools, preserved food, grain, livestock, seeds, in fact, just about everything needed to make their new home. They had also clearly anticipated catching plenty of fish to supplement their food – David Collins, the first Secretary and Judge Advocate of the colony, had written in August 1788 that It had been imagined in England, that some, if not considerable savings of provisions might be made, by the quantities of fish that it was supposed would be taken.

And for that purpose, they brought a lot of fishing gear. The manifesto of the provisions carried on the three supply ships included the following equipment for fishing: 14 fishing nets, 8000 fish hooks, 48 dozen lines, 6 harpoons and 18 coils of whale line. Unfortunately, there is no detail regarding the sizes of the hooks, breaking strain of the lines or types of fishing nets. However, by examining later accounts of fishing activities and sizes of fish caught, we can surmise that there must have been a mixed range of hook sizes and line strengths since, for example, large sharks were hooked and caught in subsequent months, and also that the nets were almost certainly seine or hauling nets, although no dimensions of nets are given. Joseph Banks was regarded as an expert on all things to do with New Holland, and consequently had considerable involvement in the planning for the voyage and settlement of the First Fleet (he had strongly recommended Botany Bay as a preferred destination for this venture). He had also corresponded with Phillip during its preparations and had certainly been active in choosing plant seeds and cuttings to be brought out for cultivation. Banks was a keen angler, and while we don’t know the details of fishing gear that he may have taken on his voyage in the Endeavour, we do know that he had ordered and paid for a widely varied assortment of fishing gear to take with him on his second voyage with Cook (a trip from which he subsequently withdrew). The fishing gear he purchased in 1772 from London ‘Fish Hook & Needle Maker’ George Gimber & Son, included fourteen different sizes of fishing hooks, from tiny bait hooks to larger hooks suitable for reef fishing, specifically named shark hooks, kirby hooks (superior quality fish hooks), a range of ganged hooks (two, three or four hooks linked together),

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twelve different line sizes, gaff hooks, landing nets – in fact, a veritable arsenal of fishing gear. With Banks’ advice, therefore, it is reasonable to assume that the fishing equipment taken on the First Fleet included a wide range of hook sizes and line strengths, from tiny hooks to shark lines terminating in chains and large hooks. And the nets must have been stowed within easy reach since these were put to use as soon as the fleet reached its destination. Thanks to the writings of many members of the First Fleet, the early days, months and years of the establishment of the first European colony in Australia are well documented. A valuable collection of early accounts of the establishment of the colony at Sydney Cove was published in 1789, only a year after the arrival of the fleet. This volume was compiled from contributions by Phillip himself and a number of officers and crew, and is a useful source of information on the early days Part of Joseph Banks’ invoice for the purchase of fishing gear in 1772, a wide assortment of hook sizes. Banks would have had a of fishing success. Other officers showing strong influence on what fishing equipment was carried on the First and crew kept their own diaries Fleet. State Library of New South Wales. and journals, again containing many references to fishing, both by themselves and the local Aboriginal inhabitants. Two of the medical officers with the fleet, John White, the Surgeon General to the First Fleet, and George Worgan, Surgeon of the First Fleet flagship Sirius, were particularly keen recorders of their new surroundings, both making note of the first fishing activities on the day the Fleet dropped anchor in Botany Bay. Worgan recorded that the first catch, by the usual method of beach hauling, was a good one:

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a Boat was sent to haul the Seine which had been very successful, having caught as much of Mullet, Bream, Sting-Rays, and other kinds of Fish as served the Sirius’s Crew.

White, however, was more succinct and not necessarily so enthusiastic about the size of the catch: The boats sent to haul the seine returned, having had tolerable success. The fish they caught were bream, mullet, large rays, besides many other smaller species.

The brief description of this first catch sits alongside the first catches made by the crew of the Endeavour in the same place eighteen years earlier. Cook recorded only stingrays and leatherjackets, so these next specific mentions of fish add some more species to the list of those caught by the first Europeans fishing in Botany Bay – namely mullet and bream.

Quite possibly the first illustration of an Australian mullet. A sand mullet, Myxus elongatus, drawn by French artist Charles Lesueur on the South Australian coast in 1802/03. It is quite possible that this is the same species referred to by Worgan in the first day’s catch at Botany Bay. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no.76343.

In naming ‘bream’, it is not certain whether Worgan was referring to the species we now call yellowfin bream, Acanthopagrus australis, or another ‘bream-shaped’ fish such as tarwhine or silver biddy. It is often assumed that the bream familiar to the English would have been the freshwater ‘bream’ of their homeland, Abramis brama, which does bear a superficial resemblance to Acanthopagrus species. There are a number of English marine species, also called ‘bream’ at that time, in the same family as the yellowfin bream (Sparidae) that quite closely resemble either yellowfin bream or the related pink snapper, Pagrus auratus (see below). It is therefore reasonable to assume that when these first English fishers and writers mentioned ‘bream’ they were most likely referring to either of these two species. In this instance, I lean towards them being yellowfin bream since that fish has remained a common and important species in Botany Bay to the present day. The ‘many other smaller species’ mentioned by Worgan and White

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in that first catch would be entirely expected since studies have shown Botany Bay to possess a rich diversity of fish species. Ralph Clark was a second lieutenant of Marines on the First Fleet ship Friendship. He kept a personal diary in which he wrote nearly daily to his wife. He also mentions an excellent catch of fish on the day of arrival: Capt M went on board the Scarborough where he Staid all day – Lieut J Johnstone came on board to See me and Staid to Tea – caught a great manny fish.

It is not clear from this entry whether Clark was referring here to the seine net catch mentioned by Worgan, or if he and Johnstone caught the fish that evening from the Scarborough at anchor. If the latter, they would have been using handlines, although this cannot be determined from this brief entry. Another of Clark’s entries, on the next day, was an early indication of the unpredictability of fishing on these new and unfamiliar shores. Munday 21 a very fine day – Capt M and Mr. F went fishing at day light and Staid all day – Lieut J Johnstone came on board with order for me to goe on Shore with a Party of Men consisting of ten and Sergt. and brought with him four tents which I am to pitch by day light and to See the orders put in force for which See the orderly Book – caught but very little fish – it is remarkably hott what must it be on Shore if it is So here.

On 22 January, after quickly realising that there was insufficient fresh water for the planned colony in Botany Bay, Phillip set out with three boats to explore an inlet to the north, the entrance to which Cook had noted, named it ‘Port Jackson’ but not entered. As Phillip and his men rowed through the heads, they beheld a huge harbour indented by numerous inlets, coves and bays. The party included Captain John Hunter, who was inspired to write the now famous words: Here all regret arising from the former disappointments was at once obliterated; and Governor Phillip had the satisfaction to find one of the finest harbours in the world, in which a thousand sail of the line might ride in perfect security.

And a little later, when John White saw it with his own eyes, he was even more effusive, calling it ‘the finest and most extensive harbour in the universe’. On the same day that Phillip entered Port Jackson, George Worgan, who had remained with the fleet in Botany Bay, was busy recording another successful fishing expedition there, as well as the first interactions with Aboriginal residents involving the sharing some of the fish: A very successful haul of Fish in the Seine, which the Natives seeing, they all, threw up their Arms, and set up a shout of Astonishment, looking (as we thought) at the Sun We gave them plenty of Fish, which gratified them exceedingly.

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William Bradley, first lieutenant on the Sirius, also wrote about this first interaction with Aboriginal inhabitants regarding fishing: When the Sein was hauled this evening, several of the Natives were by & when they saw the quantity of Fish brought on shore at once were much astonished which they expressed by a loud & long shout, they took some of the Fish, (which the Officer permitted) & ran away directly.

This event is of considerable interest since Cook and his crew had no such interactions with the Aboriginal residents of Botany Bay even though they also had some successful hauls with their seine net. On the contrary, the local people had kept their distance – probably understandably following an initial confrontation with the landing party which resulted in Cook himself shooting one of the men in the legs with shot. Meanwhile, in Port Jackson, a member of Governor Phillip’s reconnoitering party, American-born boatman Jacob Nagle, was recording the first use of a seine net in that body of water. The crew of the three boats had pitched their tents at Camp Cove, just inside the south headland of the harbour and while cooking gear was unpacked and fires lit, some went ‘shooting the Seane For Fish’. We don’t know what they caught, but they did have a late night supper – quite possibly of fresh fish grilled over Eucalypt coals. On the next day, Nagle caught a single fish that was to earn him a special place in Australian fishing history. On 23 January 1788, the day after Europeans first laid eyes on Sydney Harbour, Jacob Nagle was the first European to land a fish by hook and line in the harbour. He recorded the event in his memoirs as follows: The harbour was large and extensive, and the Governor anxious to get to the head of the harbour, but we could not, but we got as far as where the town is now, called Sidney Cove about 7 miles from the entrance of the harbour. We landed on the west side of the cove.

Governor Phillip had taken a party to examine a creek running into the cove – the famous Tank Stream of the future colony. While they were gone, Nagle did a very natural thing. He baited a hook, perhaps with an oyster taken off the rocks, and cast a line into the harbour. He proudly tells the story as follows: I being boat keeper, I had to remain in the boat. I hove my line over, being about 4 or 5 fathom of water along side of the rocks. I hal’d up a large black brim and hove it into the stern sheets of the boat. The Governor coming down, verry pleased with this cove and a situation for a town, he was determined to settle in this cove. Coming into the barge, he observed the fish I had ketched and asked who had caught that fish. I inform’d him that I had. Recollect he said that you are the first white man that ever caught a fish in Sidney Cove where the town is to be built.

As Nagle’s journal was not published until 1830, there may be some literary licence involved here. However, the detail in his diary of other events is sufficiently accurate to credit him with this ‘first’ – even if thousands of Aboriginal women had no doubt

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caught countless fish on their handlines and shell hooks during the 500 to 1200 or so years since they first used this method in these same waters. Nagle called his fish a ‘black brim’ (bream), so in this case we can be reasonably sure that what he caught was very likely the fish now known as the yellowfin bream, Acanthopagrus australis, a species that is prevalent in Aboriginal middens of lower Sydney Harbour and is still caught there in large numbers by anglers. (A closely related species, officially called the black bream, Acanthopagrus butcheri, occurs on the south coast of New South Wales as well as the coasts of Victoria and Tasmania, but does not extend to Sydney Harbour.) A woodcut of the English black bream, Spondyliosoma cantharus, a fish with which Nagle would have been familiar and very similar to the Australian yellowfin bream. From William Yarrell, A History of British Fishes, 1836.

Returning to Botany Bay with the good news about their discovery, Phillip then ordered the First Fleet to up-anchor and sail around to the new harbour, where the English colours were raised on the shores of Sydney Cove on 26 January 1788. And again, one of the first activities assigned to a contingent of the crews was to go fishing. On 27 January, both George Worgan and John White recorded a good catch taken by the first serious fishing operation in the new harbour. Both accounts are very similar, indicating the sharing of the catch with an Aboriginal group who had helped to haul the net. White’s version of the event records: The boats sent this day to fish were successful. Some of the natives came into the little bay or cove where the seine was hauled, and behaved very friendly. Indeed they carried their civility so far, although a people that appeared to be averse to work, as to assist in dragging it ashore. For this kind office they were liberally rewarded with fish, which seemed to please them and give general satisfaction.

Sharing of the catch with local Aboriginal people had now taken place within a few days in both Botany Bay and Port Jackson. In the first months of the colony, fishing seemed to be living up to its promise, although not all types of fish were welcome. William Bradley wrote in February 1788 that We found Fish plenty altho’ the Harbour is full of sharks, there is a great quantity of shell fish in the Coves that have mud flats at the bottom, Oysters very large.

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The earliest European illustration of a shark from Sydney Harbour, by George Raper, c. 1790. Sharks were often mentioned in early reports of this waterway. Natural History Museum, London.

On 12 June 1788, George Worgan wrote a long letter to his brother, Richard. He described it as a ‘sketch’, and it is a wonderful summary of all aspects of life in the colony to date. He was positively effusive when summarising the early fishing successes: The Harbours on this Coast are well stocked with a variety of Fish. And we have never set down to Dinner without a Dish of one kind or other upon ye Table since our Arrival here, very often, the Boat is so successful as to catch enough for the whole Ship’s Crew, and two or three times we have been able to supply the Officers Tables on Shore.

Reading between the lines, it would appear that Worgan was somewhat privileged in being served fresh fish so often. It also might imply that the fishing boat of the Sirius, supplying the officers and crew of that ship, was perhaps crewed by good fishermen. Even though Worgan had waxed lyrical about the bounteous supply of fish, in the same passage he also sounded a note of warning that the supply of fish might not be reliable: but since the approach of the Winter, the Fish have become scarce, perhaps they go to the Northward as the cool Weather comes on, and return to the Southward with the Summer.

Others had not been as enthusiastic about the early catches as Worgan. On 28 April 1788, only three months after the first tent was pitched and the first nets were hauled,

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and still only halfway through autumn, an entry in Phillip’s journal reads: Fish affords, in this place, only an uncertain resource: on some days great quantities are caught, though not sufficient to save any material part of the provisions; but at times it is very scarce.

Hunter joined the lament as well: All the human race, which we have seen here, appear to live chiefly on what the sea affords … They frequently attended our boats when hauling the seine, and were very thankful to the officer for any fish he might give them, as in cold weather the harbour is but thinly stocked; indeed, when we arrived here it was full of fish, and we caught as many as we could use, but in the winter they seem to quit our neighbourhood.

The fact that fish were never caught in large enough quantities to preserve is quite telling. Salting was a tried-and-true method of preserving, yet catches of fish were only ever sufficient to distribute and be eaten immediately. By early May, Phillip was concerned enough about the food situation to send the Supply to Lord Howe Island with the sole mission of capturing marine turtles and bringing them back for food (presumably this was a way of having some continuity of fresh food, since turtles would stay alive for some time). Lord Howe Island had been discovered by Lieutenant Ball in February during the voyage from Sydney on the Supply to Norfolk Island to set up a small colony there (see Chapter 4). Ball had reported ‘great numbers’ of green turtles on Lord Howe and had captured some of these during his short survey of the island. Much to everyone’s disappointment though, the vessel returned nineteen days later without having seen a single turtle. Captain of the Marines, Watkin Tench, reflected the general mood: The unsuccessful return of the ‘Supply’ cast a general damp on our spirits, for by this time fresh provisions were become scarcer than in a blockaded town. The little live stock, which with so heavy an expense, and through so many difficulties, we had brought on shore, prudence forbade us to use; and fish, which on our arrival, and for a short time after had been tolerable plenty, were become so scarce, as to be rarely seen at the tables of the first among us. Had it not been for a stray kangaroo, which fortune now and then threw in our way, we should have been utter strangers to the taste of fresh food.

Tench then emphasised this apparent decline in the availability of fish as the winter approached: Fish, which our sanguine hopes led us to expect in great quantities, do not abound. In summer they are tolerably plentiful, but for some months past very few have been taken. Botany Bay in this respect exceeds Port Jackson.

By late winter, thoughts had turned to the possibility of Botany Bay having better supplies of fish than Port Jackson. A story that the crews of the French ships of La Pérouse’s expedition, which had arrived off Botany Bay the day after the First Fleet

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entered, had made an exceptional catch in Botany Bay had obviously made a lasting impression. In August 1788, five months after the French had departed, David Collins wrote: We were informed, that the French ships, while in Botany Bay, had met with one very successful haul of large fish, that more than amply supplied both ships companies; but our people were not so fortunate. Fish enough was sometimes taken to supply about two hundred persons; but the quantity very rarely exceeded this. Three sting-rays were taken this month, two of which weighed each about three hundred weight, and were distributed amongst the people.

The full complement of men on La Pérouse’s ships, Boussoule and l’Astrolabe, numbered 114, so this renowned catch would presumably have been of the order of 100 kg in total weight, maybe more. As with other accounts where simply ‘fish’ are mentioned, it is not possible to be sure what type or types of fish were actually caught in this instance. When I first read the passage I considered it reasonable to speculate that they were most likely Australian salmon (Arripis trutta), a species that forms large travelling schools, enters coastal inlets and is readily hauled by beach seine nets. The catch was also reported as ‘large fish’. Travelling Australian salmon would be over 2 kg each in weight, so they would fit with that description. The season (late summer) would be right and the size of the catch did have a subsequent equivalent in Sydney Harbour (4000 Australian salmon averaging 2.5 kg each taken in Spring 1790; see below). Watkin Tench’s account of the same incident, also written later in the year (at least after June 1788) suggested that the fish were ‘light horsemen’, or in other words, snapper (Pagrus auratus). If a large catch of snapper were caught in a seine net, which the word ‘haul’ does imply, then this would indeed be a significant historic record. However, adult snapper (those with a bump on their head – the ‘helmet’ of the light horseman, as it were) do not school over shallow beaches in a way that would make them prone to being caught in a haul with a seine net – the most likely method used by the French for such a large catch. Tench had obviously not witnessed this catch, so we are left to speculate on the actual species that were caught. Weighing up the available evidence, this catch was unlikely to have been snapper. In the first few months of settlement at Sydney Cove, some fishing expeditions were made to both Botany Bay and to the north, the newly discovered Broken Bay. Catches of fish in Botany Bay were found to be too unpredictable to warrant the arduous overland trip back and forth over marshy country. In March 1788, Phillip made an excursion to Broken Bay and took along a seine net for some trial fishing. William Bradley was in the party and wrote: Inside Broken Bay: We landed on an Island about 2 miles up this branch, on which we secured every thing for the night got a great quantity of Mullet in the Sein from which we called it Mullet Island.

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George Worgan also commented briefly on this trip: On 9 March 1788 he recorded: The Governor, and his Party returned this Afternoon from Broken Bay, it seems that it affords good Shelter for Ships, that the Entrance is bold, Plenty of Fish to be had, but for Spaciousness & Convenience it is not to be compared with Port Jackson.

Despite this promising catch of mullet, fishing was not pursued at Broken Bay for many years after settlement, no doubt because of the difficulties of transporting fish back to Sydney Cove. During the first winter, not only were fish becoming scarce for the colonists, but many observations were being recorded of Aboriginal persons apparently famished through want of fish. A convict who had escaped on 5 June 1788 returned on 24 June and was of opinion that the natives were at this time in great distress for food, and said, that he had seen four of them dying in the woods, who made signs for something to eat, as if they were perishing through hunger. It is certain that very little fish could be caught at this time.

Even though it is sometimes thought that this incident may have been early evidence of smallpox in the Aboriginal population, it is reasonably certain that smallpox infection did not occur until April 1789. This account therefore reinforces the apparent real problem of lack of fish during the colder months. The following passage from Phillip illustrates this problem in more detail: On the ninth of July [1788], an effort was made by a party of natives, which seems to indicate that they were still distressed for provisions, or that they very highly resent the incroachments made upon their fishing places. A general order had been issued to those sent out on fishing parties, to give a part of what was caught to the natives if they approached, however small the quantity taken might be; and by these means they had always been sent away apparently satisfied. But on this day, about twenty of them, armed with spears, came down to the spot where our men were fishing, and without any previous attempt to obtain their purpose by fair means, violently seized the greatest part of the fish which was in the seine. While this detachment performed this act of depredation, a much greater number stood at a small distance with their spears poized, ready to have thrown them if any resistance had been made. But the cockswain who commanded the fishing party, very prudently suffered them to take away what they chose, and they parted on good terms. This is the only instance in which these people have attempted any unprovoked act of violence, and to this they probably were driven by necessity. Since this transaction, an officer has always been sent down the harbour with the boat.

The interpretation by the English writers that the Aboriginal population was also suffering from a severe lack of fish during that first winter, and was a reason for the above incident, has naturally been subsequently questioned. Phillip’s mentioning of their possible strong resentment at seeing quantities of fish taken from their traditional grounds seems closer to the mark. This is especially likely, given the many thousands of years of experience of Aboriginal people in obtaining food from the land and the sea, even in times of low availability.

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Nevertheless, times were indeed tough for the newly arrived colonists. Phillip reiterates: ‘The winter months, in which fish is very scarce upon the coast, are June, July, August, and part of September’. Soon after landing, some form of sickness broke out among the colonists, described as both a ‘dysentery’ and a ‘scurvey’. This became worse, some died from its effects, and while fresh food was seen as a useful treatment, Phillip wrote: ‘For those afflicted with this disorder, the advantage of fish or other fresh provisions could but rarely be procured’. Hunter reinforced this: In the month of July [1788], our scorbutic patients seemed to be rather worse; the want of a little fresh food for the sick was very much felt, and fish at this time were very scarce: such of the natives as we met seemed to be in a miserable and starving condition from that scarcity … This season, in which fish is so scarce, subjects these poor creatures to great distress, at least we were apt to believe so.

Phillip continued the theme in a letter to Under Secretary Nepean on 9 July 1788: The provisions sent to support this colony for two years being put on board three ships, was running a very great risk, for had they separated and afterwards been lost the consequence is obvious, for this country at present does not furnish the smallest resource except in fish, and which has lately been so scarce that the natives find great difficulty in supporting themselves.

Like the other writers above, John White also referred to a scarcity of fish during winter, but made the additional suggestion that more fishing effort, in the form of more boats, would be an insurance for a more reliable supply of fish for the colony, at least in warmer months. On 24 June 1788 he wrote: The scarcity of boats will prevent our being so well supplied with fish as otherwise might be expected. Fish is far from abounding at the cold season of the year, but, in the summer, judging from the latter end of the last, we have every reason to conclude that the little bays and coves in the harbour are well stored with them.

The difficulties of obtaining sufficient fish in winter, lack of fishing boats, and conflict over fish with the Aboriginal inhabitants are again referred to by White, on 8 July: A party of the natives came to the place where the Sirius’s boat had been to haul the seine, and, having beaten the crew, took from them by force a part of the fish which they had caught. It is a great misfortune to us that we cannot find proper wood in this place wherewith to build a boat, particularly as fish is not only so very plentiful in the summer but the only change from salt provisions which we can procure, there being neither wild nor domestic animals fit for food.

This passage indicates that hunting for game by the colonists had not produced food in any quantity, further exacerbating their precarious situation regarding regular food supply.

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Emphasising the poor catches during this first winter, William Bradley recorded on 11 July that ‘we had two Seins with us, both of which were hauled several times without one fish being caught’. David Collins was also one of those who was very disappointed with the catches of fish. In August 1788, having noted that fresh fish had been expected to supplement their provisions, he lamented ‘but nothing like an equivalent for the ration that was issued to the colony for a single day had ever been brought up’. This was a sentiment he was to repeat a year later, since it was not just the first winter that was bad for fishing. In the winters of 1789 and especially in 1790, the same pattern of poor catches in the colder months was very evident. In September 1789, some examples of the hit-or-miss nature of the fishing being experienced in and around Sydney were being indicated by Collins: In England some dependence had been placed on fish as a resource for the settlement, but sufficient for a general distribution had not hitherto been caught at any one time. On the 4th of this month the people belonging to the ‘Supply’ had a very large haul; their seine was so full, that had they hauled it ashore it must have burst; the ropes of it were therefore made fast on shore, and the seine was suffered to lie until left dry by the tide. The fish were brought up to the settlement, and distributed among the military and convicts. A night or two after this, a fishing-boat caught about one hundred dozen of small fish; but this was precarious, and, happening after the provisions were served, no other advantage could be derived from the circumstance, than that of every man’s having a fish-meal.

Again, it is clear that fish were not salted or smoked, although perhaps this passage simply means that even though good catches were made from time to time, there was never a surplus that could be preserved. The population was large (of the order of 1400 persons) and supplying most with fresh fish was apparently a rare event (and importantly, here, Collins indicates that the convicts were also receiving fish rations). Later that year (November 1789), Collins makes another entry about a good haul of fish which may be referring to the same catch as in the previous passage. In any case, he emphasises that this large haul would only have provided one day’s food for the population of the colony: The summer was observed to be the chief season of fish. A fishing-boat belonging to the colony had so many fish in the seine, that had it not burst at the moment of landing, it was imagined that a sufficiency would have been taken to have served the settlement for a day; as it was, a very considerable quantity was brought in; and not long after a boat belonging to the ‘Sirius’ caught forty-seven of the large fish which obtained among us the appellation of Light Horse Men, from the peculiar conformation of the bone of the head, which gave the fish the appearance of having on a light-horse man’s helmet.

Here we have a definite early reference to large snapper (Pagrus auratus) being caught in some numbers – 47 caught by the crew of one boat in a day. The term ‘light-

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horse men’ for snapper continued to be used for some time. With the exception of the bream caught with a handline by Nagle (above) all of the references to fish catches to this point, by Collins and by others, indicate that beach seine nets were used. Unfortunately, the location of this catch is not given, and nor can we be absolutely certain of the method used. That said, it is virtually certain that adult snapper such as these would have been caught on hook and line since they do not school over shallow water suitable for seining. The size of the fish is also not stated, but the fact that they had the characteristic cranial bump of older snapper would indicate that they would have been at least several kilograms each in weight. It is further likely that the snapper were caught towards the mouth of the harbour since rocky headlands and coastal reefs are the preferred habitats of adult snapper. On the other hand, juvenile and young snapper, without the hump on the head that develops with age, are predominantly found inside estuaries of the NSW coast (see Chapter 7). A simply exquisite drawing of the snapper, Pagrus auratus, by George Raper, produced between 1788 and 1791. The cranial bump is clearly shown, giving rise to the fish’s early nickname of ‘light horseman’. State Library of New South Wales.

Collins next mentions a good catch of fish in January 1790, which appears to have resulted in a specific plan for the establishment of a dedicated fishery of sorts to help feed the colony. The plan appears to have been successful, at least for that month: A sufficient quantity of fish having been taken one night in this month, to admit the serving of two pounds to each man, woman, and child belonging to the detachment, the governor directed, that a boat should in future be employed three times in the week to fish for the public; and that the whole quantity caught should be issued at the above rate to every person in turn. This allowance was in addition to the ration of provisions; and was received with much satisfaction several times during the month.

Further indicating the importance of fresh fish to the needs of the colony, Governor Phillip had organised for additional net fishing to be conducted regularly in Botany Bay.

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However, this was not successful, as Collins records in April 1790: In pursuance of these resolutions, the few convicts who had been employed to shoot for individuals were given up for the public benefit; and a fishery was established at Botany Bay, under the inspection of one of the midshipmen of the ‘Sirius’. But this plan, not being found to answer, was soon relinquished. The quantity of fish that was from time to time taken was very inconsiderable, and the labour of transporting it by land from thence was greater than the advantage which was expected to be derived from it. The boats were therefore recalled, and employed with rather more success at Sydney.

Not only were the government boats recalled to fish in Sydney, but private boats were also commandeered for the purpose, with officers volunteering to oversee their activities. Tench wrote in April 1790: The governor being resolved to employ all the boats, public and private, in procuring fish-which was intended to be served in lieu of salt meat--all the officers, civil and military, including the clergyman, and the surgeons of the hospital, made the voluntary offer, in addition to their other duties, to go alternately every night in these boats, in order to see that every exertion was made, and that all the fish which might be caught was deposited with the commissary. And as it was judged that the inevitable fatigues of shooting and fishing could not be supported on the common ration, a small additional quantity of flour and pork was appropriated to the use of the game-keepers; and each fisherman, who had been out during the preceding night had, on his return in the morning, a pound of uncleaned fish allowed for his breakfast.

It is unclear from this account whether the fishing was entirely by seine net, or included line fishing. In a later passage, however, Tench clearly states that he himself worked hard at hauling seine nets from 4 p.m. until 8 a.m. It is unlikely that all boats had nets though, so it also seems likely that line fishing had become an important method by this third colonial autumn. Collins then records the first instance of what would today be called ‘fisheries observers’ becoming necessary to ensure that the catches reached their intended destinations: It was well known, that the integrity of the people employed in fishing could not be depended upon; the officers of the settlement therefore voluntarily took upon themselves the unpleasant task of superintending them; and it became a general duty, which every one cheerfully performed. The fishing-boat never went out without an officer, either by night or by day.

Fishing appears to have been pursued with considerable diligence, but catches were often disappointing, sometimes only supplying enough fish to feed the fishers themselves. So, after a short period, the first organised ‘fishery’ had not lived up to expectations, and private boats which had been commandeered by the government for fishing were returned to their owners. Collins summarised the demise of the fishery as follows:

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On the 7th [of April], about four hundred weight [about 200 kg] of fish being brought up, it was issued agreeable to the order; and could the like quantity have been brought in daily, some saving might have been made at the store, which would have repaid the labour that was employed to obtain it. But the quantity taken during this month, after the 7th, was not often much more than equal to supplying the people employed in the boats with one pound of fish per man, which was allowed them in addition to their ration. The small boats, the property of individuals, were therefore returned to their owners, and the people who had been employed in them, together with the seamen of the ‘Sirius’ now here, were placed in the large boats belonging to the settlement.

By May 1790, the supply of food in the colony was becoming a major problem. Shooting game had not proved to be very rewarding, and as the weather became cooler fishing success again appeared to have declined, as in the previous two years. In David Collins’ words: The expedient of shooting for the public not being found to answer the expectations which had been formed of it, sixty pounds of pork only having been saved, the game-killers were called in, and the general exertion was directed to the business of fishing. The seine and the hooks and lines were employed, and with various success; the best of which afforded but a very trifling relief.

Apart from the indication of a poor fish supply, this passage finally specifically mentions fishing with hook and line in order to supply food for the colony. We do know that there were plenty of hooks and lines brought out with supplies, so it is no surprise to see them being put to good use. Again, indicating some desperation for lack of fish, Collins adds the fact that the fishing gear was deteriorating. Bearing in mind that the lines would most likely have been made of linen thread and the nets of cotton, rotting and perishing would be inevitable, even if always carefully dried after use. Collins writes later in May 1790: Our fishing tackle began now, with our other necessaries, to decrease. To remedy this inconvenience, we were driven by necessity to avail ourselves of some knowledge which we had gained from the natives; and one of the convicts (a rope-maker) was employed to spin lines from the bark of a tree which they used for the same purpose.

Presumably this was to make fishing lines, rather than nets, although net repairs would have also been possible in this way. Regarding the lack of fish in winter, even during the first year of settlement a number of historians have simply assumed that this must have been the result of overfishing by the colonists, affecting the Aboriginal supply as well as their own. However, it is highly unlikely that this was the case. Jim Thompson, a CSIRO fisheries scientist, considered that the colonists’ perception that fish became scarce in winter was due to their northern hemisphere origins and experience, rather than to an actual shortage of fish. He writes:

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Later experience was to show that even in winter fish could be taken but in 1788 no local fishlore existed. Although the settlers thought they detected resemblances to British fish and gave them British names their habits were different from the fish they had known at home.

Even so, in my opinion it is difficult to completely explain winter shortages of fish in this way. By the third winter, with so much regular fishing occurring, it would be expected that fishing skills and ‘local fish-lore’ would have improved considerably. As well, Matthew Flinders was still commenting on the winter scarcity of fish in the harbour twelve years later (see Chapter 4). The answer to this apparent conundrum probably lies in the biology of some of the more common schooling fish that would have been caught in Sydney Harbour primarily by beach seine netting, which was the main method being used, and the method most likely to result in large catches. The usual schooling fish that are likely to have been targeted in this way are sea mullet (Mugil cephalus), yellowfin bream (Acanthopagrus australis), luderick or blackfish (Girella tricuspidata), yellowfin whiting (Sillago ciliata) and perhaps tailor (Pomatomus saltatrix). Adults of each of those species leave estuaries in New South Wales to make an annual northerly directed spawning ‘run’, either on ocean beaches or headlands (yellowfin bream and whiting) or to sites in southern Queensland (sea mullet, luderick and tailor). The timing of these spawning ‘runs’ varies somewhat but from the latitude of Sydney, indeed occurs in winter for bream and mullet and tailor and late winter/early spring for luderick. Therefore, it is entirely possible that populations of these four species, which would be readily observed by beach seine fishermen in warmer months, would become far less prevalent in winter. Collins goes on to provide some indication of the quantities of fish which might have been required to feed the colony: The greatest quantity of fish caught at any one time in this month was two hundred pounds. Once the seine was full; but through either the wilfulness or the ignorance of the people employed to land it, the greatest part of its contents escaped. Upwards of two thousand pounds were taken in the course of the month, which produced a saving of five hundred pounds of pork at the store, the allowance of thirty-one men for four weeks.

The last entry by Collins which is of interest here records a very good haul of fish and, importantly, clearly identifies the species – the fish we now know as Australian salmon (Arripis trutta). In September 1790 he writes: The day preceding the governor’s visit, the fishing boats had the greatest success which had yet been met with; near four thousand of a fish, named by us, from its shape only, the salmon, being taken at two hauls of the seine. Each fish weighed on an average about five pounds; they were issued to this settlement, and to that at Rose Hill; and thirty or forty were sent as a conciliating present to Bennillong and his party on the north shore.

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This catch equates to about eight tonnes, which is substantial. Hauling of the migratory Australian salmon schools continued for many years, and in fact, still occurs along the coast. Although the trials and tribulations during the first years of settlement were obviously quite dire, we can still gain a feel for the types and quantities of fish being taken at that time. More often than not, particular types of fish are not mentioned. While the use of the generic ‘fish’ was usually sufficient to convey success or failure of a given fishing endeavour, common names of various fish were sometimes alluded to, allowing the gleaning of useful information on the composition of these early catches. In June 1788, in his letter to his brother, Worgan presents a short list of the kinds of fish that were being caught and eaten, with some comment on which were the most common. The different kinds are, John Doreys, Turbots Soals, but these are as rare as Dolphins in the River Thames, One or two of each, however, have been taken. Mullet, Bream, Snappers, Jew Fish, Sting Rays, Mackerel are very common.– Oysters, Cockles & Muscles are to be got for a little Trouble. One very small Lobster has been caught, and wonderful to tell, it was red.– Enormously large Sharks are very numerous in the Harbours, and are very destructive to the other Fish, as well as they are to our Lines & Hooks. We have taken a great many of them, and have found in the Female between 30 & 40 young ones.

Considering the most common food fish mentioned by Worgan, in order, these are mullet – three likely species, sea mullet (Mugil cephalus), sand mullet (Myxus elongatus) and flat-tail mullet (Liza argentea); bream – almost certainly the yellowfin bream (Acanthopagrus australis), still a common and popular species in the harbour; snappers – quite likely, the pink snapper (Pagrus auratus), although large adults were being called ‘light horsemen’ by some writers at this stage; jew fish – most likely the species still called jewfish, or mulloway (Argyrosomus japonicus). This is the largest of the preferred food fish caught in southeastern estuaries, and is still caught in the harbour; mackerel – very likely blue mackerel, called by fishers slimy mackerel (Scomber australasicus) – very similar to the small mackerel species with which the English would have been familiar (Scomber scombrus); and stingrays – likely to have been a number of different species. It is apparent that stingrays were a very common catch, no doubt used for food since the English were used to eating skate, a type of ray. Worgan also mentions two other kinds of fish that were popular table fish in mother England – John Dorey (which we still call John Dory) and Turbot (flounder), although he laments that they are very uncommon. The John Dory tends to be an offshore species, but has long been known to frequent Sydney Harbour where it is caught by hook and line in the deeper parts. In fact, right under the Sydney Harbour Bridge remains a favoured spot for catching this well-known fish. It is also noteworthy from Worgan’s summary that shellfish were abundant,

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considering the local Aboriginal population had been gathering these around the harbour for generations. The fact that they had only caught one lobster (crayfish) indicates that they were not adept at trapping crustaceans (including crabs). Regarding Worgan’s reference to very large sharks, from this and other accounts, these certainly seem to have been common, and the fact that a large number had been caught, even by June, would imply a substantial population. It also indicates that the settlers did have the gear capable of catching large sharks (stout shark hooks and line, probably attached by chain). Whether these large sharks were eaten is not mentioned here or elsewhere. And as to what species these ‘enormously large’ sharks may have been, two primary candidates stand out. Sydney Harbour and other coastal rivers of central to northern NSW are the natural habitats of the bull shark (Carcharhinus leucas), an aggressive, large whaler shark that has been implicated in many shark attacks on the east coast, even inside Sydney Harbour. However, since the bull shark only produces a maximum of thirteen pups, at least the species with 30 to 40 young ones inside it was very likely the tiger shark (Galeocerdo cuvier). Given that offal, rubbish and sewage from the new colony was no doubt being dumped into the harbour, scavenging tiger sharks and perhaps bull sharks would almost certainly have been attracted to the area of the settlement, even in these early days. In the same month that Worgan wrote the above account, June 1788, John White makes the rather the odd observation that some of the local fish resemble sharks: The fish caught here are, in general, excellent, but several of them, like the animals in some degree resembling the Kangaroo, partake of the properties of the shark.

William Bradley also wrote a similar passage four months later: We met with several Fish that seem’d to partake of the shark, the upper part being that of the skate or other flat fish with the back fins & tail of the shark.

Here, the writers are commenting on the perception among some of the educated First Fleeters that the animals being seen in Australia seemed to be hybrids of more familiar ones. In these instances, it is likely that Worgan and Bradley would be referring to the eastern shovelnose ray (Aptychotrema rostrata) since George Barrington writing in 1793 makes an almost identical comment. It is likely that some plagiarism occurred here, but in any case, Barrington’s version expands on this seemingly odd observation: This strange similarity does not attach solely to quadrupeds, for the finny inhabitants of the sea are in the same predicament, their variety is truly astonishing; most of them partake in some degree of the shark, and it is no uncommon thing to see the head and shoulders of a skait to the hind part of a shark, or a shark’s head to the body of a large mullet, and what is more astonishing, sometimes to the flat body of a sting ray, or holibet.

From this more detailed passage, we might infer that the unfamiliar fish being described might be the shovelnose ray (head and shoulders of a skait [skate] to the hind

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part of a shark), possibly the cobia (a shark’s head to the body of a large mullet) and perhaps an angel shark (a shark’s head to the flat body of a stingray) or holibet (halibut – a large northern hemisphere flounder). Watkin Tench, Captain of the Marines, was one of the most prolific early recorders of life in the colony of Sydney in its first years. His writings tended to be more florid than the more prosaic journals of other officers, as indicated in the following passage regarding the fish life in the harbour. After mentioning what is clearly the snapper, Pagrus auratus, as ‘a species of grouper, to which, from the form of a bone in the head resembling a helmet, we have given the name of light horseman’. He continues: To this may be added bass, mullets, skait, soles, leather-jackets, and many other species, all so good in their kind, as to double our regret at their not being more numerous. Sharks of an enormous size are found here. One of these was caught by the people on board the Sirius, which measured at the shoulders six feet and a half in circumference. His liver yielded twenty-four gallons of oil; and in his stomach was found the head of a shark, which had been thrown overboard from the same ship.

A shovelnose ray caught in Botany Bay and drawn by Herman Sporing during the Endeavour’s eight day stay there in 1770. The English had never seen such odd-looking fish, fitting in well with the strange terrestrial animals such as kangaroos. Natural History Museum, London.

Here, Tench adds ‘bass’ to our growing list of fish species, and while it is hard to say with much certainty what that fish might be, there is a reasonable chance that it would be a species resembling the English bass, the most likely species occurring in Sydney Harbour being, perhaps, the estuary perch, Macquaria colonorum. Again, Tench alludes to big sharks in the harbour (having been caught from the Sirius, presumably at anchor). And here we have some proof of throwing of offal into the harbour, with the head of another shark, and probably the entrails, having attracted a larger one. No doubt the oil from shark liver would have been a sought-after commodity, and perhaps goes to explain why sharks may indeed have been targeted. William

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Bradley also mentions this same large shark, adding that it was caught on 23 March 1788, measured thirteen feet in length and tellingly, ‘had 4 hooks cut from within him besides that which caught him’. This finding of hooks, likely to be large ones, implies that shark fishing had been an active undertaking. Bradley also mentions another shark incident which took place in May 1788: Many Natives, Men & Women about our fishing boat: A shark followed this boat on her coming up the Harbour, he got hold of the blade of one of the Oars & when shook from that he went to the rudder & did not quit it till he was struck with the Tiller.

Almost certainly, this again illustrates the attraction of sharks to fishing activities in the harbour. The fishing boat very likely was trailing fish blood and entrails and the aggression of this shark suggests that it was either a bull shark or possibly a white shark. Returning to the types of fish that were being caught at the time, in his second account of Port Jackson, published in 1792, Tench adds some further fascinating observations, in particular waxing lyrical about the qualities of the ‘light-horseman’ – the Australian snapper (Pagrus auratus): I shall not pretend to enumerate the variety of fish which are found. They are seen from a whale to a gudgeon. In the intermediate classes may be reckoned sharks of a monstrous size, skait, rock-cod, grey-mullet, bream, horse-mackarel, now and then a sole and john dory, and innumerable others unknown in Europe, many of which are extremely delicious, and many highly beautiful. At the top of the list, as an article of food, stands a fish, which we named light-horseman. The relish of this excellent fish was increased by our natives, who pointed out to us its delicacies. No epicure in England could pick a head with more glee and dexterity than they do that of a light-horseman.

Here also is the first mention of a ‘rock-cod’. The cods familiar to the English were all members of the family Gadidae, very few of which occur in Australian waters. A related species, though, found in the harbour and known as the bearded rock cod (Pseudophycis barbata), could be the fish referred to by Tench. He also uses the term ‘grey-mullet’ for the first time, which was the common northern hemisphere name for the sea or bully mullet, Mugil cephalus. Tench’s mention of whales in this passage is probably partly based on an earlier incident which, although not pertinent to fishing as such, is certainly relevant to early observations of marine life. In his first account of life in the colony, Tench relates an incident of a large whale inside Sydney Harbour – something which still occurs reasonably regularly. This first encounter resulted in a tragic outcome. It would be a reasonable surmise that the whale in question was a southern right whale since this is the species which stays very close to the coast and which has been known to enter both Botany Bay and Sydney Harbour on many occasions, the most recent events occurring in July 2002, July 2003, August 2004, July 2012 and July 2015. July was also the month in 1790 when Tench wrote:

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Fishing for the Past

This month was marked by nothing worth communication, except a melancholy accident which befell a young gentleman of amiable character (one of the midshipmen lately belonging to the ‘Sirius’) and two marines. He was in a small boat, with three marines, in the harbour, when a whale was seen near them. Sensible of their danger, they used every effort to avoid the cause of it, by rowing in a contrary direction from that which the fish seemed to take, but the monster suddenly arose close to them, and nearly filled the boat with water. By exerting themselves, they baled her out, and again steered from it. For some time it was not seen, and they conceived themselves safe, when, rising immediately under the boat, it lifted her to the height of many yards on its back, whence slipping off, she dropped as from a precipice, and immediately filled and sunk. The midshipman and one of the marines were sucked into the vortex which the whale had made, and disappeared at once. The two other marines swam for the nearest shore, but one only reached it, to recount the fate of his companions.

This was the first, and as far as can be determined, only record of a whale causing fatalities in Sydney Harbour. Tench’s last entry of singular relevance to this study is the following oft-quoted passage about fish abundance in Sydney Harbour in these earliest days of European settlement. The passage, written as part of a summary of his account of Port Jackson, reads: So much has been said of the abundance in which fish are found in the harbours of New South Wales that it looks like detraction to oppose a contradiction. Some share of knowledge may, however, be supposed to belong to experience. Many a night have I toiled (in the times of distress) on the public service, from four o’clock in the afternoon until eight o’clock next morning, hauling the seine in every part of the harbour of Port Jackson: and after a circuit of many miles and between twenty and thirty hauls, seldom more than a hundred pounds of fish were taken. However, it sometimes happens that a glut enters the harbour, and for a few days they sufficiently abound. But the universal voice of all professed fishermen is that they never fished in a country where success was so precarious and uncertain.

Again, the unpredictability of catches of fish in the very first years of the colony is made abundantly clear. Large catches were opportunistic and uncommon while the norm was more likely to be a lot of hard work for often little return. As we have seen in many of their jottings, the early diarists and writers on the first years of settlement in Australia naturally used various common names to indicate types of fish that were caught either in numbers or as oddities. Even today, locally used common names can be notoriously difficult to relate to actual species – a problem that is magnified for archaic common names. Fortunately, though, from the very first days of the colony a succession of painters and sketchers, both trained and untrained, began recording their surroundings and, in particular, the flora and fauna of this new land. And among their subjects were lots of fish. In many cases, these are readily identifiable, although this often depends on the skill, or sometimes the artistic licence of the illustrator.

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Species of fish chosen for illustration were often not very important foodfishes but were apparently selected more because of their attractiveness or strangeness to the European eye. These images are nevertheless important since they depict fish that we know today, through the eyes of strangers in a strange land more than 200 years ago. Because of the extent and diversity of these works, much more so than early artworks from other Australian locales, it is worth describing a selection of these in some detail, beginning with the 1789 publication of Phillip’s Voyage. Chapter XXII of that volume: ‘Supplemental Account of Animals’ describes and sometimes illustrates various birds, mammals and four fishes, without any preliminaries, so it is not known exactly where or when the depicted specimens were collected. Nevertheless, because these are the first eastern Australian fish to be illustrated in a European publication, it is worth focusing on them in some detail. Why these four were chosen to illustrate is not stated, but it is likely that they represented unusual types of fish not known to the English public, the audience for whom the publication was produced. Bag-throated Balistes: This rather poor illustration, apparently sketched by Daniel Butler, a fifteen-year-old ship’s boy on the Sirius, is undoubtedly a leatherjacket, most probably the common fan-bellied leatherjacket, Monacanthus chinensis. Even though the drawing is naive, the description and the characteristic skin flap under its belly are enough to identify it with some confidence. It grows to about 40 cm in length and is still relatively common in the Sydney region. This fish is found pretty commonly on the coast of New South Wales, and was called by the sailors the Old Wife, having much resemblance in many things to the species so named. When skinned, it was thought pretty good eating.

Leatherjackets are among the most common types of fish mentioned by the early writers. The common name was referred to by Cook and repeated by Worgan and White. It is therefore interesting that, in this account, the leatherjacket was being referred to as the ‘Old Wife’ very early in the development of the colony. The Australian fish that is today known as the old wife, Enoplosus armatus, was depicted quite accurately by early artists but not necessarily called that name. Sarah Strong’s painting of the species appears in White’s published journal under the name ‘pungent Chaetodon’ and by Shaw and Nodder as the ‘long-spined Chaetodon’ A Fish of New South Wales: Like the leatherjacket, this illustration, also by young Daniel Butler, is a crude sketch, to the extent that the fish’s identity remains uncertain. In fact, it is a good example of an early illustration that has defied attempts at reliable identification. The description reads as follows: Of this fish it can only be said, that the ground colour is much the same as that of our mackarel, marked with several round, blue and white spots; and that, in the plate, it is represented faithfully from a drawing by Daniel Butler sent from New South Wales, where it is in great plenty, and is thought to taste much like a dolphin. As to the genus, it is difficult to say with

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certainty to which it belongs, as it is deficient in the characteristics of those generally known; it is therefore left to the reader to settle this matter according to his own opinion.

From this description, some contemporary biologists have suggested this fish might possibly be a blue warehou, Seriolella brama (also known, rather unkindly, as the snotgalled or snot-nosed trevalla). This species has been recorded from Sydney Harbour but would not be regarded as common there. Gilbert Whitley refers to the naming of this fish by Georg Forster (a naturalist who accompanied Cook on his second voyage) as Stromateus maculatus, the starry butterfish (now Stromateus stellatus). Although this species has some similarities to Butler’s sketch, having spots on the top half of the body, an eye low down and near the mouth, and a forked tail, it is only found in the eastern Pacific and we can safely rule out this possibility. There is also the possibility that this is, in fact, a depiction of a dolphinfish, Coryphaena hippurus. The description notes that the fish tasted ‘much like a dolphin’, that is, a dolphinfish, and more importantly, it was marked with several round, blue and white spots. The extent of the forked tail, the numbers of spots and the continuous single dorsal fin shown in the illustration are also consistent with a dolphinfish. And while it might be assumed that this world-wide, oceanic species would have been well known to at least some of the First Fleeters, this nevertheless seems to be the most likely fish on which this important illustration is based. Port Jackson Shark: The illustrations of the two sharks depicted in the Phillip volume were far more accurate than the other two fish species, having been produced by a professional artist, possibly Frederick Nodder, and beautifully engraved in London. This shark, identified by the author of this section as a new species, is undoubtedly a true Port Jackson shark, Heterodontus portjacksoni, and it is interesting to note that its common name, bestowed in the first year of the colony, has persisted to the present day. The description in part reads: The length of the specimen from which the drawing was taken, is two feet; and it is about five inches and an half over at the broadest part, from thence tapering to the tail: on the back are two fins, and before each stands a strong spine, much as in the Prickly Hound, or Dog, fish … This was taken at Port Jackson, but to what size it may usually arrive cannot be determined; perhaps not to a great one, as the teeth appear very complete. Some sharks, however, of an enormous size have been seen and caught thereabouts, though of what sort cannot here be determined.

As it transpires, the Port Jackson shark is an entirely Australian endemic species confined to the southern half of the continent. It is indeed a relatively small shark, and while it attains a maximum length of 165 cm, the majority encountered are much smaller. Watts’s Shark: John White was correct in deciding that this was a newly discovered species of shark, and the excellent engraving shows it to be the first depiction of the

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banded wobbegong, Orectolobus ornatus: This, we believe, is a species which has hitherto escaped the researches of our Icthyologists. The length of the specimen is nineteen inches … This fish was met with in Sydney Cove, Port Jackson, by Lieutenant Watts, and is supposed to be full as voracious as any of the genus, in proportion to its size; for after having lain on the deck for two hours, seemingly quiet, on Mr. Watts’s dog passing by, the shark sprung upon it with all the ferocity imaginable, and seized it by the leg; nor could the dog have disengaged himself had not the people near at hand come to his assistance.

The amusing anecdote at the end of the description is almost certainly the first record of a shark attack on a European in Australia – albeit a European dog! The other amusing aspect of the story is that the name of Mr Watts’ dog was, ironically, ‘Savage’. Wobbegong sharks, or ‘wobbies’ as they are affectionately known, have been implicated in quite a few ‘interactions’ with humans. The Australian Shark Attack File lists 30 bites on humans by wobbegongs, none of which has been fatal. They mostly occur when a wobbegong latches onto the hand of a feeding diver, but they have also been known to swim up from the bottom and grab the dangling legs of swimmers. John White’s Journal of a Voyage to New South Wales, published a year after Phillip’s volume, contains considerably more illustrations of fish than Phillip’s account. These were originally painted by English-based artist Sarah Stone, from preserved specimens sent to England by White in 1789, and subsequently engraved for publication in White’s journal, limited copies of which were then hand-coloured. A total of twelve fish were included, most of which are small species most probably caught as ‘bycatch’ in the seine nets used within Sydney Harbour. As is often the case for such collections of early illustrations of fish, no food fish were included – the more exotic, unusual varieties being more attractive to both the artist, and presumably in this case the surgeon and part-time naturalist John White. The fishes depicted are a rather odd assortment, perhaps selected because White thought they might be new species. Certainly, they are all somewhat obscure, none being food fish that would have been commonly caught at the time (such as bream, snapper, flathead or whiting).

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The first published illustrations of fish from the Sydney region, from The Voyage of Governor Phillip to Botany Bay, 1789. The two sharks were probably engraved in England by the artist Frederick Nodder, while the other two more naive artworks are by Daniel Butler, a fifteen-year-old First Fleet sailor. State Library of Victoria.

Fishing for the Past

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Some of the names given to the specimens are wonderfully pedantic – for example, the ‘pungent Chaetodon’ and the ‘doubtful lophius’. It is generally suspected that George Shaw, the well-known English zoologist, anonymously provided the taxonomic sections to John White’s publication, which does seem likely, given its academic feel and the fact that White was a medical man, not a zoologist. (Shaw is famous for his first description of the platypus in which he said that this seeming ‘fake’ was, in fact, a real animal.) These lifelike illustrations are particularly valuable since they are all identifiable as small fish of Sydney Harbour that would be caught as bycatch in any seining (or trawling) operation. During the late 1970s, one of my first tasks as a fledgling biologist with the then New South Wales Fisheries Department was to go out regularly on board the small prawn trawling research vessel, RV Port Jackson, to conduct regular trawls at specific sites within Sydney Harbour, documenting the fish life in some detail. Perhaps surprisingly, many of the species depicted by White are exactly the sorts of fish that we caught. Today, 575 species of fish have now been recorded in Port Jackson, many due to the work of this little vessel. These are listed on the website of the Australian Museum, and it is fascinating to see that all twelve of the species illustrated and described in White’s journal are on this modern list. In fact, hauling the net of choice of the First Fleeters, a seine net, around the shores of Sydney Harbour today might quite easily result in a similar collection of species to those illustrated in White’s 1790 publication.

Two of the fish plates from White’s Journal of a Voyage to New South Wales depicting small fishes of Port Jackson. Left, the ‘Fasciated Mullet’ (Sydney cardinal fish) and the ‘Doubtful Sparus’ (common bullseye); Right, the ‘Southern Cottus’ (fortescue) and the ‘Flying Fish’ (a species of two-winged flying fish. J. Pepperell.

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While the two sets of fish illustrations described above were engraved, printed and published in bound volumes, many of the other surviving illustrations of fish from the early days of the colony remain as original artworks that now reside in major collections both in Australia and overseas. These were drawn and painted mainly be amateur artists, and therein lies both their charm and sometimes the difficulty in determining what fish were actually being depicted. Perhaps the most enigmatic of these artists is simply known as the Port Jackson Painter. In fact, the Port Jackson painter may even have been more than one person. While prolific in painting mainly birds, some very early paintings of fish are attributed to this artist (or artists). In many of the paintings, the style of the Port Jackson painter is very similar to that of Thomas Watling, to the extent that the collections of the artworks from both, held by the Natural History Museum in London, are often mixed together, and quite recently many of the paintings of the Port Jackson painter have been attributed as ‘probably Watling, Thomas’. Thomas Watling was a convict forger who was transported to Australia in 1792 on the Royal Admiral. He became a prolific artist of landscapes and wildlife and produced many beautiful records of the day. Among these are fifteen fish paintings (depending on which unsigned ones may have been painted by the so-called Port Jackson painter) housed in the Natural History Museum. These illustrations were examined in the 1960s by the late Gilbert Whitley of the Australian Museum who made educated assessments as to what species they represented. The following then is a list of Watling’s fish paintings, together with the species, as either named by Whitley or updated by myself. Sawshark, Pristiophorus cirratus. This is not the famous sawfish of northern Australia that is known from its huge flattened snout lined on either side with a row of large teeth. Rather, it is one of the smaller sawsharks, identifiable by the two filaments extending from the toothed rostrum. These are still encountered off the Sydney region. Comb wrasse, Coris picta (annotated as being caught in Sydney Cove, December 1792). Watling wrote on his painting: ‘This very beautiful fish is represented exactly the natural size, but indeed infinitely inferior in colouring; partly owing to the impotency of art when compared with nature; and in part to the distance it was sent us, and the elapsed time ere we received it’. Striped anglerfish, Antennarius striatus. Painted frogfish, Antennarius pictus. Not known from Sydney Harbour; it is also possible that this is a commerson’s frogfish, Antennarius commerson, which does occur in Sydney Harbour.

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Bluestriped goatfish, Upneichthys lineatus, also known as red mullet. Stripey, Microcanthus strigatus. Watling described this as ‘A very common Fish at Port Jackson’. It remains today as one of the most common fishes seen around jetties of Sydney Harbour where they aggressively take baited hooks. Eastern blue devil, Paraplesiops bleekeri. In life, this is a beautifully coloured fish that in the past was a popular species for saltwater aquarists. We have no way of knowing how common this distinctive fish was in Watling’s day, but it is now protected in New South Wales due to its ‘natural rarity and low abundance’. Moray eel, Gymnothorax minor. The annotation on this painting reads: ‘This Fish was caught in salt water and measured thirty two Inches’. Elephantfish, Callorhinchus milii. The annotation on the painting states ‘The Extreme length of this Fish is 2 feet 8 Inches & Breadth 7 Inches’. This Fish when first caught was a most beautyfull silver colour. This is one of the group of fish known as ‘chimaeras’, related to sharks and sharing with them a cartilaginous rather than a bony skeleton. It enters estuaries around southern Australia to lay eggs and was a popular subject of early artists, no doubt because of its rather bizarre appearance. Barracouta, Thyrsites atun. This species has historic patterns of high and low abundances. Called pick-handles by local fishermen (because they quickly go into rigor mortis when caught), they bite readily on any trolled lure and were once a common sight in Sydney markets. They are now regarded as a poor eating fish, however, so are no longer specifically targeted. Several other fish that Watling painted are difficult to identify. Three have very similar shapes and features, but with different markings. Whitley thought one of these (Watling drawing No. 379) might be a ‘stylised’ sweep, most likely the silver sweep, Scorpis lineolatus, which on body shape alone looks to be a reasonable identification. Another (Watling drawing No. 378) Whitley called a ‘very conventionalised’ old wife, Enoplosus armatus, based only on the striped pattern, but this could more reasonably apply to the common luderick, Girella tricuspidata, which is also striped but has a similar body shape to the illustration, whereas the old wife is ‘waisted’. Identification of a third similarly shaped fish illustrated by Watling was not attempted by Whitley. Given the stylised nature of some, but not all of Watling’s fish paintings, it is possible that this is a yellowfin bream, Acanthopagrus australis, but unfortunately, we will never really know.

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In 2011, the remarkable discovery was made in England of a private collection of six albums containing 745 paintings of flora and fauna, now collectively known as the TAL & Dai-ichi Life (Earl of Derby) Collection. One of the albums contained 32 watercolours of fish by Thomas Watling, many of them copies of his own fish paintings from the Sydney region held by the Natural History Museum, London (NHM). The album was purchased by the State Library of New South Wales, and as well as copies, contains several paintings of ‘new’ fish not included in the NHM collection. These include a magnificent rendition of a male blue groper (Achoerodus viridis), the official State Fish of New South Wales. A garfish, probably the river garfish (Hyporhamphus regularis), a rainbow cale (Heteroscarus acroptilus) and a silver puffer fish (Lagocephalus scleratus). In overviewing the body of work on fish by Watling and/or the Port Jackson painter, it is reasonable to assume that most if not all of the depicted fish were caught in the Sydney region, quite probably in Port Jackson itself. And like the fishes illustrated in

A selection of fish paintings by convict artist Thomas Watling. All are fish caught in Port Jackson and painted in the early to mid-1790s. From top to bottom: Barracouta; common sawshark; possibly a yellowfin bream. Opposite page, clockwise from top left: Unidentified butterfly fish; crested weedfish; silver trevally; stripey. Natural History Museum,London.

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White’s published journal, most of the identifiable fish painted by Watling or the Port Jackson Painter could well be caught in seine nets around the shores of the harbour today, while those that would not be caught in seine nets, such as the barracouta, could still be caught on hook and line. As usual, Watling’s depictions were not necessarily the most common fish caught at the time, nor do they necessarily represent popular, edible fish. Instead he chose to paint odd looking specimens such as the sawshark and the even move bizarre elephantfish. Conspicuous by their absence, however, are the common food fishes referred to in the writings of observers such as Tench, White and others including bream, Australian salmon, leatherjackets, mackerels, sharks, rays, and so on. Apart from his painting of fish, Watling was unique among early colonial artists in depicting many types of shellfish, mainly molluscs. It seems he did so because the Aboriginal people of the Sydney region relied on these as a primary food source, and Watling went to great lengths to not only carefully paint many species of these molluscs, but also to phonetically record the Aboriginal names of each on the paintings. Two other artists who have provided us with wonderful collections of paintings of fish executed in the earliest years of the colony were George Raper and John Hunter. Raper was promoted from able seaman to midshipman aboard the First Fleet ship, HMS Sirius on the way to Australia. He was an artist of considerable talent and some

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Three fish paintings from Sydney, most likely by Thomas Watling – part of a collection that only came to light in 2012. Top left, a blue groper; top right, a garfish; and bottom left, a silver puffer fish. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales.

of his illustrations are perhaps the most skilled of any of the early depictions of fish from the Sydney region. John Hunter, second captain of the Sirius, and later, surveyor, magistrate and governor of the colony, was also a keen artist of modest talent. The two not only spent time together on the Sirius coming to Australia, but also, not long afterwards, on an epic voyage from Port Jackson to Cape Town to purchase emergency food supplies for the colony, departing in October 1788 and returning in May 1789 after circumnavigating the globe. Then, on a third and final voyage on the Sirius to Norfolk Island in February 1790, they were shipwrecked and spent nearly a year there, where they also produced paintings of wildlife including fish. Many of the paintings of Raper and Hunter are very similar, indicating that that they either worked on their art together, or one copied pieces from the other. In the case of copies, it is generally accepted that Hunter copied his paintings, including those of birds and fish, from Raper’s work. Hunter’s body of work of 100 paintings were collected into a portfolio entitled ‘Birds & flowers of New South Wales drawn on the spot in 1788, ’89 & ’90’ which was never published but is held in the collections of the National Library of Australia. While not mentioning ‘fish’ in the title, the portfolio does contain ten paintings of fish, depicting twelve species in total. Of these, eight are very clearly copies of paintings by Raper. The following list summarises the fish paintings of both men. Hunter’s fish paintings are as follows: Tuna – either a yellowfin tuna, Thunnus albacares, or a southern bluefin tuna, Thunnus maccoyi. This has been interpreted by

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A small selection of the beautiful paintings by Thomas Watling of shellfish from the Sydney region. Natural History Museum, London.

Whitley as a bonito (Sarda australis) but its stout second dorsal and anal fins, plus its yellow finlets suggest a Thunnus species. It is labelled by Hunter ‘Albacore’ which was the usual term for offshore tuna, in particular, yellowfin tuna, and importantly, he has also noted the fish as being ‘4 feet long’ – which is much too large for a bonito. The vertical barring on the painting doesn’t really tally with any tuna species, although the yellowfin tuna when alive does display vertical striations on its underside. Snapper, Pagrus auratus – the best early depiction of this important fish, showing the characteristic head bump of older fish. Hunter has annotated it with its local Aboriginal name, ‘Wo-lo-my’ (often spelled ‘wollomai’) Redthroat emperor Lethrinus miniatus. This painting is labelled ‘Snapper of Norfolk Island., It was, and remains, the dominant species caught by hook and line there. Two wrasses, labelled as ‘small fish of Norfolk Island’ – Sandager’s wrasse, Coris sandeyeri, and a yellow-green wrasse Thalassoma lutescens. Convict snake eel, Leiuranus versicolor. Labelled by Hunter ‘Salt Water Eel Norfolk Island’.

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Pennant coral fish Heniochus acuminatus. Two fish, labelled ‘small fish Port Jackson’: These are quite inaccurate compared with Hunter’s other fish paintings, but are interepreted as an old wife, Enoplosus armatus, and a four-lined trumpeter, Pelates quadrilineatus. Hunter’s last fish is an elephantfish, Callorhinchus milii, most likely from Port Jackson. Interestingly, Hunter has labeled it simply as ‘Shark’, indicating his awareness of the relationship of the elephantfish with true sharks. Two sets of original fish paintings by Raper exist – one in the Natural History Museum, London, the other in the State Library of New South Wales. Some of these are of the same subjects and are no doubt copies made by Raper himself. Raper’s fish paintings held by the State Library of New South Wales with their most likely identities are: Shark, most probably the bull shark Carcharhinus leucas. Yellow finned leatherjacket, Meuschenia trachylepsis. Dolphinfish, Coryphaena hippurus. Sergeant Baker, Latropiscis purpurissatus. Red gurnard, Chelidonichthys kumu. Eastern blue devil, Paraplesiops bleekeri. Tuna, probably yellowfin tuna, Thunnus albacares, as per Hunter’s painting of the same subject. Crimsonbanded wrasse, Notolabrus gymnogenis. Elephantfish, Callorhinchus milii. Red pigfish, Bodianus unimaculatus signed and dated 1790. Blue weed whiting, Haletta semifasciata. Moray eel, a Muraenoid eel. Rainbow cale, Heteroscarus aroptilus. Snapper, pencil sketch, Pagrus auratus. Because most of Raper’s fish paintings held by the Natural History Museum in London are dated 1789, they are most likely his originals, predating those listed above. They are: Elephantfish: (titled on the work, ‘Fish of Port Jackson’ and dated 1790). Two wrasses and a banded snake eel on same picture: dated 1790. These are the same fish depicted by Hunter, from Norfolk Island – Sandager’s wrasse, Coris sandeyeri, the yellow-green wrasse Thalassoma lutescens and the convict snake eel, Leiuranus versicolor. Shark, most probably the bull shark Carcharhinus leucas, titled, on the work, ‘Shark of Port Jackson’, signed, and dated 1789. Redthroat emperor, Lethrinus miniatus, the same fish as depicted by Hunter, from Norfolk Island.

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Old wife, Enoplosus armatus and the Maori wrasse, Opthalmolepsis lineolatus, on the same picture, titled ‘Fishes of Port Jackson’ and dated 1789. Snapper, Pagrus auratus, titled ‘Fish of Port Jackson’ and dated 1789. Red gurnard, Chelidonichthys kumu, titled ‘Fish of Port Jackson’ and dated 1789. Flying gurnard, Dactyloptena orientalis, titled Fish of Rio De Janeiro. One interesting finding that came to light while comparing these works related to Raper’s paintings of the bull shark and the dolphinfish. It would appear that both of these in the State Library of New South Wales collection were painted after he had left Australia. They are dated 1794 and also annotated ‘Commerce de Marseilles’, which was the vessel on which Raper was stationed in the Mediterranean in that year. This led to the supposition that both of these paintings were of fish caught in the Mediterranean, not Sydney. But the very similar painting of a shark in the Natural History Museum is labelled on the work ‘Shark of Port Jackson’ with the artist’s signature and the date, 1789. It is therefore now clear that the original painting was indeed a shark caught in Sydney Harbour in 1789 and that Raper must have completed another rendition of the same painting, with embellishments, five years later while in the Mediterranean. In the case of the dolphinfish, no other version of that painting exists, so it is reasonable to assume that this was done in the Mediterranean and not in Sydney. Pinning down the location of the original shark painting (see page 50) is important because, perhaps surprisingly, it is the only painting of a shark by any of the First Fleet artists, even though there are many accounts of sharks being caught in Sydney Harbour. Although it is not anatomically accurate, the painting clearly represents a whaler shark (family Carcharhinidae), quite possibly a bull shark, Carcharhinus leucas, a species that is still surprisingly common in the harbour. (John Hunter’s version of this painting is titled ‘Large Blue Shark’, which is puzzling since the whaler sharks range in colour from brown [or coppery] to grey, and Hunter’s shark is actually coloured grey. In any case, the size of the fins and their placement preclude this as being a depiction of the true ‘blue shark’, Prionace glauca, nor does it resemble in any significant way the other common blue coloured shark, the shortfin mako, Isurus oxyrhinchus.) Another important, but later collection of early Sydney fish paintings is contained in an album held by the State Library of New South Wales. These were painted by another convict artist, Richard Browne (T.R. Browne), who was transported to Sydney in 1811. The works appear in the album titled ‘Select Specimens From Nature of the Birds, Animals &c, &c of New South Wales Collected and Arranged by Thomas Skottowe ESQr. The Drawings by T.R. Browne. Newcastle New South Wales 1813’. Skottowe was commandant of the penal colony in Newcastle from 1811 to 1814, where he no doubt noted Browne’s talents and fostered his work. It is also therefore very likely that the fish depicted were all from the Newcastle region. Apart from their charm, the importance of Browne’s paintings lies in the fact that

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Example of the similarity between Hunter’s and Raper’s paintings, in this case a tuna (see text for discussion of which species). Left: by Raper (Natural History Museum, London), right: by Hunter (National Library of Australia. nla.obj-138549891).

they are the earliest to specifically illustrate a range of the foodfishes of the day. His work was straightforward and reasonably accurate, depicting thirteen species in all, on four paintings. Skottowe provided a handwritten list of the fish painted by Browne (together with the Aboriginal names used for each fish). The State Library of New South Wales catalogue of the album attempts to identify some of the fish with Scottowe’s common names. I have updated these and included modern scientific names as follows: ‘1. John Dory’ – Zeus faber. ‘2. Mullett’ – sea mullet, Mugil cephalus. ‘3. Flat Head’ – most probably dusky flathead, Platycephalus fuscus. ‘4. Rock Cod’ – probably the eastern wirrah, Acanthistius ocellatus. ‘5. Gurnett’ – possibly the crested weedfish, Cristiceps australis. ‘6. Trevailli or Cavallia’ – silver trevally, Pseudocaranx dentex. ‘7. Snapper’ – Pagrus auratus. ‘8. Groper’ – eastern blue groper, Achoerodus viridis. ‘9. Parrot Fish’ – Maori wrasse Ophthalmolepis lineolatus. ‘10. Unicorn Fish or Leather Jacket – yellow-finned leatherjacket, Meuschenia trachylepsis. ‘11. Salmon’ – Australian salmon – Arripis trutta. ‘12. Barracouta’ – longtom, probably stout longtom, Tylosurus gavialoides, and ‘13. Leopard shark’ – banded wobbegong, Orectolobus ornatus. All of these fishes would be able to be caught around the coast of Newcastle today, most being quite common, with the possible exception of the longtom, which is more of a tropical species that would only be an occasional visitor to the region – although it has been recorded in Sydney Harbour and as far south as the New South Wales / Victorian border. This small album is also of considerable interest not only because it was produced about twenty years after most of the other early fish paintings outlined above, but also because Skottowe provides some of the earliest comments on the eating qualities of the fish depicted:

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The two fish paintings done by George Raper in 1794 while stationed in the Mediterranean. The shark, right, is a reworking of his ‘Shark of Port Jackson’ while the dolphinfish, left, was probably not painted in Australia. State Library of New South Wales.

The Rivers and Coasts of this Country abound with Fish the most of them of excellent quality, and Members of the same Species as those of England. The Drawings here given describe such as are not Known at home or are dissimilar, tho’ bearing the same name. The Snapper in size and quality takes the lead and may be class’d as the Cod of the Country with Regard to its flavour. The Salmon is totally unlike the fish generally so named, neither is it so delicious tho’ very good. The Groper and Flat Head are capital in Soup. The remainder are all excellent for frying &c tho’ the Mullet is by far the best. The fish called the Leather Jacket by the [?] of New South Wales on account of its strong skin which comes off like a Glove, when first Caught possesses some of the most beautiful tints and hues imaginable. The remarkable horn on the head is barbed and is its Weapon of Defence. The Skin of the Leopard Shark is very handsome but in other respects it is Rather a disgusting Object.

Many seafood fanciers today would agree with Skottowe’s opinion of the snapper, but making soup with blue groper and dusky flathead might be considered something of a travesty for these excellent table fish. Like Watling and Browne, another significant colonial artist, Joseph Lycett, was a convicted forger who was transported to Australia. Arriving in 1814, he was given his ticket-of-leave shortly afterwards, but old habits die hard. He was arrested in 1815 for forging local currency and sent to gaol in Newcastle for three years. In an uncanny parallel with T.R. Browne’s life, the new commandant in Newcastle, Captain James Wallis, discovered Lycett’s talents and in about 1818 commissioned him to paint landscapes and natural history subjects on the wooden panels of a remarkable naturalist’s collector’s chest. The story of this chest (often called the Macquarie Collector’s Chest), and another almost identical ‘copy’, the Dixson Collector’s Chest (both held by the

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State Library of New South Wales), is truly a fascinating one, told in wonderful detail by Elizabeth Ellis in Rare and Curious: The Secret History of Governor Macquarie’s Collectors’ Chest. Here, though, we focus on one of the double panels of the chest – a magnificent and detailed still life depicting many of the fishes which would have been caught in and around Newcastle at that time. While many of the fishes have obviously been selected for decorative appeal, the montage includes many important food fish, including some that had not been depicted before such as tuna and, surprisingly, a yellowfin bream. A recently discovered album of colonial paintings in Canada which belonged to Captain James Wallis contains one page of fish paintings by Joseph Lycett that were clearly ‘models’ for the paintings on the panels of the collector’s chests. The album was acquired by the State Library of New South Wales in 2011. The fish page is titled ‘The Fish of New South Wales’, and contains ten watercolour paintings, eight of which are hand-labelled. Those labels, and my annotation of the species to which they refer in brackets, are ‘Soldier’ (red rock cod), ‘Cavallie’ (silver trevally), ‘Rock Cod’ (wirrah), ‘John Dory’ (John Dory), ‘Bull Rout’ (fortescue or bull rout), ‘Fortescue’ (crested weed fish) ‘Taylor’ (the first illustration of a tailor) and an ‘Old Wife’ (yet another fish called by this name, actually a diamond fish, Monodactylus argenteus). The two unlabelled fish that also appear on the chest panels are a ‘true’ old wife and a silver biddy.

T.R. Browne’s delightful paintings of fish from around the Newcastle district. Unlike other early artists, he depicted many of the food fish being caught in the early 1800s. Included are the first illustrations of east coast flathead, silver trevally and John Dory. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales.

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It is interesting to compare the fish depicted on the chest panels and in the Wallis album with those painted by Browne in Skottowe’s portfolio. Species depicted in both include the John Dory, snapper, blue groper, Maori wrasse, mullet, dusky flathead, crested weedfish, trevally and wirrah. The panel also includes early depictions of other important species, including a whaler shark, a tuna (either a southern bluefin or longtail tuna), a shovelnose ray, a red rock cod and possibly a luderick or blackfish. Lycett and Browne were contemporaries with similar histories, so it may be that one influenced the other, but then again, they may simply have been painting the catch of the day at the time. Our last colonial artist is included on the basis of a single painting. But what a painting it is. John Lewin was a trained artist with an interest in natural history no doubt inherited from his famous father, William Lewin, the author of the classic illustrated work, The Birds of Great Britain. He arrived in Sydney in 1800, joined a number of exploratory voyages and expeditions, and while he painted numerous subjects including landscapes,

The top panel of the Macquarie’s Collector’s Chest, made c. 1818. The chest panels were most likely painted by Joseph Lycett with the fish taken from around the Newcastle region of New South Wales. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales.

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insects and birds, his one and only painting of fish that is important for a number of reasons. Painted in about 1815, Lewin’s Fish catch and Dawes Point, Sydney Harbour is the first oil painting known to be executed in Australia. It is painted from the north side of the harbour, with Dawes Point in the distant background, and shows a classic still life of a number of fish species, all painted beautifully in a classic ‘European’ style. It depicts an assortment of fish likely to have been caught in Sydney Harbour at the time, except for the enigmatic fish in the centre position of the painting.

A page of paintings of fish by Joseph Lycett from an album of paintings recently discovered in Canada. These are clearly models for the fish panel on the Dixson and Macquarie collector’s chests. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales.

The fish depicted include the ubiquitous and very popular snapper (Pagrus auratus), the first Australian illustration of a hammerhead shark in the background – the scalloped hammerhead, Sphyrna lewini (named after Lewin himself), sand whiting, Sillago ciliata (the first illustration of this species), Maori wrasse, Ophthalmolepis lineolatus, mullet (probably Mugil cephalus), a nannygai or redfish, Centroberyx affinis, and in the very centre, a mysterious fish indeed. Because of the setting of the painting, on the shores

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of Sydney Harbour, it is natural to assume that all of the fish depicted were caught in or about this locale. With this assumption, the central fish has been variously called an Australian bass, an estuary perch or a rock cod. However, it is now thought that this is in fact a depiction of the famous Australian freshwater fish, the Murray cod, Maccullochella peelii. This is based on an unlabelled pencil sketch by Lewin, held by the Linnaean Society of London, of what is almost certainly the model for the painting. And that sketch appears to be a good likeness of a Murray cod. Lewin had travelled across the Blue Mountains with Governor Macquarie in late April 1815, returning to Sydney mid-May, so it is suggested he did his field sketch from a fresh specimen caught on this trip, later using artistic licence to include this out-of-place fish in his classic painting of fish on the shores of Sydney Harbour. Lewin had annotated colours on his pencil sketch – ‘olive green’ for the upper sides of the body, ‘grey’ for the fins, and ‘pink’ for the pelvic fins and the rear edge of the tail, all of which do match those of a

John William Lewin, Australia, 1770–1819. Fish catch and Dawes Point, Sydney Harbour c.1815, Sydney, oil on canvas, 86.5 x113.0 cm. Gift of the Art Gallery of Australia Foundation and South Australian Brewing Holdings Limited, 1989. Given to mark the occasion of the company’s 1988 Centenary. Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide.

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fresh Murray cod. But seemingly just to confuse the issue, he has presumably continued to use his artistic licence in painting the oil version of this fish with very dark back and fins. Because Lewin’s painting was created in about 1815, it predated Lycett’s similar ‘fish panel’ painting on the collector’s chest. It is highly likely, therefore, that Lycett was influenced by Lewin’s work. The concepts of the two paintings are so similar, even if the execution of Lycett is relatively naïve compared with the trained style of the true artist, Lewin.

4. Pacific Coast III: Voyages North and South The first voyages away from Sydney were not along the coast, but to Norfolk Island, about 1600 km northeast of the new colony. This remote dot in the South Pacific played an important role during these early years of European settlement, at least in part because it was seen as a valuable source of fish. Captain James Cook discovered the island in October 1774 during his second epic Pacific voyage. He landed two boats on the rugged coast and made a favourable report on the resources observed there. These included the Norfolk Island pine tree (ideal for making masts for the Royal Navy), the New Zealand flax plant (valuable for sailmaking), the edible cabbage palm and fish. The unidentified fish were caught from boats, no doubt by hook and line, and were apparently abundant. He wrote: ‘The coast does not want fish. While we were on shore, the people in the boats caught some which were excellent.’ The next to drop anchor and cast a line into the waters around Norfolk Island was the ill-fated French explorer, Jean-François de Galaup, comte de la Pérouse. Commanding the Boussoule and the original Astrolabe, La Pérouse visited the island in December 1787, on his way, as it transpired, to his unexpected rendezvous with Arthur Phillip and the First Fleet, in Botany Bay. His purpose for the visit was to collect a store of ‘cabbages’ from the ‘great many cabbage trees’ that Cook had mentioned. He was disappointed on that count, but was very happy with the results of their fishing from the vessels: While we lay at anchor we caught some red fish upon the bank of the kind called capitaine at the Isle de France, or sarde, which afforded us an excellent repast

The names ‘capitaine’ and ‘sarde’ had been used earlier by another Frenchman, Louis Saint Aloüarn, for two types of fish he caught at Flinders Bay, off the southwestern tip of Western Australia in 1772 (see Chapter 5). Because of that location, I interpreted those as one of the emperors (capitaine) and the pink snapper (sarde). At Norfolk Island, by far the dominant species of reef fish caught in the past as well as the present is the redthroat emperor, Lethrinus miniatus, so this is almost certainly the fish caught by La Pérouse and his crew. There is still, though, an outside possibility that these were the pink snapper, Pagrus auratus, which also occurs around Norfolk Island, but not as 85

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prolifically as the redthroat emperor. In either case, the culinary reviews of both Cook and La Pérouse regarding the fish of Norfolk Island were glowing indeed. The next to arrive at Norfolk was Philip Gidley King, who, because of Cook’s glowing report, was sent there by Governor Phillip as captain of the Supply only a month after the arrival of the First Fleet at Sydney. His task was to establish a settlement with ‘a few people and stock’ (the actual numbers comprised 22 people, fifteen of whom were convicts). Discovering Lord Howe Island and Balls Pyramid en route, King duly landed on Norfolk Island on 2 March 1788. Over the next ten months, King recorded the statistics of the new colony, including catches by hook and line of about 650 ‘fish’. Unfortunately, he fails to mention what kinds of fish these were, but we can surmise from later evidence (see below) that the majority would have been the dominant reef fish of the island, the redthroat emperor, Lethrinus miniatus. The fishing activities were not without pitfalls though. In April 1789, King reported: Upward of 80 large hooks have been taken & near 3 dozen of lines carried away since Feb by the very large Sharks & Rock Cod which abound here, The largest of hooks with links are quite necessary.

The sharks were probably Galapagos whaler sharks, Carcharhinus galapagensis, while the ‘Rock Cod’ would most likely have been the black cod, Epinephelus daemelii, both of which are still common around Norfolk Island. In March 1790, John Hunter was sent from Sydney to Norfolk Island on the Sirius, accompanied by the Supply, to establish a much larger colony there, bringing two companies of marines and just over 200 convicts. As we have seen, food supplies in Sydney were low and Phillip had heard and read Lieutenant Ball’s account (who had commanded the Supply with King) stating that: This place affords vast numbers of cabbage trees, and amazing quantities of fish may be procured on the banks that lie on the west side of the small island; those they got on board the Supply were of the snapper kind, and very good, yet they were caught in such abundance that many of the people were as much satiated with them as the sailors are with cod on the banks of Newfoundland.

Unfortunately, after unloading her human cargo, a shift of tide caused the Sirius to be completely wrecked at the island, marooning all, and leaving them to fend as best they could for nearly a full year. The fish resource was certainly important in this regard, but Hunter noted in his journal that storms and high seas often prevented the fishing boats being able to put to sea for weeks on end: I have seen the weather so stormy, and the surf so high for near a month together, that a boat could not be launched more than twice during that period, and then only for a few hours; and even when they had got out, they would sometimes bring in a hundred fish of from two to four

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A depiction of the ‘melancholy loss’ of HMS Sirius on Norfolk Island by Thomas Watling c. 1790. The marooned convicts and crew, numbering over 200, subsisted for nearly a year on seabirds and good catches of reef fish, mainly redthroat emperor. Natural History Museum, London.

pounds weight, and at other times only five or six fish: so that this supply was very uncertain and very trifling, when it was considered that we were above 500 people.

One of those on the Sirius was officer of marines Ralph Clark, who meticulously recorded the fish catch, all of which was taken by handline from the two boats of the Sirius. His records show that between April 1790 and March 1791 just over 5400 fish were caught, of which 3828 were called ‘snapper’ and 1539 were simply called ‘fish’. (Small numbers of other named fish included ‘blue fish’ [Girella cyanea], ‘salmon fish’ [probably Australian salmon, Arripis trutta], ‘white fish’ [probably silver trevally, Pseudocaranx dentex], rock cod [possibly bass groper, Polyprion americanus] and black cod [Epinephelus daemelii]). Here, there is no doubt that Clark’s ‘snapper’ (and probably much of the catch listed generically as ‘fish’) were redthroat emperor – verified by two beautiful paintings of this unmistakable species by none other than John Hunter and his artistic naval colleague, Midshipman George Raper, labelled in their hand ‘Snapper of Norfolk Island’. While these catches of fish were obviously important sources of food for those on the island, the marooned population was really saved from starvation not by seafood, but by birds. The Mount Pitt bird, or ‘bird of providence’, the petrel Pterodroma solandri, was nesting on the island in huge numbers, and Ralph Clark also kept a record of the

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The redthroat emperor of Norfolk Island, labelled as ‘snapper’ by both Raper (above), Natural History Museum London, and Hunter (right) John Hunter 1737–1821.National Library of Australia. nla.obj138550195.

numbers of these birds killed for food by the colonists each evening after the birds returned to roost. The number totalled a staggering 172,000. The species is now extinct on Norfolk Island, and only occurs on Lord Howe Island.

Several other Norfolk Island fish depicted by Raper and Hunter during their enforced stay on the island. Left, a red pigfish by Raper, Bodianus unimaculatus (State Library of New South Wales). Right, a yellow-green wrasse Thalassoma lutescens (left) and a sandager’s wrasse, Coris sandeyeri (right) by Hunter. John Hunter 1737–1821 National Library of Australia nla.obj-13855034

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Of relevance regarding the fishing history of Norfolk Island is the fact that Polynesians had settled there at some stage in the past during their westward expansion, but had abandoned the island at some time before any visitations by Europeans. Excavations of fishbones from archaeological sites there indicate that these settlers fished extensively, using hook and line, and that by far the most common fish caught were members of the emperor family, Lethrinidae (63% of catch by number) and furthermore, that the lethrinid bones appear to be from a single species, the redthroat emperor, Lethrinus miniatus. Interestingly, no sparid remains have been found, indicating that catches of pink snapper were either rare or non-existent (in contrast, pink snapper is usually the main species found in Maori middens in northern New Zealand). This hard evidence of historic dominance of the hook-and-line catch by redthroat emperor adds further weight to the supposition that this was the species that La Pérouse was referring to as ‘sarde’ or ‘capitaine’ and that it was also the species referred to by King, Ball and Clark as snapper. The authors of the archaeological study on Norfolk maintain that because lethrinids were the most common fish caught, the Polynesians must have been specifically targeting these fish with specialised hooks, rigging and bait. This is almost certainly not the case, though, not only because hook-and-line fishing over reefs is rarely so specialised but also because the earliest explorers and settlers’ catches were also equally dominated by redthroat emperor, and they were certainly not targeting them with specialised hooks or rigging. Today, the fisheries of Norfolk Island are managed by the Australian government. The method used by the recreational and charter fishery on the island is much the same as that used by the men fishing from the boats of the Sirius – hook and line – although these days many would use rods and reels, whereas in the 1790s the handline was the tackle of necessity. The current estimated annual commercial catch of fish, which is still very much dominated by the one species, the ubiquitous redthroat emperor – locally called ‘trumpeter’ – is 30 tonnes. In 1791, the year following the wreck of the Sirius, I estimate from Ralph Clark’s records, assuming an average weight of about 2 kg per fish, that about 11 tonnes of redthroat emperor was caught – a substantial catch, but well within the limits of a sustainable catch still maintained to this day. Apart from the diversion to Norfolk Island, it took some time after the colony was established at Sydney Cove before exploratory coastal trips began to be undertaken. Matthew Flinders was particularly keen to explore both near and far. He arrived in Port Jackson in 1795 and soon afterwards made two short voyages with his friend, the young surgeon George Bass, in two small boats, both named the Tom Thumb. The first, in late 1795 was to Botany Bay and the Georges River, the second in early 1796 to Port Hacking and Lake Illawarra. Unfortunately, no references to fish or fishing were made during those sojourns.

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Flinders’ next trip was aboard the somewhat larger vessel, the Norfolk, which had been built on Norfolk Island in 1798 using Norfolk Island pine. He again took along his good friend, George Bass, this time with the purpose of sailing all the way to Tasmania to see if there was indeed a connection with the mainland or not. They were also to explore the possibilities of a seal ‘fishery’ around the Furneaux Isles off northeastern Tasmania. The Norfolk sailed in September 1798 and was forced by gales to anchor on 12 October in Twofold Bay – the site of Eden on the New South Wales far south coast. As usual, one of the first activities after dropping anchor was to go fishing, but in this case they had not taken a seine net, so had to make do with hook and line. Fishing was good enough to record, while Flinders’ powers of observation were obviously keen, as indicated by the following entry in his journal: The bay seemed to be well stocked with fish; and our success with hook and line made us regret having no seine, for the hauling of which many of the beaches are particularly well adapted. It is not improbable that Two-fold Bay, like some of the open bays on the east coast of Africa, may be frequented by whales at certain seasons: of this I have no decisive proof; but the reef of rocks, called Whale Spit, received its name from the remains of one found there. The natives had taken their share; and the dogs, crows, and gulls were carrying away the rest.

Flinders’ impression that this might be a site for whales was remarkably prescient. Twofold Bay was indeed destined to be an important whaling station in years to come, and the source of many fishing tales. Not least of these was Killers of Eden, by Tom Mead, which told the tale of killer whales helping the whalers capture humpback whales as they made their way past this part of the coast on their northerly and southerly migrations. Nearly twenty years later (in December 1817), Phillip Parker King, on the Mermaid, also anchored in Twofold Bay, immediately noticing piles of abalone shell there left by the resident Aboriginal population. He did have a seine net with him, but they hauled the net that evening ‘without success’. Flinders completed this voyage, successfully circumnavigating Tasmania, thereby proving it to be an island. On this relatively short voyage, he did not need to go fishing for food, but he did mention shellfish. At Port Dalrymple, in the Tamar River: Neither our wants nor leisure were sufficient to induce any attempt to catch fish. Muscles were abundant upon those rocks which are overflowed by the tide; and the natives appeared to get oysters by diving, the shells having been found near their fire places.

Flinders’ next voyage, in 1799 again on the Norfolk, was to explore the extent of two possible large bays, the entrances to which Cook had noted on his northward trip along the Queensland coast in 1770. These were then known as Glass-house Bay and Hervey’s Bay (now Moreton Bay and Hervey Bay) and Flinders’ mission was to

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investigate if the openings were mouths of large rivers and, if so, to explore inland via these waterways. This time Flinders was not accompanied by his trusty companion, Bass, who had returned for a time to England. On this voyage, Flinders made some very interesting observations on Aboriginal fishing activities (see Chapter 7), and also recorded, without realising it, the first observation by a European of a dugong on the east coast of Australia. David Collins, who wrote up the journal of this voyage, recorded: He saw several large fish, or animals that came up to the surface of the water to blow, in the manner of a porpoise, or rather of a seal, for they did not spout, nor had they any dorsal fin. The head also strongly resembled the bluff-nosed hair seal, but their size was greater than any which Mr. Flinders had seen before. He fired three musket balls into one, and Bong-ree threw a spear into another; but they sunk, and were not seen again. These animals, which perhaps might be sea lions, were not observed any where but in this river.

Other expeditions were mounted from Sydney at around this time. Lieutenant James Grant was sent on board the Lady Nelson to survey several areas to the north and south of the colony. His first trip was to investigate Bass Strait and Western Port. On the way, he called in to Jervis Bay in March 1801, and ordered the usual activity of fishing with the seine net: We hauled the seine; in doing which the natives, who were very numerous, assisted us unsolicited. We caught a few large whitings, differing in no particular from those we have in our seas, excepting their superior size. I distributed them amongst the natives, reserving only three for our own dinner.

This spontaneous excitement at catching a number of fish at once is understandable. The word obviously spread quickly since: Many more having joined us who seemed anxious to get some fish also, I hauled the seine again; and having caught more whiting and small snappers, I gave up the whole without division, not wishing to excite any jealousy, and this I found put an end to all clamour.

And a little later … Our fishing-party had caught some fish, and would have been very successful, but two sharks got into the seine and tore it in several places: they were both brought on shore, one measuring seven feet in length. The liver I ordered to be carried on board, to be boiled for the oil and used in our lamp.

Arriving at Western Port, Grant made a reconnoitre of the embayment before returning to the ship. There he found that My crew had caught a number of flat-heads alongside: This fish has its name from the shape of its head, is common to this country, and is good eating. They saw some sharks of a considerable size, and caught three or four small ones.

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This is one of the earliest references to flathead in this region (no doubt, sand flathead, Platycephalus bassensis), certainly the first reference for Western Port. It is interesting too that Grant used the name ‘flat-heads’, the first time this appears to have been used as a common name. The small sharks were most likely school or gummy sharks. Having only returned to Sydney on 14 May 1801, in June Grant was ordered to take Lieutenant Governor William Paterson to the Hunter River, the site of Newcastle, to ‘survey the river and to gain a knowledge of its natural productions’. On 26 June, he records a good catch there: The seine was hauled and plenty of excellent fish caught, particularly mullet, with a fish much resembling the herring which I am inclined to think go in shoals.

Mullet were well known to the men at the time, but it is difficult to say what species Grant was referring to as ‘herring’. Quite possibly this was the sandy sprat, Hyperlophus vittatus but may also have been blue sprat, Spratelloides robustus. The next passage from Grant relates a rather gruesome incident, including the death of an escaped convict by eating a toadfish: An object now presented itself to our view, which exhibited the completest picture of wretchedness I ever beheld. This was a man wrecked in a boat belonging to Sydney, with two other men, both of whom were dead; one of them by the hands of the natives, the other by eating greedily of the toad-fish, the prickly bones of which had choaked him.

While it is possible that the victim had choked on a live puffer or toadfish that had inflated, It is more likely that he been poisoned by the toxic flesh of the toadfish. And as part of a brief but important summary of the animals of the Hunter and environs, Grant writes: Fish was taken in great quantities, and of various kinds, particularly mullets, which were large and well flavoured. We caught also a species of jew fish, one of which weighed 56 pounds, and proved excellent eating. From the numbers of this fish, which escaped from the seine, I am inclined to think there is great plenty in this river.

This is the first mention of a jewfish by any writer. And because of its size, it is most likely that the fish was what is still called the jewfish today (although it is also known as ‘mulloway’ in the southern states). The jewfish, Argyrosomus japonicus, is the largest of the estuarine finfishes of southeastern Australia and is a well-known and highly prized fish of the coastal rivers and estuaries in this region. Flinders now reappears. His earlier voyages to Tasmania and to southern Queensland were mere practice runs for his next and greatest achievement – the circumnavigation of Australia. Having returned to England in the interim, Flinders again set sail for Australia in July 1801 in the Investigator with his grand plan. After calling at the Cape of Good Hope, he headed straight for the southwestern tip of Australia, sailed around Cape Leeuwin (which he named) and dropped anchor in King George Sound. From

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there, he sailed along the southern Australian coast, around Tasmania, then made a beeline to Port Jackson where he stayed for three months before taking the Investigator north on the second part of his voyage. Flinders made many entries regarding fish and fishing along the southern Australian coast and in Tasmania, and these are outlined in Chapter 6. However, similar observations on the eastern seaboard are scant until he reached the tropics. While in Port Jackson reprovisioning the Investigator for his onward journey, Flinders expressed frustration at not being able to procure much fish (presumably for salting and storing for the voyage ahead). In July 1802, not long before setting sail again, he remarked again on the scarcity of fish during the colder months: Fish are usually plentiful at Port Jackson in the summer, but not in the winter time; and our duties were too numerous and indispensable to admit of sending people away with the seine, when there was little prospect of success; a few were, however, occasionally bought alongside, from boats which fished along the coast.

We noted previously in the diaries and journals of many First Fleeters, including Worgan, Tench, Hunter and Phillip, that the numbers, or at any rate, catches of fish in Sydney Harbour and Botany Bay were universally believed to decline in winter, being first noted during the first winter of 1788 and then in the following several winters. Flinders’ comment above was written in June 1802, a full fourteen years after first settlement, so this situation, whether real or perceived, had obviously persisted. This point is important since some historians have insisted that the fish resources of Port Jackson were overfished during the first one or two years of settlement. Others suggested that the methods used by the first fishers were inappropriate for the novel species of fish to be found in the new environs. Here, however, Flinders, who arrived in Sydney in 1795, is maintaining that fish supplies were still normally good in the warmer months (perhaps the techniques had improved beyond those of Tench) but that the colder months produced little in the way of fresh fish. Having left Port Jackson and sailed north, Flinders arrived at Sandy Cape on the northern tip of Fraser Island on 31 July 1802. There, he tried to make friends with the local ‘indians’, and thanks to his companion from Port Jackson, the Aboriginal man, Bongaree, even though he did not speak the language, gained their confidence. At length they suffered him to come up, and by degrees our whole party joined; and after receiving some presents, twenty of them returned with us to the boats, and were feasted upon the blubber of two porpoises, which had been brought on shore purposely for them. At two o’clock the naturalists returned, bringing some of the scoop nets used by the natives in catching fish; and we then quitted our new friends, after presenting them with hatchets and other testimonials of our satisfaction.

Here is one of the few references to harpooning dolphins (which the English always called porpoises), although this may have been a fairly regular occurrence since Flinders

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also mentions it off South Australia. In this case, it would seem that they had plenty and were happy to share with the local people. This is also a very early reference to nets being used by Aboriginal fishers – in this case, scoop nets (see Chapter 7). After this, neither fish nor fishing are mentioned until Flinders reached Port Curtis (the mouth of the Fitzroy River, Rockhampton) where on 7 August he recorded that ‘boats had been employed, though unsuccessfully, in fishing’. As was sometimes the case, though, the problem seems to have been in method rather than in the availability of fish. We saw three turtle lying on the water, but were not so fortunate as to procure any. Fish seemed to be plentiful, and some were speared by Bongaree, who was a constant attendant in my boat; and yet our efforts with the seine were altogether unsuccessful. The shores abound with oysters, amongst which, in the upper parts of the port, was the kind producing pearls; but being small and discoloured, they are of no value. The attempts made near the ship with the dredge, to procure larger oysters from the deep water, were without success.

The Investigator stayed in the general vicinity of Keppel Bay for about ten days, where they obviously had better success with the seine net: Wood is easily procured; and fresh water was found in small ponds and swamps, at a little distance behind the beach. This is also the best, if not the sole place in the bay for hauling the seine; and a fresh meal of good fish was there several times procured for all the ship’s company.

Keppel Bay is mentioned as the site of capture of several fish that the shipboard artist Ferdinand Bauer illustrated in some detail, including the enjoyably comical mud skipper, Periophthalmus sp. and a goby, Favonigobius sp.

Ferdinand Bauer’s depiction of mudskippers that Matthew Flinders found so beguiling, caught at Keppel Bay, Queensland. Natural History Museum, London.

Continuing northwards, at ‘Port Bowen’ (which is not the location of Bowen, but an inlet about 50 km north of Yeppoon), Flinders paints an idyllic picture of coastal wildlife, including the best fishing place he had yet found: There are kangaroos in the woods; hawks, and the bald-headed mocking bird of Port Jackson are common; and ducks, sea-pies, and gulls frequent the shoals at low water. Fish were more abundant here than in any port before visited; those taken in the seine at the watering beach were principally mullet, but sharks and flying fish were numerous.

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Mullet are again a common species being caught (although the actual species is impossible to say), and sharks also rate a mention, as they do in many early accounts. Flying fish taken in the seine is unusual, suggesting that perhaps they were seining at night using fires to attract fish (as they did in South Australia). Normally oceanic flying fish venture inshore at night and are attracted to lights. In fact, Bauer illustrated a flying fish at some stage during the circumnavigation, although the location of its capture is not recorded. The Investigator then spent many days exploring the coast in this vicinity, especially a northward facing inlet, which they named Broad Sound, near the present town of St Lawrence. On one of the islands of the Northumberland group: A seine was hauled upon the small beaches at the south end of the island, and brought on shore a good quantity of mullet, and of a fish resembling a cavally; also a kind of horse mackerel, small fish of the herring kind, and once a sword fish of between four and five feet long. The projection of the snout, or sword of this animal, a foot and a half in length, was fringed with strong, sharp teeth; and he threw it from side to side in such a furious way, that it was difficult to manage him even on shore.

Here, for a change, some of the fish in the catch are named. Apart from the ubiquitous (and welcome) mullet, these included a type of trevally (‘cavally’), a horse mackerel, likely to be the yellowtail, Trachurus novaezelandiae, small herring-like fish, which may have been hardyheads or other small baitfish, and the earliest mention of what is obviously a sawfish (not a ‘swordfish’) easily identifiable by the rows of teeth on either side of its rostrum. Flinders’ summary of Broad Sound on the whole, though, was not very effusive: Many turtle were seen in the water about Long Island, and from the bones scattered around the deserted fire places, this animal seemed to form the principal subsistence of the natives; but we had not the address to obtain any. Hump-backed whales frequent the entrance of the sound, and would present an object of interest to a colony. In fishing, we had little success with hook and line; and the nature of the shores did not admit of hauling the seine.

His last entry from the east coast with any mention of fishing was at the Percy Isles. On 3 October, he recorded that ‘one solitary eel of a good size, was caught on clearing out the hole where our water casks had been first intended to be filled’ and that ‘Pines, fresh water, and fish will be some inducement to visit the Percy Isles; as perhaps may be the hump-backed whales, of which a considerable number was seen in the vicinity’. Flinders continued northwards along the coast dodging reefs, but made no further mention of fish or fishing on the east coast. On 17 October he sent the Lady Nelson back to Port Jackson. The Lady Nelson had accompanied him on this voyage as a safety measure, but Flinders thought the boat now so creaky she was becoming a liability. Soon afterwards, Flinders finally found a passage through the reef to the open sea, and a clear run to the Gulf of Carpentaria and beyond.

5 The Wild West In the early 1600s, the United Dutch East India Company (VOC) began sending ships on expeditions of discovery to the lands and islands south of their stronghold in Batavia (Jakarta, Indonesia). The earliest of those voyages, by Willem Janszoon in the vessel Duyfken, landed upon the east coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria in 1606, and in passing made the first mention of fish in Australian waters, on a map marked with the name, Vis R. (Fish River). On the west coast of the continent, the first recorded European visit was in 1616 by Dirk Hartog in another VOC vessel, Eendracht. He left a pewter plate nailed to a post on the island named after him, Dirk Hartog Island, situated at the entrance of what was to be later named Shark Bay. He stayed on the island for only a couple of days, but whether or not he or his crew wet a line or cast a net while there is unknown. The VOC instructions for various voyages varied somewhat, depending on their primary purpose. Quite a few voyages were intended as search-and-rescue missions to try and find survivors from previous expeditions that had been wrecked along the west coast of New Holland. At the same time, they were seen as information-gathering exercises intended to add to the store of knowledge about the new continent, especially regarding any resources that might be of profitable use to the company. Some voyages were strictly for that purpose, as evidenced by the instructions from the company to the commanders of two ships, the Haringh and Hasewint, whose mission was one of discovery and exploration of the so-called South-land, on 29 September 1622. These read, in part: You will moreover go ashore in various places and diligently examine the coast in order to ascertain whether or no it is inhabited, the nature of the land and the people, their towns and inhabited villages, the divisions of their kingdoms, their religion and policy, their wars, their rivers, the shape of their vessels, their fisheries, commodities and manufactures, but specially to inform yourselves what minerals, such as gold, silver, tin, iron, lead, and copper, what precious stones, pearls, vegetables, animals and fruits, these lands yield and produce.

It is clear that these were commercially motivated voyages, with, among other resources to consider, the fisheries of the new land. It should be borne in mind that fisheries would include not just potential exploitation of fish populations, but also other marine animals such as seals and whales. The wave of Dutch VOC ships plying and roughly mapping the coast continued 96

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through much of the seventeenth century. Some mariners simply observed the coast from their ships, some went ashore and some were shipwrecked, but few of them left records of their fishing activities. The first to at least mention fish and fishing was Francois Pelsaert, captain of the Batavia. Part of Pelsaert’s mission was to search for possible survivors of the English ship Tryall, which had been wrecked in the Montebello Islands in 1622, 46 survivors of which had made it to Batavia. However, the Batavia’s fate was to be just as dire. On 2 June 1629, the Batavia was wrecked on the Abrolhos Islands, also known as the Reef of Frederick Houtmann, off present-day Geraldton. The story of the survivors and their mutiny and murderous aftermath is truly one of the most shocking in Australian maritime history. Remarkably though, Pelsaert, took the time to record some observations regarding wildlife of the region in his journal, including a very detailed description of pademelons (Dama wallabies) which he called ‘cats’. And while he provided quite a bit of information on birds and mammals, he made only one mention of fish. His diary entry of 15 November 1629 records: The sea abounds in fish in these parts; they are mainly of three kinds, but very different in shape and taste from those caught on other coasts.

While it is not possible to even guess what these three kinds of fish might have been, the passage shows that the survivors of the Batavia were actively catching fish for food. Earlier, Pelsaert makes passing references to cooking fish, and to fishing from the yawl (which implies hook-and-line fishing, rather than hauling a seine net) so there is no doubt that fishing was part of survival. Artefacts of the Batavia have been carefully recovered by archaeologists, and I was touched to see some small copper fish hooks on display from the Batavia in the WA Shipwreck Museum in Fremantle showing in a rather poignant way that fishing was part and parcel of shipboard life. The English mariner and adventurer, William Dampier, visited the west coast of Australia on two separate occasions in the latter years of the seventeenth century. A remarkable adventurer who saw more of the world than anyone else of his era, he was a privateer who was constantly looking for ways of making money, including piracy and murder. He was also, fortunately, a passionate observer of the world around him and kept detailed diaries and logs that became bestselling books on his return to England. His first trip to Australia was aboard the vessel Cygnet which, in true pirate fashion, he had commandeered from her captain at Mindanao in the Philippines. He voyaged south from there to eventually make landfall on the Kimberley coast near King Sound in the far northwest of Australia. He stayed two months, and during this time made some fascinating observations. He anchored the Cygnet on 5 January 1688 near an area that is now perhaps appropriately called the Buccaneer Archipelago (named by Captain Phillip Parker King on his voyage round Australia 1821 in honour of Dampier’s visit).

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During this first visit, Dampier made no mention of catching fish, but in the following passage he implied that fishing was not very successful. Dugongs and turtles, though, were seen in numbers: Here are a few small Land-birds, but none bigger than a Blackbird; and but few Seafowls. Neither is the Sea very plentifully stored with Fish, unless you reckon the Manatee and Turtle as such. Of these Creatures there is plenty; but they are extraordinary shy; though the Inhabitants cannot trouble them much, having neither Boats nor Iron.

The poor fishing was reinforced in another entry: ‘Nor could we catch any Fish with our Hooks and Lines all the while we lay there’, but he did observe Aboriginal fishing methods in the area while his vessel was beached for careening. Those observations are covered in Chapter 7. The English privateer William Dampier visited the We will return to Dampier a little later west coast of Australia on two occasions. for his second visit, when fishing did play an important part in his daily activities and writings. One Dutch voyage that made some interesting observations on fish along the west coast was led by Willem De Vlamingh, who in 1696 sailed from the Shetland Islands in the VOC vessels Geelvinck, Nyptangh and the Weseltje with a total of 193 men. The mission was to search for survivors of previous shipwrecks, including Vergulde Draeck and the Ridderschap van Holland, and to learn as much as they could about the south land that would be of benefit to the Company. The three vessels made their way down the coast, anchoring at what they called Rottenest Island on 29 December 1696. On shore, Vlamingh was immediately impressed with the place, so much so that he waxed lyrical about its charms, including an abundance of fish: On my way back I had great pleasure in admiring this island, which is very attractive, and where it seems to me that nature has denied nothing to make it pleasurable beyond all islands I have ever seen, being very well provided for man’s well-being, with timber, stone, and lime for building him houses, only lacking ploughmen to till these fine plains. There is plentiful salt, and the coast is full of fish. Birds make themselves heard with pleasant song in these scented groves.

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Map of Rottnest Island, so named by Vlamingh. Depicted ‘upside down’ in this 1697 rendition.

After spending a week on the island, they approached the mainland and ventured into the Swan River, where the city of Perth now stands, to search for a party of men who had been dropped off to explore the inlet. They had difficulty transporting their longboat over the river bar at the mouth, but once inside travelled up the river, observing that it was ‘full of various kinds of birds’ and contained ‘an abundance of fish of various species’. Black swans were new to them, and they were impressed not only with their striking coloration, but also with their abundance (hence the name, Swan River). They shot nine or ten of the birds and captured several alive, intending to take them back to the Netherlands. During his narrative of this exploration, Vlamingh commented once again on fish, noting schools of fish ‘floundering in the water’. It is not possible to identify these, but we can imagine a school of mullet feeding over sand flats being described in this way. Departing and sailing north, Vlamingh’s expedition landed again at what is thought to be the mouth of the Greenough River, finding it well stocked with fish. Vlamingh mentions that they saw schools of fish in the shallows, but did not try to catch any. The next port of call was Dirk Hartog Island and a ‘bight’ that in two years time would be named Shark Bay by William Dampier. Shark Bay would prove to be a haven where many future voyagers would visit, being one of the few protected anchorages on the exposed west coast of the continent. Having anchored in the bight, Vlamingh’s party killed several turtles, a note in the diary of the Geelvinck recording that ‘at night one can catch and turn over as many

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turtles as one likes, and get as many turtle eggs as one desires’. And in this bay, they did indeed catch some sharks. ‘The 2nd [February 1697] we caught three great sharks, one of which had thirteen young with it in size like a large pike.’ Because these were apparently very large sharks, and were caught in subtropical waters, some interpret them as being tiger sharks (Galeocerdo cuvier). This is a reasonable supposition, except for the fact that tiger sharks usually produce more than thirteen pups, the range of litter sizes being 10 to 82, with the lower numbers thought to be possibly due to spontaneous abortion of some on capture. Furthermore, the size at birth of tiger sharks is only about 55 to 70 cm, not what might be thought of as the size of a large pike – a freshwater fish of Europe that attains lengths of more than a metre. Another possibility is that the pregnant shark that was captured was a dusky shark, Carcharhinus obscurus, an inshore ‘whaler’ of the family Carcharhinidae that grows to more than three metres in length. Dusky shark litter sizes range from 3 to 14 and pups and are born at a relatively large size, averaging about 100 cm long which would indeed be about the size of a large pike. The fact that the Dutch caught large sharks means that they must have been trying to do so. This would imply that they were using heavy fishing gear (cord, ropes, chains) and large, baited hooks. And as to what they may have been using for bait, we can speculate that it was possibly fresh turtle, or salt meat. A few days later, on 7 February 1697, Vlamingh’s men caught one fish of note while on an overnight sortie on shore in one of the ship’s longboats: ‘In the evening caught a fish of immense size of which we 24 ate, it tasting quite precisely like ray, and there was enough left to feed another 30 men’. A comment regarding this fish in Vlamingh’s journal refers to it as ‘a ray or similar kind of fish’. If this fish was not recognisable as a normal ‘ray’ to the Dutch, perhaps it was a shark ray, Rhina ancylostoma, or a white-spotted shovelnose ray, also known as the giant guitarfish, Rhyncobatus djiddensis, both of which occur in the region and grow to over three metres in length and well in excess of 100 kg – a size that would certainly feed the numbers of men mentioned. These relatives of stingrays have round bodies like sharks, but flattened heads, and so are not obvious ‘rays’. This suggestion is reinforced by the fact that the shark ray group of fish is not known in Europe. The only other ‘fishy’ reference from Vlamingh was his apparent observation of a remarkable fish about two feet long, with a round head and sort of arms and legs, and even something like hands. This is one of those observations that we might draw the line at trying to identify, although it is possible it was an angler fish of some kind (the pectoral fins of which do look like arms), the problem being that no species of angler fish in this area reaches lengths of more than 24 cm. Another possibility in this region would be a threadfin salmon, Polydactylus macrochir, which does have a round head, and filamentous pelvic fin rays that might be construed as ‘hands’ (‘Polydactylus’ means

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Artist’s impression of Vlamingh’s ships anchored off the mouth of the Swan River. Note the images of black swans – some of which were shot and captured. Johannes van Keulen, Jan van Braam and Gerard Onder de Linden, Chart of Houtman Abrolhos, W.A., 1726. National Library of Australia. nla.obj-230601841.

‘many-fingered’). The next visit of note to the west coast was again by William Dampier, who returned in 1699, eleven years after his first reconnoitre in northwestern Australia. This time he was in command of the Roebuck, with instructions to explore New Holland. After sailing directly from Brazil via the Cape of Good Hope to the west coast of Australia, he arrived at Shark Bay on 6 August 1799, having been at sea for more than three months. As he approached land, his powers of observation and interest in biological details are evident in his account: We met with little of remark in this voyage, besides being accompanied with fowls all the way, especially Black swans were not only seen by Europeans as pintado-birds, and seeing now and then a whale: exotic animals in a strange, new land. They were but as we drew nigher the coast of New Holland also commonly hunted for food by many of the early voyagers around the Australian coast along we saw frequently 3 or 4 whales together. When we with seals, dolphins and, of course, fish. Thomas were about 90 leagues from the land we began to Watling, c. 1790. Natural History Museum, London. see seaweeds, all of one sort; and as we drew nigher

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the shore we saw them more frequently. At about 30 leagues distance we began to see some scuttle-bones floating on the water; and drawing still nigher the land we saw greater quantities of them.

He was approaching the mouth of Shark Bay in the middle of the northerly migration season for humpback whales on this coast, so it is not surprising that he saw many whales. Pintado birds, almost certainly petrels, were keenly looked for as signs of land, as were ‘scuttle-bones’ – the buoyant, chalky internal skeletal structure of cuttlefish more usually called cuttle bones. Banks had also commented on seeing cuttle bones when the Endeavour first approached southeastern Australia (see Chapter 2). Dampier was a great observer and a keen naturalist, as illustrated by his account of marine life as the Roebuck was sailed ever closer to land. On July 25 he writes: we saw a large garfish leap 4 times by us, which seemed to be as big as a porpoise. It was now very fair weather, and the sea was full of a sort of very small grass or moss, which as it floated in the water seemed to have been some spawn of fish; and there was among it some small fry. The next day the sea was full of small round things like pearl, some as big as white peas; they were very clear and transparent, and upon crushing any of them a drop of water would come forth: the skin that contained the water was so thin that it was but just discernable. Some weeds swam by us so that we did not doubt but we should quickly see land … On the 28th we saw many weeds swim by us and some whales, blowing. On the 29th ... We saw this day a scuttle-bone swim by us, and some of our young men a seal, as it should seem by their description of its head. I saw also some bonetas, and some skipjacks, a fish about 8 inches long, broad, and sizable, not much unlike a roach; which our seamen call so from their leaping about.

The large leaping garfish has been interpreted as a longtom (family, Belonidae), but because of the size estimated by Dampier (as big as a porpoise), it is far more likely to have been a sailfish (Istiophorus platypterus). Steep Point, the westernmost point on the Australian mainland jutting out at the entrance to Shark Bay just south of Dirk Hartog Island, is today a popular land-based game fishing location from which sailfish are sometimes caught. Sailfish often ‘free jump’ multiple times when rounding up or feeding on baitfish schools, and because July is Stylised illustration of a sailfish from a mid-eighteenth-century publication. It is likely that this is the fish that Dampier the season for sailfish in this region, Dutch saw leaping off Shark Bay, which he described as a ‘large in all likelihood this is what Dampier garfish’ that ‘seemed as big as a porpoise’. From F. Valentijn, En Nieum Oost Indien, 1726, Te Dordrecht, Amsterdam 1724-26. saw.

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Dampier’s ‘bonetas’ are unlikely to be a species of ‘true’ tuna of the genus Thunnus (including the coastal longtail tuna) since Dampier elsewhere uses the old English term ‘tunny’ to describe tunas. The most likely species being referred to, therefore, would be the skipjack tuna, Katsuwonus pelamis. This small tuna would have been well known to Dampier, being the most prolific of the surface fishes in the tropics. Others have suggested that Dampier’s ‘boneta’ could be the oriential bonito, Sarda orientalis, but the term boneta was an almost generic one of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries for small tuna in more open waters where true coastal bonito are not found. And just to confuse the issue, the ‘skipjacks’ that Dampier mentions are almost certainly not skipjack tuna, but trevallies, which were often referred to by this name by the English, right through to the mid-1850s. It is also possible that the ‘skipjacks’ were small queenfish (Scomberoides sp.), members of the trevally family that do often leap from the water as described. The Roebuck dropped anchor in Shark Bay on 7 August 1699 and stayed for a week. Dampier’s summary of the fish of the region is a valuable record, not only because of its detail but also because some illustrations were included with the published text. The sea-fish that we saw here (for here was no river, land, or pond of fresh water to be seen) are chiefly sharks. There are abundance of them in this particular sound, and I therefore give it the name of Shark’s Bay. Here are also skates, thornbacks, and other fish of the ray kind (one sort especially like the sea-devil) and garfish, bonetas, etc. Of shellfish we got here mussels, periwinkles, limpets, oysters, both of the pearl kind and also eating-oysters, as well the common sort as long oysters; beside cockles, etc., the shore was lined thick with many other sorts of very strange and beautiful shells, for variety of colour and shape, most finely spotted with red, black, or yellow, etc., such as I have not seen anywhere but at this place. I brought away a great many of them; but lost all except a very few, and those not of the best.

As noted earlier, Dampier called this place Shark’s Bay for obvious reasons. Happily, though, unlike Cook’s ‘Stingray Harbour’ (see Chapter 2), Dampier’s original name stuck, shortened a little to Shark Bay. This large, shallow, sheltered embayment is an excellent habitat for sharks and rays of different species, and while we cannot be certain about the types Dampier saw and caught (other than a likely tiger shark, see later), it is clear that sharks and their cartilaginous cousins, the rays, were very common at this location. Looking at Dampier’s list of fish in this passage, the skates are not able to be identified beyond this general term, while the thornbacks would most likely be the black stingray, Dasyatis thetidis, which has prominent thorns along the midline of the body and tail. The other species of rays are indeterminate, but the so-called ‘sea-devil’ would almost certainly be the manta ray, Manta birostris, or one of its smaller relatives (Mobula sp.) which are still collectively known as ‘devil rays’. Of the other fish mentioned, in this case the ‘garfish’ would most likely be needlefish, also known as longtom. They are prolific in the region, with the common coastal

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species being the crocodilian longtom, Tylosaurus crocodilus, and the slender longtom, Strongylura leiura. ‘Bonetas’ were again part of the catch, and are discussed above in some detail. Dampier continues his summary of marine life in Shark Bay: There are also some green-turtle weighing about 200 pounds. Of these we caught 2 which the water ebbing had left behind a ledge of rock, which they could not creep over. These served all my company 2 days; and they were indifferent sweet meat. Of the sharks we caught a great many which our men eat very savourily. Among them we caught one which was 11 foot long. The space between its two eyes was 20 inches, and 18 inches from one corner of his mouth to the other. Its maw was like a leather sack, very thick, and so tough that a sharp knife could scarce cut it: in which we found the head and bones of a hippopotamus; the hairy lips of which were still sound and not putrefied, and the jaw was also firm, out of which we plucked a great many teeth, 2 of them 8 inches long and as big as a man’s thumb, small at one end, and a little crooked; the rest not above half so long. The maw was full of jelly which stank extreamly: however I saved for a while the teeth and the shark’s jaw: the flesh of it was divided among my men; and they took care that no waste should be made of it.

Again, Dampier reports catching sharks in Shark’s Bay. This time though, they landed a real whopper. With an overall length of 11 feet (3.35 metres), and with other clues as to its identity, there is little doubt that this was a tiger shark, Galeocerdo cuvier. Tiger sharks are still common in the Shark Bay region, and Dampier’s mention of catching turtles at the time is also relevant. Marine turtles are a favoured prey item of the tiger shark – the only shark species able to saw through the tough carapace, the unique teeth shape and structure of the tiger shark having probably evolved for that purpose. That

Dampier’s map of Shark Bay, 1699.

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said, in the case of this tiger shark it is clear that it had eaten a dugong, males of which have large tusks. It is perhaps rather odd that Dampier thought this a hippopotamus rather than a dugong, since, on his previous visit to the northwestern Australian coast in 1688, he had remarked on the abundance of ‘manatee’, which he recognised and which would certainly have been dugong. No doubt the advanced state of digestion of most of the carcass, and the stench, did not permit a detailed examination so perhaps we can forgive him this small error. The reference to the sharks they caught, including the tiger shark, being happily eaten by Dampier and the crew, is noteworthy. Sharks were not always eaten by crews of early sailing ships, and if they were, they were often thought to be inferior fare. And in this case, we also have a rare insight into how the shark flesh might have been cooked. This comes from an earlier entry of his (May 1699), when he was off the coast of Brazil, on his way to New Holland. We caught 3 small Sharks, each 6 Foot 4 Inches long; and they were very good Food for us. The next Day we caught 3 more Sharks of the same Size, and we eat them also, esteeming them as good Fish boil’d and press’d, and then stew’d with Vinegar and Pepper.

I particularly like this passage since it is one of the only records found of the way in which fish might have been cooked on such early voyages – simply, and flavoured with the few condiments available in the galley. Not long before leaving Shark Bay, Dampier made one more entry regarding fish: I sent a boat ashore to the most northerly of the 2 islands, which is the least of them, catching many small fish in the meanwhile with hook and line … They saw a large turtle and many skates and thornbacks, but caught none.

It is uncertain to which island Dampier was referring – possibly Bernier Island, although that is a long haul by rowboat from where the Roebuck was anchored. In any case, here is another mention of rays (skates and thornbacks) being very common. It is not hard to imagine these rays fleeing on the sand flats as the boat was sailed or rowed over them. The Roebuck then sailed northeast along the coast, on the way out of Shark Bay observing some sea snakes, which, from the description, may have been any one of several species of sea snake that are found in this area. In fact, many of the world’s sea snakes are found only around the northern half of Australia, so it is not surprising that Dampier had not seen these before, and that he commented on sea snakes quite often while near the Australian coast. In passing out we saw 3 water-serpents swimming about in the sea, of a yellow colour, spotted with dark brown spots. They were each about 4 foot long, and about the bigness of a man’s wrist, and were the first I saw on this coast, which abounds with several sorts of them.

Several species of sea snake in this region are yellowish and have some brown spots.

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He saw more than one species though, writing on 21 August: and as we saw some seasnakes every day, so this day we saw a great many, of two different sorts or shapes. One sort was yellow, and about the bigness of a man’s wrist, about 4 foot long, having a flat tail about 4 fingers broad. The other sort was much smaller and shorter, round and spotted black and yellow.

A few days earlier, he noted whales for the first time, which at that time of the year would have been very likely humpbacks on their northerly migration. He also mentions ‘many small dolphins’. This use of the name ‘dolphin’, presumably meaning the marine mammals, is interesting since other slightly later mariners were using this name for the dolphinfish (Coryphaena hippurus), reserving the name ‘porpoise’ for all of the small cetaceans. And we can be sure of Dampier’s use of the word since in his published account of his voyage, he included a clear illustration showing a dolphinfish and a dolphin in the same plate, indicating his awareness of this confusion. He even captions them to clearly indicate that the mammal is ‘The Dolphin of the Ancients … called by our seaman a Porpus’, and the fish is ‘A Dolphin as it is usually called by our seamen’.

Illustration from Dampier’s journal in which he clearly shows the difference between the ‘dolphin of the ancients’, which he notes is called the ‘Porpus’ by English seamen, and the ‘dolphin’ fish, simply called the dolphin.

At this time, the Roebuck was in what is now appropriately called the Dampier Archipelago, where he landed on one of the larger islands which he called Rosemary Island after a shrub that looked like the familiar plant (it is still called Rosemary Island).

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There, he noted: We found some shellfish, namely limpets, periwinkles, and abundance of small oysters, growing on the rocks, which were very sweet. In the sea we saw some green-turtle, a pretty many sharks, and abundance of water-snakes of several sorts and sizes.

A few days later, while tracking close to the coast to the northeast, Dampier records the kinds of fish they caught during a nighttime fishing session from the deck of the Roebuck. In the night while calm we fished with hook and line and caught good store of fish, namely, snapper, bream, old-wives, and dogfish. When these last came we seldom caught any others; for if they did not drive away the other fish, yet they would be sure to keep them from taking our hooks, for they would first have them themselves, biting very greedily. We caught also a monkfish, of which I brought home the picture.

In this passage, Dampier would be using common names for fish that were in use in England at that time for similar looking fish. These would also presumably have been the most common species that they caught. Looking at these fish in turn, the ‘snapper’ could well have been the pink snapper (Pagrus auratus), although it may also have been one of the lutjanid ‘snappers’ which would have abounded in the region. Bream was a term used fairly broadly for fish that had the body shape of the English freshwater bream, Abramis brama, although Dampier would also have probably been familiar with the English seabream, which looks very similar to the Australian breams (family Sparidae). While the fish referred to as ‘bream’ by Dampier could have been one of a number of species, it may well have been the western yellowfin bream, Acanthopagrus latus, which does inhabit this region. The use of the name ‘old wife’ is the first time we see it in relation to an Australian species. The name is referred to again and again in later reports by English observers on the east coast and there is confusion as to what species the name was being applied. In the early Australian context, the ‘old wife’ is nearly always assumed to be the native fish of the that name as used locally, that is, Enopolus armatus, a black and white striped fish that resembles the classic angel fish of aquarists. But‘old wife’ seems to have been a name bestowed on a variety of fishes including leatherjackets. Fortunately, in Dampier’s case there is no confusion since he provided an illustration of what he was calling an old wife, together with a caption. That illustration is clearly a triggerfish of the family Ballistidae, a very close relative of the true leatherjackets, family Monacanthidae. We can even identify the fish to species level from the illustration. With its lunate tail and trailing edges, this must be the starry triggerfish, Abalistes stellatus, which occurs in this part of Western Australia. The ‘dogfish’ referred to by Dampier is less problematic in that dogfish was the name given by the English to any small shark species whereas ‘shark’ seems to have been reserved for larger species. In this case, the most voracious small sharks that would have been common in the region would be juvenile whaler sharks (family Carcharhinidae),

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The first European illustrations of fish caught off the Australian coast, from William Dampier’s journal published in 1703. See text for interpretations of species. Note especially the ‘monkfish’ (left) and the ‘old wife’ (right).

the most common of which would be dusky (C. obscurus) or sandbar (C. plumbeus) sharks. The ‘monkfish’ mentioned in Dampier’s journal, and also illustrated, is of particular interest. This illustration has nearly always been assumed by other writers to be an angel shark (family Squatinidae) since ‘monkfish’ was one of the names given to these squat sharks at the time. However, inspecting the illustration more closely, the fin sizes and placement are wrong for an angel shark – angel sharks possess two dorsal fins close together and situated well towards the rear of the body whereas the illustration shows a single dorsal fin in the middle of the body. The two side fins are also shown as quite separate and relatively small in proportion to the body whereas these are large and overlapping in the angel shark. Furthermore, the only angel shark occurring in this region of Western Australia, Squatina pseudocellata, is a relatively deep water species normally found at 150 to 300 metres depth on the outer continental shelf, so it is unlikely that Dampier’s crew would have hooked one. On the other hand, the fin arrangement of the illustration is quite accurate for another type of fish which would

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have been unfamiliar to Dampier – a flathead (family Platycephalidae). Flathead have a prominent first dorsal fin about mid body, and their pectoral and pelvic fins are placed similarly to those shown in the illustration. Lastly, the body of the illustrated fish is quite elongated, just like a flathead, whereas the angel shark has a diamond shaped body with a relatively short tail section. Several species of flathead are endemic to Western Australia and the English would quite probably never have seen one before and could therefore be excused for calling it a monkfish. It is therefore entirely possible that this was the first recording of the capture of a flathead in Australia. A number of species of flathead occur in this region including the bar-tailed, or northern sand flathead, Platycephalus endrachtensis, which grows to at least 45 cm long and perhaps 5 kg in weight, and the fringe-eyed flathead, Cymbacephalus nematophthalamus. At the end of August 1699, just before departing for Timor, Dampier presents a brief summary of the marine life he encountered on the Western Australian coast: The sea is plentifully stocked with the largest whales that I ever saw; but not to compare with the vast ones of the northern seas. We saw also a great many green-turtle, but caught none; here being no place to set a turtle-net in; here being no channel for them, and the tides running so strong. We saw some sharks, and paracoots; and with hooks and lines we caught some rock-fish and old-wives. Of shellfish, here were oysters both of the common kind for eating, and of the pearl kind: and also wilks, conches, mussels, limpets, periwinkles, etc., and I gathered a few strange shells; chiefly a sort not large, and thick-set all about with rays or spikes growing in rows.

Fish mentioned in this passage for the first time are paracoots (which are barracuda, Sphyraena sp.) and ‘rock-fish’. The latter would presumably be tropical reef fish of some kind, but it is impossible to speculate as to what they may have been. Sharks were seemingly ever present. Regarding the whales Dampier refers to, humpback whales are by far the most likely candidates since the time of his visit was right at the peak of the northern migration. But humpbacks are very large whales, so presumably he must have been referring to even larger whales he had seen in the northern hemisphere, which could really only have been blue whales. After Dampier, it was to be more than 73 years before another European vessel plied these waters. Reports of the discovery of various parts of the southern continent, first by the Dutch, then by Dampier and especially by Cook when he returned from his first voyage in 1771, stimulated French interest in its exploration and the possibility of claims of sovereignty. And so, under orders from Louis XV and just two years after Cook made landfall at Botany Bay, Louis de Saint Aloüarn, captaining the Gros Ventre, arrived at a point on the southestern tip of the Australian continent. His intentions were to claim at least part of the southern land for France. On 17 March 1772, Saint Aloüarn anchored to the east of Cape Leeuwin, about 5 km

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from shore in a bay now called Flinders Bay near the present-day town of Augusta. This destination was no mistake since de Saint Aloüarn had known of Cape Leeuwin from the much earlier survey work in 1619 by Frederick de Houtman on the Dutch East India Company vessel Dordrecht. As well, the bearings of this southwesternmost point of the Australian continent had been recorded in 1622 by another Dutch East India Company vessel, the Leeuwin, and it is known that Saint Aloüarn carried charts that had been drawn up in France from various Dutch sources. After leaving Ile de France (Mauritius), the Gros Ventre had been at sea for many weeks, save a brief stop at the cold, inhospitable Kergulen Islands, where they caught no fish. Not surprisingly, then, the crew took the opportunity to wet a line, fishing from the anchored vessel in about eleven fathoms of water. And they were not disappointed. Saint Aloüarn wrote: We caught great quantities of fish by the names of threadfin fish, damsel fish, shark, blue jack mackerel, garfish, moray eel, barracuda … We caught many fish and one was ten and a half feet and the captain had it mounted. The little time we were anchored we spent fishing. The coast seems to be full of fish. We caught mostly a quantity of fish which some decided were cod. They were very tasty and quite good for salt preserves. We caught many fish, a sort of mangrove red snapper of which the coast is full. Saw some monstrous sharks. We caught one that weighed 500 pounds. It differs from others that I saw elsewhere in that its head is almost like that of a tuna fish, and so is its tail. Nonetheless they are quite dangerous if we can judge by their teeth, for that shark had beautiful ones, flat and broad, set in four rows, two above and two below.

This is a particularly important passage since, unlike many accounts by other voyagers, Saint Aloüarn applies common names of the day to the fish that were caught. Teasing out exactly which fish they were catching, however, is not straightforward. The translation of the common French names to English causes a number of problems with the interpretation of some of the species of fish caught in this historic fishing session, so it is worth delving into the original French names of the fish cited in the passage to try to determine what was being caught. The above quote appears in a translation of the excellent book on Saint Aloüarn by Goddard and de Kerros, The French Annexation of Australia. The orginal entry reads: Nous pêchames quantité de poisons nommé capitaine, chien de mer, demoiselle, vequin, requin, saure, erfit, lever, broche de mer … [Ou encore] On a pêché beaucoup de poisons et une d’elle [sic] de dix pieds et demie que le capitaine a fait empailler. … On a employé le peu de temps que nous avons resté au mouillage à pêcher. Il paraît que la côte est poissonneuse. On y prend surtout quantité de poisons que quelques-uns ont decide être mourues, excellents pour le gout et proper à être sales … Nous avons pris beaucoup de poissons qui est une espèce de sarde dont toute la côte en est remplie. Vu des requins monstreux. Nous en avons pris un qui pesait plus de 500 livres. Il diffère des autres que j’ai vus ailleurs par la tête à peu près comme un thon, ainsi que la queue. Ils n’en sont pas moins dangereux si l’on en juge par leurs dents car

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celiu-ci en avait de très belles à quatre ranges, deux dessu et deux dessous, plates et larges.

Considering some of these French names used at the time – ‘capitaine’ could refer to a number of different fishes. These include, as translated in the passage, the threadfins, or threadfin salmon (Polydactylidae), however, none of these occur at such a southerly latitude. Capitaine could also refer to members of the emperor family of fish (Lethrinidae) one species of which, the spangled emperor, Lethrinus nebulosus, occur there, if uncommonly. And as has been suggested by some, the capitaine or threadfin fish may be one of the morwongs (Cheilodactylidae), in which case it could be the ‘queen snapper’, Nemodactylus valenciennes. The queen snapper certainly resembles a lethrinid, so we may have to settle for the capitaine being either the redthroat emperor or the queen snapper. A queen ‘snapper’, or blue morwong, as painted by Robert Neil, a keen recorder of fish caught at King George Sound in the 1830s. King George Sound is about 150 nautical miles southeast of Saint Aloüarn’s 1772 anchorage. Natural History Museum, London.

The French word used in the journal for the translation ‘garfish’ is actually ‘erfit’, which is most likely the writer’s phonetic jotting down of the word ‘orphie’, the French name for needlefish, or longtom (Belonidae). Longtom do occur at the latitude of Geographe Bay, and certainly take a baited hook more readily than smaller Australian ‘garfish’ (family Hemirhamphidae). And while the southern garfish, Hyporhamphus australis, would be expected to be quite common in this area, on weight of evidence, especially since they were fishing with tackle that looks to have been targeting larger fish, the ‘erfit’ was probably one of the longtoms. The barracuda (in the original French, ‘broche de mer’) could either be a common seapike or ‘snook’ (Sphaerena novaehollandiae), or the similar-looking but unrelated barracouta (Thyrsites atun). The blue jack mackerel, could be the slimy mackerel (Scomber australasicus), but because the original French word for this fish was ‘saure’, rather than ‘macquereau’, it is more likely to be a scad – either the jack mackerel (Trachurus declivis) or yellowtail (Trachurus novaezelandiae). Reinforcing this suggestion is the fact that ‘saure’ is close to ‘saurel’, which is the French common name for any species of Trachurus, known as scads.

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Fishing for the Past Robert Neill’s painting of the scad most likely caught by Saint Aloüarn’s crew. Neill labelled it ‘the yellow tail of the sealers’. The name stuck and is still widely used for this species. Natural History Museum, London.

The original French passage also mentioned ‘chien de mer’, or dogfish, which is a general term for small shark. This could have been a gummy or school shark, both of which would likely have

been common in the region. The damsel fish, from the original French ‘demoiselle’, could be one of a number of damsel fishes (family Pomocentridae) that occur in the area. One common species that grows to a reasonable size (30 cm) is the common or McCulloch’s scalyfin, Parma mccullochi. On the other hand, damsel fishes rarely take baits (they mainly feed on algae) so it is perhaps more likely that the damsel fish referred to would be the similarly shaped sea sweep, Scorpis aequipinnis, which grows to a larger size (40 cm and 3.5 kg) and readily takes baited hooks. The source of the above quotation, Goddard and De Kerros’ account of Saint Aloüarn’s voyage, provides the suggestion that the ‘mangrove red snapper’ was a bonito or a tuna, possibly the striped bonito, Sarda orientalis. Perhaps this was surmised because the French word actually used was ‘sarde’, though this is highly unlikely since the French name for the bonito is not ‘sarde’ but ‘bonite’. The names ‘sarde’ and ‘sargue’ sound similar, and if the crew catching the fish were calling it ‘sargue’, a commonly used name for members of the bream/pink snapper family, then it is more likely that they were catching pink snapper, Pagrus auratus. On the other hand, ‘sarde’ is a local French name – only in Mauritius – for the lutjanid fish, the mangrove jack (or mangrove red snapper). However, no red-coloured lutjanid, including the mangrove jack, occurs at that latitude, so for this reason also the ‘sarde’ is likely to have been the pink snapper. And just to further confuse the issue, an account of this passage in Leslie Marchant’s France Australe translates the name ‘sarde’ as either the pilchard (sardine) or the local ‘herring’ or tommy ruff (Arripis georgianus). In fact neither of these possibilities is reasonable. The common French word for sardine is, in fact, ‘sardine’, and in any case, sardines are not normally taken on baited hooks, especially the size of hooks most likely being used by the French for food fish. And as for the herring or tommy ruff, this is a shallow water coastal species unlikely to be caught in relatively deep water 5 km off the coast. As well, the ‘herring’ is a distinctive Australian endemic fish that would not have been familiar at all to the French, so it is unlikely they would have applied the name ‘sarde’ to it.

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All of the above may seem rather convoluted and confusing, but it is important to determine if Saint Aloüarn’s men were catching pink snapper in numbers at the time (the ‘sarde’ being the most common fish caught) since this species has achieved iconic status in Australian fisheries and is today the subject of strict management measures in several states, including Western Australia. It is also important because it almost certainly indicates that the pink snapper was common not just at Flinders Bay, but at other parts of the western coast where Saint Aloüarn’s crew fished. Robert Neill’s 1841 painting of a ‘common snapper of the sealers’. Saint Aloüarn’s common ‘sarde’ has been interpreted as many species, but is most likely to have been this species, the pink snapper, Pagrus auratus. Natural History Museum, London.

Returning to Saint Aloüarn’s list, the ‘cod’ (original French – ‘mourue’) referred to as being the most common fish caught is suggested in the translation to be either ‘squirefish’ (pink snapper), rubberlip morwong or jewfish (presumably dhufish, Glaucosoma hebraicum) since these three species remain common in the area. Of these, I would opt for the ‘cod’ being the dhufish in that this endemic species is widely acknowledged as one of the best eating fish in Australian waters with moist, white flesh which could well have been reminiscent of the familiar cod. As well, the dhufish would have been common in Flinders Bay and relatively easy to catch on hook and line. The large shark, as suggested by Goddard and De Kerros, can be none other than a white shark Carcharodon carcharias. The head shape, rounded and pointed like that of a tuna and the tail, almost symmetrical compared with other sharks, together with its broad teeth and also its southern location, would all indicate a white shark. It is a pity that Saint Aloüarn did not mention how they caught such a large shark, but its capture does imply that they carried specific shark fishing gear – heavy line or rope, chains and large, strong hooks. It is difficult to imagine what the fish that was ‘ten and a half feet long’ (3.2 metres) was. Very few fish in that region would grow to such a length. In fact, the most likely candidate would be a white shark, but since the report also discusses catching that type of shark separately, it must have been another type of fish. It is possible that it was a

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tiger shark, although if it was a shark, surely this would have been stated. One other possibility is that they had caught a marlin. If so, the most likely species would be a blue marlin, Makaira nigricans, which would be the right time of year for such a capture. And the translation that the captain had this large fish ‘mounted’ (or ‘stuffed’) is quite remarkable, implying that it was such a memorable capture that it was kept as some kind of a trophy. After leaving Flinders Bay without making a landing (due to bad weather) Saint Aloüarn sailed west around Cape Leeuwin, passing the island that now bears his name, and then tracked north along the Western Australian coast. On 28 March 1772, the Gros Ventre anchored in deep water (65 fathoms) off the west coast of Dirk Hartog Island, Shark Bay and the next day off Turtle Bay on the northern tip of the island. It was here that a ceremony took place with the intention of annexing ‘New Holland’ to France. This event did not preclude them from making some valuable observations on marine animals and fish. They stayed in the area for some time, and as well as describing a variety of seabirds, Saint Aloüarn wrote that the men also found a lot of small turtles in the sand. They brought two or three hundred of them back on board. Consequently tonight we sent the ship’s small pinnace to try and catch big turtles, but to no avail. Their egglaying was probably over. However, the quantity of small ones caught promised a good catch. Our men saw a big animal that looked like a dog and came burrowing into the place where the turtles laid their eggs. The hunters’ rifle shots missed it. It would seem these animals destroy a lot of the eggs.

This passage is of interest since it shows that hunting and gathering of wildlife for food was a constant occupation of early voyagers. In this case, though, one can only wonder what they might have done with 300 newly hatched turtles. And regarding the fishing, on 31 March Aloüarn writes that the men caught ‘many fish such as mangrove red snapper, sharks and dogfish sharks’. Again, no mention is made of the methods used, but as the catch was mainly large, voracious species it would be almost certain that they were again using hook and line. It is important to note that the English translation of ‘mangrove red snapper’ is used, as was the case in Flinders Bay. As noted, this is translated from the French ‘sarde’, which I have already argued is very likely the pink snapper. This species would have been common in both Flinders Bay and Shark Bay and the fact that this French crew, who seem to have been keen fishermen, caught them in both places is therefore not surprising. Again, sharks are mentioned, this time, separately from ‘dogfish sharks’. Dogfish are always small sharks (apparently regardless of species) while the word ‘shark’ (‘requin’) is reserved for large individuals. The next day (1 April), they caught many toadfish that we had the crew throw back into the water as we did not let them eat them for fear they would do them harm, as there would have been many examples of this.

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The fact that toadfish are poisonous was obviously known by the French, but not apparently by James Cook, who on his second Pacific voyage in 1773 dined on toadfish liver while in New Caledonia. The liver is the fish’s most toxic organ and the experience nearly killed Cook and his fellow diners. (See Chapter 2) Compared with many other early journals, the account of Saint Aloüarn is especially rich in references to fishing, not by himself but by his crew. It would therefore seem that at least some members of the crew were keen fishermen, taking every opportunity to drop a line over the side or cast one off the beach. This is an important aspect of trying to tease out from all of the early accounts whether or not fish were abundant and easily caught. Certainly, there seems to have been no shortage of fish of great variety to the sailors on the Gros Ventre, in contrast to some other voyages which seemed to have very mixed success in the art of fishing. If Saint Aloüarn had sailed about 150 nautical miles to the east from Flinders Bay, rather than north, he would have found a haven for anchorage on the otherwise exposed southern coast of Western Australia. Rather, that discovery was destined to be made by English captain George Vancouver, who sailed into the protected waters of what he named King George III Sound in September 1791 with the vessels Discovery and Chatham. King George Sound is divided into three parts – the outer, more open ‘sound’, a western embayment named Princess Royal Harbour and a more estuarine-dominated bay to the north with a narrow entrance, Oyster Harbour. Sailing with Vancouver was a botanist, Archibald Menzies. Fortunately, Menzies was also versed to some degree in the classification of fish, so his allusions to what fish they caught during this visit are very useful – even though they were not particularly successful in catching fish. On 29 September 1791, Menzies wrote: ‘We first landed on the west side where we found the fishing party employed in hauling the Seine with little or no success’. And further, on 4 October a large group of officers and men had gone to haul a seine inside the more protected waters of Oyster Harbour, with another poor result: ‘but the Seines were torn up & renderd so useless with the stumps of old trees that they had little or no success in fishing’. An important piece of information to be gleaned here is not so much their lack of success, but that ‘a large group’ of men had gone to haul the seine net. It is rare that we are given information on the size of the seine nets used at the time by any of the expeditions, whether Dutch, French or English. Here, though, the net would have to have been of relatively large size to require a large group, although we are still left frustratingly in the dark as to how many. Apparently, they repaired the seine net, since Menzies notes a few days later: The Seine was hauled in every situation about the sound where it was likely to procure most fish, but those on board were frequently more successful with their hooks and lines.

Menzies demonstrated his training as a naturalist when he described some of the fish

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they managed to catch, including some scientific names which help greatly in trying to determine exactly what they were catching. Fish we have already observed were not very plenty & we in some measure ascribd this scarcity to the number of large Sharks which frequented the Sound. Among those taken in the Seine or with Hook & line were the Sur mullet – the common Mackrel – Balistes sinensis – Balistes forcipatus. Two species of the genus Gasterosteus & several species of Bream of which I had opportunity to describe only the two following.

This passage then continues with fairly detailed descriptions of two species of what he classified as members of the genus ‘Sparus’, a genus that belongs to the present-day family Sparidae to which Australian bream and snapper both belong. But in Menzies’ day ‘Sparus’ tended to be a bit of a grab bag for a whole range of species. Nevertheless, because his descriptions are good, and also because the fish were quite distinctive (no doubt why he chose those ones to describe) it is clear that these were not Sparids but were in fact both members of the wrasse family, Labridae. The sur mullet (not a true mullet) must have been either the blue striped mullet, Upeneichthys lineatus, or the southern goatfish (also known as red mullet), Upeneichthys vlamingii – more likely the latter due to its red colouring and therefore similar to the common European surmullet, Mullus surmuletus. The mackerel would undoubtedly be the blue mackerel, Scomber australisicus while the two Balistes species are leatherjackets. The two species of the genus Gasterosteus are not able to be determined (this is a northern hemisphere genus known as sticklebacks) but the genus also in the past had included such diverse species as cobia, pompano, and even the lionfish (presentday Pterois), placed in the genus by Linnaeus. Weighing up the possibilities, the fish is most likely a scorpaenid, perhaps a fortescue (Centropogon latifrons) or more probably a fish variously known as the soldier, sergeant or cobbler, Gymnapistes marmoratus, both of which are common in the region and habitat. The latter was painted beautifully in 1841 by a resident government official and amateur naturalist, Robert Neill, as part of an album of paintings of fish of King George Sound, the same location where Menzies’ fish was caught. Neill added the following handwritten annotation to his painting of this fish: ‘Sergeant of the settlers. Apparently scaleless and without pectoral rays. does not correspond well with A. Marmoratus. Caught by seine 18th. March 1841. The fishermen dread wounds made by the species of this fish as they always fester.’ As noted, the two ‘Sparus’ species that Menzies described in some detail were obviously wrasses. In a 1956 paper, Gilbert Whitley suggests that these two fish were the spotted parrot fish and the Maori cod. I would agree, and with subsequent nomenclature changes, these are now officially called the brownspotted wrasse, Notolabrus parilus, and the southern Maori wrasse, Ophthalmolepis lineolata. It can further be added that, from Menzies’ descriptions, both of his specimens would have been male fish, the wrasses being among relatively few species of fish that show marked sexual dimorphism. Both

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of these species are presently recorded as being common in southern waters of Western Australia. In his comment about abundance of fish in King George Sound, Menzies espouses a

Three of the fish caught in King George Sound in 1791 and described by botanist Archibald Menzies. Paintings by Robert Neill, from fish he caught in the same location nearly 50 years later. Top left: Surmullet, Upeneichthys vlamingii, Right: Sergeant or cobbler, Gymnapistes marmoratus, and Bottom: the horseshoe leatherjacket, Meuschenia hippocrepis. Natural History Museum, London.

common perception that persisted well into the twentieth century that an abundance of sharks in an area automatically meant other fish would be less common since the sharks would be eating great quantities. This sounds reasonable except for the paradoxical fact that, if the prey fish were so scarce, there couldn’t be so many sharks, since they would have little to eat. Therefore, early observations of sharks in large numbers simply meant that the populations of sharks, having been virtually undisturbed, were ‘natural’ and presumably in ecological ‘balance’ with their prey species. These interpretations are somewhat frustrating, however, since we rarely know what kinds of sharks were being seen, or the circumstances of seeing them. For example, it is quite possible that the sailing ships themselves, once at anchor, were attracting sharks from a wide area due to the volume of rubbish and sewage being tossed overboard. Following Vancouver and Menzies, the next to visit the west and make observationon coast was a major French expedition, captained the fish and other marine fauna of parts

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The French corvettes, Geographe and Naturaliste, from the letterhead of the journal of the expedition of post captain Nicolas Baudin. Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre. Molluscs and ‘zoophytes’ were the primary interest of Francois Peron on his voyage to Australia. Beautiful illustrations by his companion, Charles Alexandre Lesueur. Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre.

of the by Nicolas Baudin. On what was a true voyage of discovery, Baudin sailed under the auspices of Napoleon in 1801 with the two ships, the Geographe and the Naturaliste. After departing from Ile de France (Mauritius) in the Indian Ocean, like others before, he sailed directly to the southwest corner of Australia. There is still conjecture as to possibly military undertones of this expedition, but the written instructions from Napoleon clearly stressed the scientific nature of their work: You will make up this collection of living animals of all kinds, insects, and especially of birds with beautiful plumage. As regards animals, I don’t need to tell you how to choose between those intended for the menageries and those for a collection of pure pleasure. You will appreciate that it must comprise flowers, shrubs, seeds, shells, precious stones, timber for fine works of marquetry, insects, butterflies, etc.

While these are noble and very useful intentions, from an ichthyological point of view it is noteworthy, and from the perspective of this book perhaps disappointing that the list did not include any reference to fish. The expedition included two great French naturalists, Francois Peron and CharlesAlexandre Lesueur. Peron’s primary interest was what were called ‘zoophytes’ – marine animals that resembled plants, such as jellyfish, sponges, salps and so on. Lesueur was arguably the most talented of any of the early artists who illustrated Australian fauna and his sketches and paintings of fish are perhaps even better than photographic records, which don’t always capture the fine detail needed for taxonomy.

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On 27 May 1801, after an uneventful voyage from Mauritius, like Saint Aloüarn before him, Baudin’s first sight of the great southland was its most southwesterly point, Cape Leeuwin. Here, they anchored for a short time, during which Peron and another naturalist, René Maugé, lowered a drag-net, or possibly a dredge, of unknown dimensions to the bottom (in 114 metres of water) and trawled, presumably behind a rowed dinghy. This first trawl lasted half an hour and brought up some sponges, broken coral and two types of worm. No fish were caught, although this is not surprising since the net must have been towed very slowly, allowing any fish in its path to swim aside. The Geographe then sailed north in rough seas, seeking refuge two days later in Geographe Bay (about 120 nautical miles south of Perth). And not wanting to waste time, Baudin himself ordered another scientific foray: I sent the dinghy out to put down the dredge about 250 fathoms from the ship. We were not very lucky, however, making a rather curious catch: a sea-urchin, star-fish and plants.

This being a scientific expedition, the instrument used was a dredge rather than a seine net, the dredge being a metal scoop perhaps with net attached dragged over the bottom to collect invertebrates and plants. The expedition stayed in Geographe Bay for nearly two weeks before sailing northwards along the western coast. They met with extremely bad weather and did not make landfall again until reaching Shark Bay. Along the way, Baudin provided a summary of their stay, but with only a cursory mention of fish: During our stay in Geographe Bay we found few resources. Fish were very rare, but whales, on the other hand, were very common. Likewise, we saw no more than one or two turtles.

The failure to see or catch many fish is a little puzzling as fish stocks in the bay should have been virtually unfished at the time. However, the weather may not have been conducive to fishing. Furthermore, scientific sampling, rather than actual fishing, seems to have been the priority, at least at this early stage of the expedition. Fishing may have been poor, but Peron did describe two species of fish which he recorded as being from Geographe Bay, presumably both caught by handline while he was on board at anchor. These were a Port Jackson shark, Heterodontus portjacksoni, and what was identified by Roux and Bonnemains (1984) as a Chinaman fish, the lutjanid, Symphorus nematophorus, based mainly on a black-ink sketch of the fish done on the spot by Charles Lesueur. This apparent record has been of considerable interest to today’s scientific community since it appeared to be proof that this species, regarded as a tropical reef species, had an extended distribution to the south coast of western Australia 200 years ago, but its range must have subsequently contracted. I had accepted this account without question since the drawing does resemble a Chinaman fish, clearly showing trailing filaments on the second dorsal fin. But when I examined Lesueur’s drawing at the Museum of Natural

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History in Le Havre, his notations in pencil for later painting clearly indicated that the fish had blue edges to the first dorsal fin membranes and a white leading edge to the anal fin. Chinaman fish have predominantly red fins, so now looking at the image with fresh eyes, it became clear that this was in fact a drawing of an important endemic fish of Western Australia, the dhufish, Glaucosoma hebraicum. In addition, this was clearly an adult male of the species showing the secondary sex characteristic of extended second dorsal fin filaments. Indeed, being an adult male, this must have been a large specimen, (the species grows to about 25 kg in size), and no doubt contributing to Lesueur initially naming the new fish Labrus gigantheus. Now the location of Geographe Bay was no longer a problem, since that area is the preferred habitat of the species. Dhufish usually have a characteristic dark vertical stripe running across the eye, and since Lesueur’s drawing lacks this (presumably to be added in a later painting that never eventuated) it is understandable that a mis-identification could have been made. Righting the record, we can now confidently say that this is the first European illustration of this important and highly prized species. Charles Lesueur’s sketch, and first European depiction of a Western Australian dhufish, Glaucosoma hebraicum, caught in Geographe Bay. For many years this had been wrongly identified as the tropical Chinaman fish, Symphorus nematophorus. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76397.

After leaving Geographe Bay and sailing in rough weather past Rottnest Island, Baudin, aboard the Geographe (they had lost touch with the Naturaliste), headed for the next safe anchorage of which he was aware – Shark Bay. Nearing, and entering Shark Bay on 26 June 1801 they encountered large numbers of whales. So many, in fact, that they posed a danger to navigation: Those creatures are so plentiful here that they often get in the way, and sometimes they come in so close that they put the boats in danger. Also, when you are tacking in the bay they are a constant problem; the enormous masses of water that they stirred up made them look like reefs, with waves breaking violently over them.

The whales were most likely humpbacks, especially since late June coincides with the northerly migration of this species and Shark Bay is a known resting area for them. (Dampier wrote of whales in the same area in August – see above.) This is further confirmed by Peron’s more poetic account of the whales in which he described them as

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springing perpendicularly above the waves, and standing, … on the extremity of their tails, spreading vast fins, and then falling again on the bosom of the waters and thus sinking beneath the waves in the midst of torrents of foam and eddies.

The clue to the identity in Peron’s account is the mention of ‘vast fins’, which must be referring to the extremely long and characteristic pectoral fins of humpback whales. Several days after anchoring in Shark Bay, at least some fish were caught that attracted Baudin’s attention. Upon returning to the beach, we were pleased to see that the boatmen had caught about a hundred fish. Amongst them were some that were very pretty because of the variety of their colours, but generally they were all small and much like sardines. That was in fact the name we gave them. The largest closely resembled the European whiting in shape and flavour, although we thought its head seemed longer. When they had been distributed, we cooked our share for dinner and found it all very good.

This mixed catch was presumably the result of hauling a seine net since the catch included many small fish (probably northern sardines). The fish that were described as resembling European whiting, but with longer heads, were in all probability what became known in Australia as ‘whiting’ (various species in the family Sillaginidae) even though they are not related to European whiting, which are in the ‘cod’ family, Gadidae. In this case, the most prolific species of whiting in Shark Bay would have been the yellowfin whiting, Sillago schomburgkii, which today constitutes over half of the total fish catch by recreational anglers in Shark Bay. Having briefly alluded to finfish, Baudin seems to have paid considerably more attention to shellfish, from both scientific and gastronomic perspectives. As there were not many fish, I filled up on oysters and crabs, which were plentiful. At low tide, on the reef that ran along the beach in various places, we found some very beautiful turban-shells, a few common shells and a lovely cone shell with its fish, which is no doubt unknown in Europe and of which I have had a drawing done. We also collected some rather fine mussels, several other ordinary shells and, above all, clams, on which the sailors feasted.

In contrast to talking about the edible fish and shellfish during their stay in Shark Bay, Lesueur produced illustrations of two unusual fish caught there – a pencil sketch of a lizardfish or large scaled grinner, Saurida undosquamis, and a beautiful watercolour painting of a red-barred sandperch, Parapercis nebulosa. Again, the concentration by the scientists on species with which they were unfamiliar, especially those they thought might be new species, is perfectly reasonable, but a little frustrating with respect to trying to determine which fish were plentiful, how they caught them and which fish they ate.

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Fishing for the Past Red striped seaperch from Shark Bay, painted by Lesueur. One of relatively few finished colour paintings of fish he completed in Australia. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76273.

Sketch of large scaled grinner by Lesueur, showing typical detailed annotations for later scientific purposes. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76188.

While so far, the methods used to catch fish on this voyage were somewhat obscure, Baudin does again mention the use of a ‘drag-net’ on 6 July – presumably the same as that towed behind a rowed or sailed boat in Geographe Bay. Fishing success still seems to have been relatively poor with this gear, but shellfish appear to have been scooped up in good numbers. We put the drag-net out several times in the afternoon but with no luck, for we caught nothing at all. Catching shell-fish was more successful. We collected plenty of rather tasty crabs, nerite [snail-shaped gastropod molluscs] shell-fish of various kinds and, above all, large numbers of oysters, but they were small and hard to open. They had more or less the shape and flavour of those that are eaten in the colonies, either in America or in the Ile de France [Mauritius] and Bourbon [La Reunion].

In the same entry, Baudin mentions the killing of about twenty kangaroos, so the supply of fresh food was, at least at this stage, not a major problem. Baudin makes another entry regarding fish caught on hook and line on 14 July 1801, with the first mention of a parrot fish from Australian waters, and another, called the ‘capitaine’ (captain), which presents a bit of a challenge to identify. The fish that were caught on the line were generally of the perch family, and the only kind that we caught in any quantity were those that the sailors call the captain and which they say is similar to the one commonly found in the colonies. The fish known by the name of parrot are exactly the same as those found in the tropics. However, I have had coloured drawings made of the ones which seemed to me the rarest and most curious.

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The parrot fish would appear to be more than one species of the family Labridae. The two most common caught in Shark Bay are the baldchin groper, Choerodon rubescens, and the blackspot tuskfish, Choerodon schoenleinii, both very good eating fish. As was the case with Saint Aloüarn’s use of the name ‘capitaine’ (captain) for one of the fishes caught nineteen years before, well to the south in Geographe Bay, Baudin’s use of the same name causes problems in that it may be referring to any one of a number of possible types of fish. In various lists of ‘official’ French common names, ‘capitaine’ may apply to species of threadfin (Polydactylidae), emperors (Lethrinidae) or snappers (Lutjanidae), but of course it is not known if the sailors of the day were using the name for those fish or not. Surveys of recreational fishing in the early 2000s showed the two most common species of fish caught by anglers in Shark Bay were the blue-lined emperor (Lethrinus laticaudis) and the pink snapper (Pagus auratus). Because the blue-lined is very similar to the spangled emperor – the latter being one of the species with the official name ‘capitaine’ – it seems reasonable to suggest that the blue-lined emperor was the species that Baudin’s crew was catching in numbers at the time. This is further supported by the fact that this species was the subject of a superb full colour painting by Lesueur, although the location of the capture of this fish was not recorded.

Lesueur’s wonderful painting of a blue-lined emperor, probably caught in Shark Bay. This is still the most common species caught by recreational anglers in that location. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76172.

Continuing the passage quoted above, Baudin provides a brief summary of their culinary experiences while camped in Shark Bay: During our stay ashore, our staple diet consisted of crabs, oysters, nerites [seasnails], spiny

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lobsters, fish and kangaroos. I found the dog-fish excellent when it was young and small and preferred it to the kangaroo, which was everyone else’s favourite.

Dogfish was the general term for any small shark. In Shark Bay, these are most likely to have been juvenile whaler sharks (family Carcharhinidae). While on Bernier Island, Peron had written that ‘the sea abounds almost beyond conception, from the whale down to the microscopic polypus’. However, from his perspectives, it would seem that those two ends of the spectrum, especially the ‘zoophyte’ end, were his only real interests, with fish unfortunately being largely ignored. After leaving Shark Bay to sail to Timor, Baudin records one more fishing foray while in Australian waters on this leg of his voyage. On 11 August 1801, just to the north of Broome, he writes: The rest of the night was spent fishing, but except for some mackerel, or, rather, mullet, we caught nothing. We attributed this poor luck to the strength of the current, which was sweeping the lines away.

There are, indeed, very high amplitude tides in that region, which would explain their relative lack of success. Like others before him, when Matthew Flinders visited the western Australian coast he headed directly for King George Sound, where he arrived in December 1801 in the Investigator after a long voyage from England. This was the beginning of Flinders’ planned circumnavigation of Australia, during which he was to carry out detailed survey work and ensure that his group of ‘scientific gentlemen’ would be enabled to carry out their studies along the way. On the day that the Investigator arrived at King George Sound, Flinders recorded that his men ‘killed a few seals’ (on the aptly named Seal Island) and that the next day they hauled the seine net for some fish. Peter Good, who had the job title of ‘gardener/ botanist’, wrote that ‘a boat went fishing and caught so many that they were served out to the Ships Company’, while the chief scientist, Brown (who was primarily a botanist), recorded that their catch included a ‘sparus’. As mentioned in the case of Menzies and his earlier description of two species of ‘Sparus’, coincidentally at King George Sound, at that time the genus Sparus was a catch-all classification for many kinds of fishes. Today, a ‘Sparus’ would be a member of the family Sparidae, and therefore be either a bream, snapper or tarwhine, but in this case, there is no way of knowing what Brown’s ‘sparus’ actually was since he offered no further description. Flinders’ expedition stayed in King George Sound for more than three weeks, but oddly, did not record any further information on fish of the area. Then, as they were about to sail along the south Australian coast, they took the opportunity to tow a net, and caught one of the most striking of Australian fishes. Flinders writes: It was not my intention to proceed immediately to sea; and I therefore took the opportunity

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of standing backward and forward in the Sound, with the dredge and trawl overboard; and a variety of small fish were brought up. These were of little use as food; but with the shells, sea weeds, and corals they furnished amusement and occupation to the naturalist and draughtsman, and a pretty kind of hippocampus, which was not scarce, was generally admired.

And regarding the same haul, Good noted: Trawled and caught a great variety of Fish some very curious in form – the Trawl also brought up a variety of marine plants and some Coral. Fish were served to the ships Company.

This mention of the ‘trawl’ is the only instance found of the use of this type of net being used on early voyages around the Australian coast. A trawl is a net towed behind a boat with the purpose of catching fish and mobile crustaceans. The simplest trawl net, a beam trawl, is usually spread by a stiff board across the bottom and the mouth of the net opened by floats along the top line. Other expeditions with scientific personnel used a dredge, which is a shovel-like implement dropped into the substrate and towed, or lifted. The purpose of a dredge is to sample the bottom (sand, gravel, mud, etc.) and whatever life it contains – usually worms, molluscs and other invertebrates. The pretty ‘hippocampus’ (another name for a seahorse) was subsequently described by Brown, and is readily identifiable as the common or weedy sea dragon, Phyllopteryx taeniolatus, found only in southern Australian waters. Bauer, the ship’s artist (or ‘draughtsman’, as Flinders called him), produced a stunning painting of a pair of these in swimming mode, showing the trailing weed-like appendages, and with the male carrying a clutch of eggs. For such a lifelike portrayal of these, and other small fish that Bauer painted during the voyage, it is likely he used a small glass-sided tank for viewing live, swimming specimens. Upon leaving the safe haven of King George Sound, Flinders provided a summary of their activities and observations. The refreshments we had procured were fish and oysters. The seine was frequently hauled upon the different beaches; but although it was done in the evening, round fires which had been previously kindled, little success was obtained in this way. With hook and line we were more fortunate, both alongside and from boats stationed off the rocky points; and the whole ship’s company had generally a fresh meal once in three or four days. Of oysters, as many were taken from the shoals in both harbours as we chose to spare time for gathering.

The beach seine net was used almost universally by crews of sailing vessels wherever they dropped anchor (provided suitable beaches were available). However, in this passage, Flinders makes the only reference in all of the journals covered to the use of the seine net ‘in the evening’, using fires to attract fish. The use of lights to attract fish to nets at night is commonly used in coastal fisheries that target small schooling fish (so-called ‘bait fish’), so Flinders or other crew members must have been aware of this method. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have been effective in this case, and it is not

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Ferdinand Bauer’s gorgeous painting of a pair of weedy seadragons, caught at King George Sound, the first anchorage of Matthew Flinders’ circumnavigation of Australia in the Investigator. Note the pink eggs being carried by the male (upper) fish. Natural History Museum, London.

mentioned again in Flinders’ journals for the rest of the voyage (although, of course, that does not mean it wasn’t employed again). In rounding off his summary of the fishing in King George Sound, Flinders mentions the two main types of fish that they caught there, albeit on handlines: The fish caught with hook and line were principally small mullet, and an excellent kind of snapper, nearly the same as that called wollamai by the natives of Port Jackson; but these were larger, weighing sometimes as much as twenty pounds.

Because they were caught on hook and line, the small ‘mullet’ may actually have been whiting. King George whiting are common in the area and would take a baited hook more readily than any of the species of mullet, with the possible exception of yelloweye mullet. Whiting are favoured since surveys of recreational catches in this place show that King George whiting constitutes a large component of the total catch. And as a matter of interest, the King George whiting was given that name by French naturalist Baron Georges Cuvier since the specimen he described was collected in King George Sound. The ‘excellent kind of snapper’ Flinders mentions can, on this occasion, be definitely identified as the pink snapper, Pagrus auratus. ‘Wollamai’ was the Sydney region Aboriginal name for this fish that Flinders would have known from his time in Port

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Jackson, so there can be no doubt that this was the fish he was referring to. It is also interesting that Flinders used the name ‘snapper’ – a term used by many others for fish that are difficult to determine, but which is clear in Flinders’ context. It would appear then that, at least by 1801, the name of the Australian ‘snapper’ had entered the fishing lexicon. A little over a year later, in February 1803, Nicolas Baudin, in the Geographe, preceded by the Casuarina captained by Louis De Freycinet, also arrived at King George Sound on the last leg of his epic voyage. This was about ten months after his encounter with Flinders off South Australia, after which he had sailed to Port Jackson for recuperation of his crew before sending the Naturaliste back to France and purchasing the Casuarina. He had then sailed south again, through Bass Strait and westward to King George Sound where the expedition rested for twelve days. During this stopover, the fishing was apparently excellent – perhaps better than at any other place they had cast their nets or lines. Baudin’s first mention of fishing there was on 20 February, around Seal Island, within the sound proper: The little boat, sent fishing on Vancouver’s Seal Island, returned with only eight or ten fish of the parrott-fish variety so far as the shape was concerned, but very good to eat.

These ‘parrot-fish’ must have been caught on handlines, and were very likely Maori wrasses, Opthalmolepis lineolatus, which Lesueur depicted in a detailed pencil drawing and also a finished waerolour painting. In the days that followed, fishing success was excellent: During our stay the boats caught a great number of very good fish and so we feasted ourselves well on them. The dog-fish, which are abundant, caused us to lose plenty of lines and hooks.

Lesueur’s finished painting of a Maori wrasse caught in King George Sound. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76306.

Dogfish (in French, ‘chien de mer’) was a term for any small shark. Vancouver had also found the sharks to be abundant in the same sound, but had blamed them on their lack of success in fishing for edible fish. To Baudin’s crew, they were also a nuisance for another reason, the loss of valuable fishing gear. Baudin continued to be

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impressed with their fish catches in the King George Sound environs. The crews of the two ships were being well fed and some of the sizes of the fish caught, no doubt by hook and line, were impressive enough to record for posterity: A boat that had been sent fishing on Bald Head [the southern headland of King George Sound] returned at sunset with some very fine fish and enough of them for two meals for the whole crew. There were plenty of snapper, one of which had such a strange head that I am having a drawing done of it. The fish itself weighed 15 pounds. Another somewhat like a tunny-fish without being of that species, weighed 37 pounds and will no doubt be good to eat. Several perch and bream were caught and they will be no less tasty.

Pencil sketch by Lesueur of a classic Australian ‘pink snapper’, almost certainly the fish that Baudin described as weighing 15 pounds and having a ‘strange head’ (the characteristic cranial bump that some adult snapper develop). Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76901.

The first illustration of a samsonfish. Drawing by Lesueur of a 37 pound specimen caught at King George Sound. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76246.

Here, Baudin mentions two fish of particular interest. Firstly, his ‘snapper’ with a ‘strange head’ is clearly the pink snapper, Pagrus auratus, since this fish develops a characteristic hump on the head as well as fleshy lips. And a pen drawing of a hefty snapper by Lesueur is very likely the one that Baudin ordered to be done – the first illustration of the species from the west coast, and a source of comparison of a true representation of this fish with the versions painted or drawn by John Hunter and George Raper in Sydney in the early days of settlement. (See Chapter 3) The second fish of interest is the one that Baudin thought looked ‘somewhat like a tunny-fish’, weighing 37 pounds. This is almost certainly the samsonfish (Seriola hippos), also identifiable in a drawing by Lesueur and ascribed to King George Sound. In the notes to this illustration, the name ‘Scomber’ is appended, which is the general name for tuna-like fishes (although the samsonfish is a member of the trevally family, Carangidae, clearly recognised by Lesueur’s annotation on the illustration by the words ‘Caranx leroux’ and ‘Caranx Lac’). The samsonfish is endemic to southern Australian waters and is considered a prime sportfish by recreational fishers. So good was the fishing during their stay in King George Sound that Baudin was

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concerned that his men were actually eating too much seafood! Line fishing from the ship was also producing big catches – sufficient to salt in barrels or dry in the sun for future consumption – something that very few other early expeditions managed to do. This rest was extremely pleasant for the crew, but harmful none the less for some of them who abused it by eating excessive amounts of fresh fish. Every day we caught very large numbers of mackerels on the lines along the ship; so much so, that even after our heavy consumption of them, we still salted several casksful. Just as large a quantity was dried, or, to be more exact, everyone built up an ample supply for the voyage. In this we were much luckier than Vancouver who, from his report, found very few during the season in which [he] charted this port [which was September 1791].

Perhaps Baudin was being rather ironic in his reference to Vancouver not being so ‘lucky’ in his fishing at King George Sound (Vancouver was not impressed with the fishing potential of the sound) although he does give his predecessor the benefit of the doubt by alluding to possible seasonal differences in fish abundance. The shipboard biologist Peron was also effusive about the fishing, in even more glowing terms (this was before Peron had visited Shark Bay for the second time). Of all the places where we have sojourned in New Holland, King George Sound is (after Shark Bay) the one that has provided us with the greatest abundance of fish. The species were not very varied, but they encompassed excessively large numbers of individuals. Amongst others, we caught a kind of mackerel – rather like the European mackerel, but much smaller – whose numbers alone would have sufficed for the needs of a considerable fleet. The other species belonged to the genera of spar, mullet, scorpion-fish, wrasse, boxfish, shark, balistes etc. An egg of a boneless fish [shark] struck me particularly by its extraordinary shape. The handsome weedy sea-dragon was found along these shores; we also saw rays, morays, pike etc. In a word, with regard to fishing and the resources that it can offer, King George Sound appeared, at the time we were there, to be one of the most valuable places that navigators can frequent in these regions. One could, if need be, do much salting of fish there.

In this passage, translated by Christine Cornell, Peron lists a number of specific types of fish. Some of these differ slightly from a translation of this passage by Edward Duyker. Peron, of course, was a biologist, so it is worth consulting his original French to try to determine exactly what fish he might have been referring to here. Peron’s original list is: ‘Maquereaux d’Europe, spare, mullet, scorpene, labre, ostracion, squale, balistes, etc. … Le beau syngnathe a banderole … des raies, des murenes, des esox etc.’ Duyker translated ‘scorpene’ as the sweep, whose Latin name is Scorpsis, but Cornell’s ‘scorpion fish’ is likely to be correct, since ‘scorpene’ does refer to that family of fish (Scorpaenidae). The most likely species in that case would therefore be the Western red scorpionfish, Scorpaena sumptuosa – the only member of the family that occurs in this region. The name ‘spare’ was not translated by either author, which is an important omission

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since this is almost certainly the pink snapper, a member of the Sparidae family, some of which were known by the French as spar or spare in Peron’s day. Even today, the very similar red sea bream, Pagrus major, is known by the French as ‘spare japonaise’. As already indicated, Matthew Flinders also definitely caught the same species at the same location, which is clear because he regarded it as being the same fish that the Aboriginal population of Sydney Harbour called ‘wollamai’, now known with certainty to be the pink snapper. The Australian blue mackerel (known colloquially as slimy mackerel), almost certainly the species referred to by Peron as being caught in large numbers in King George Sound. Illustration from F. McCoy, Prodomus of the Zoology of Victoria (1875–79).

Although it is uncertain from journal accounts what methods of fishing were being used, in this case Baudin made it clear that no fishing was attempted using the seine net in King George Sound since the bottom ‘shelved too steeply’. Therefore, it is safe to assume that all these catches were made using hook and line. After leaving King George Sound, the Baudin expedition then sailed northwards along the coast of western Australia, directly to Shark Bay, to visit this embayment for the second time (they had previously anchored there from late June to early August 1801). Approaching the entrance to the bay, on 16 March 1803 Baudin writes: During the morning we saw several tropic-birds and plenty of other sea-birds. We likewise saw our first flying-fish for a long time. We caught a medium-sized bonito – the only one of this kind that we have seen since the beginning of the expedition.

The ‘bonito’ would be a skipjack tuna, Katsuwonus pelamis, a prolific species of small tuna that must have been abundant in tropical waters at the time, and is still the basis of industrial-scale fisheries in both the Indian and Pacific oceans. Again, once they were safely anchored inside Shark Bay, fishing was high on the agenda. There may have even been some competitiveness among the crews of the fishing boats sent out to catch and then preserve fish. On 18 March, Baudin writes: Our little dinghy, which had spent its time fishing, was luckier than all the others, having obtained a full load of fine fish, most of which were what the sailors call the big-back [French: ‘gros dos’] and of which I have had a drawing done.

In this passage we have a good example of a common name of the time being used for a particular fish, but which is now very difficult to identify positively. Baudin notes that he had a drawing done of the species. Of all the fish from his expedition that have

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been positively ascribed to Shark Bay, and illustrated, none seems to be obviously a ‘big-back’, unless the sailors were referring to a species of ray at the time. This is quite possible since a number of species of large ray were recorded by Peron from Shark Bay. The anticipated large catches of fish were now sufficiently predictable for Baudin to decide more salt was required to preserve them. This was also during one of the hottest times of the year in this location, and fish would rapidly spoil if not salted. I sent my longboat ashore again under the command of Sub-lieutenant Bonnefoi. The purpose of this second voyage was not only to try and become acquainted with the natives, but also to employ the crew in obtaining salt for us by boiling sea-water in large cauldrons expressly prepared for this operation. Since the catches were good, I wanted to salt the fish from them, for they could not be kept twenty-four hours on account of the great heat.

Baudin was now sending the fishing dinghy out overnight so the catch could be salted in the morning before the heat of the day. So again, as was the case in King George Sound, quantities of fish were preserved by salting and subsequent drying: our small dinghy returned from fishing, as agreed, and brought us back such a great quantity of fish that after making liberal distributions amongst the whole crew we did not know what to do with the rest. We cleaned a fairly large number, sprinkled them with salt and then put them down to dry in the sun.

Perhaps looking forward to a change of diet, they were also keen to catch shellfish, but without much success: One of the mud-punts had gone off first thing in the morning to collect crabs, shell-fish and oysters. It returned at midday with a second load of fish, so plentiful were they, but found neither crabs nor shell-fish and only a few oysters in the shape of a cockscomb. We decided to cook the fish so as to be able to keep them for the following day.

During the expedition’s time in Shark Bay (16–26 March 1803), several parties of men headed off on various missions. Peron took two other scientists with him (Petit and Guichenot) to walk across the narrow neck of the dividing peninsula, now appropriately named Peron Peninsula, to explore the eastern part of Shark Bay (named Hamelin Pool, where Monkey Mia is now located). At the same time, Midshipman Joseph Ransonnet had taken a party to Faure Island to try to collect turtles for food. In an amazing coincidence, both groups had encounters with sharks, one of which has the distinction of the first recorded shark attack on a European in Australian waters – ironically and perhaps most aptly, in Shark Bay. The attack is recorded in Peron’s Journal, not first-hand but recounting Ransonnet’s account. The victim, the sailor Lefevre, had earlier saved Peron’s life off South Australia. The east side [of the island] is infested with sharks equally remarkable for their size and their voracity. One of these monsters almost devoured that same Lefevre who saved my life in the St Peter islands … He was already upside down, and the terrible shark was about to swallow

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him, when three other sailors, who had come to his cries, managed to pull him from the creature’s jaws. Enraged by the removal of its prey, the shark hurled itself several times at the sailor, succeeded in tearing away part of his clothes and only swam off after being wounded five times.

Baudin also made a brief entry in his journal about the incident. He noted that Ransonnet had had difficulty snaring turtles (only twelve had been caught), with the boats’ crews having to wade in water up to four feet deep to approach the turtles. Baudin observed that This made the operation very difficult and even dangerous, for one Lefevre was attacked by a large shark that he could not protect himself from until he had knocked it senseless and harpooned it.

There is no way of knowing what kind of shark this may have been. In any case, it was large, and had perhaps been attracted to the men because they had been harpooning turtles. Because it was a single shark, in the vicinity of turtles, my guess is that it was a tiger shark – the largest species of shark in the region, a known predator of marine turtles and still common in the same area. On the same or previous day, not very far away, Peron and his two companions were busily engaged in hunting for shells and other biological samples. They had become hot and tired from their walk across the burning sands, and had stripped off to wade into the crystal clear water to cool off. Peron paints the picture: By means of the flats, one could wade a long way out, the water scarcely reaching one’s knees; and it was sufficient (as it were) to plunge one’s hand into the sand in order to pull out the most beautiful shells. At the same time, various shoals of fish swam fearlessly around us. Amongst others, we could distinguish brilliant wrasse, singular chaetodon, sundry species of balistes, mackerel, ray and globe-fish and several sharks. One of these last came suddenly towards M. Petit who, in his fright, fired at the creature.

In this case, the shark was scared off by Petit discharging his weapon, and Peron seems to dismiss the incident as fairly trivial. However, this may be because the shot immediately attracted the attention of a group of fourteen Aboriginal men who appeared from around a point and chased the three partly clothed scientists along the beach. This incident was defused by the three Frenchmen turning around to face their pursuers and walking towards them. An adventurous day to be sure for the dedicated scientists in such a remote place. I will round off the fishing stories of the early explorers who visited the west coast of Australia with the journals of Phillip Parker King on his epic first voyage around Australia in the delightfully named vessel, Mermaid. King made his way into King George Sound, anchoring in Oyster Harbour from 21 to 31 January 1818. Like Flinders, he was not very successful with the use of the seine net there and also, like Baudin’s

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crew, had trouble with sharks taking fish off their hooks. Oyster Harbour is plentifully stocked with fish, but we were not successful with the hook, on account of the immense number of sharks that were constantly playing about the vessel. A few fish were taken with the seine, which we hauled on the eastern side of the small central island.

The fact that sharks were ‘playing around the vessel’ would strongly suggest that they were actively attracting sharks, presumably by their dumping offal and other food scraps over the side. The Port Jackson Aboriginal man, Bongaree, accompanied King on this voyage – the same Bongaree who had sailed with Flinders in 1802 and who was the first Aboriginal person to circumnavigate Australia. It seems he had lost none of his fishing skills during the intervening period. King records: Boongaree speared a great many fish with his fiz-gig; one that he struck with the boat-hook on the shoals at the entrance of the Eastern River weighed twenty-two pounds and a half, and was three feet and a half long.

It is hard to say what this fish may have been. Perhaps it was an Australian salmon, which at 10 kg would have been a very good specimen (the western subspecies is reported to grow to that size). King sailed the Mermaid out of King George Sound on 1 February 1818, headed around Cape Leeuwin and then northwards along the coast. They continued past Shark Bay, and did not make landfall until they reached a long peninsula of land now named North West Cape, rounded this point and on 10 February entered a large previously undiscovered gulf which he named Exmouth Gulf. Here he noted the stifling heat once in the lee of the cape, and also immediately noted the abundant marine life The sea swarmed with turtles, sea-snakes, and fish of various sorts; and the dolphin was eminently conspicuous for its speed, and the varied beauty of its colours.

Even though we automatically think of a ‘dolphin’ as the familiar marine mammal, in this passage King is very likely referring to the fish that also bears this name – dolphin

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fish or mahi mahi, Coryphaena hippurus. As already noted, English mariners tended to call true dolphins porpoises, while dolphin fish were simply called ‘dolphin’ (and still are by U.S. fishers). Importantly, in June that year King mentions porpoises and dolphins north of Barrow Island in the same paragraph. As well, the ‘varied beauty of its colours’ would not apply to the marine mammal, which are not at all colorful, but would certainly describe the dolphin fish – the most strikingly colorful of all pelagic fishes. Nearly 120 years earlier, William Dampier had been sufficiently aware of the confusion with the use of the name ‘dolphin’ that he had simple illustrations done of the mammalian dolphin (which his men, he noted, called ‘porpus’ [porpoise]) and the true dolphin fish. Once inside Exmouth Gulf, King continued to be impressed by the sea life. On 15 February, he noted that: The sea was abundantly stocked with fish and turtle, though it did not appear to be the season for the latter to lay their eggs. An immense shark was hooked, but it broke the hook and escaped: its length was about twelve feet, of an ashy-gray colour, spotted all over with darker marks; the belly was white, and the nose short; it was altogether different from any we had before seen.

This is an excellent description of a tiger shark (Galeocerdo cuvier), which would definitely have been the largest shark in the gulf at the time and still would be. King’s estimate of twelve feet long would equate with a weight of about 250 kg, which, while impressive to King, is only about half the size or less of the largest tiger sharks that would exist there. King continued to survey the gulf for another ten days, making one more entry regarding fish caught in the ‘Curlew River’, now the Ashburton River: The river appeared to abound in fish, but the only sort that was caught was what the sailors called cat-fish; they were of a nauseous taste.

These fish would probably have been fork-tailed catfish, Neoarius graeffei (known for some unknown reason in northern Australia as ‘blue salmon’) which are voracious and readily take baited hooks. In contrast to what King reported, they are now regarded as a reasonable table fish. King mentioned catfish again on his third voyage, still on the Mermaid. On 13 September 1820, on the Kimberley coast off Manning Peak, he simply noted that ‘Fish were plentiful, but principally of that sort which the sailors call cat fish; of these several were caught’. Phillip Parker King made four voyages, mainly surveying the northern and northwestern coasts of Australia. On the last of these epic trips he sailed north from Port Jackson in the ship, the Bathurst, again eventually visiting the Kimberley coast in July 1821. In the vicinity of Wyndham, he made a general entry about the sea life of the area:

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During the calm weather … we had seen many fish and sea-snakes; one of the latter was shot and preserved; its length was four feet four inches; the head very small; it had neither fins nor gills, and respired like land-snakes; on each scale was a rough ridge: it did not appear to be venomous. A shark was also taken, eleven feet long; and many curious specimens of crustacea and medusa were obtained by the towing-net.

How King would have determined whether or not his sea snake was venomous or not is not known. Perhaps he surmised this by its lack the classic pair of large front fangs of venomous land snakes. However, it is now known that all sea snakes are highly venomous, although the venom is injected via smaller teeth. Another large shark was caught, and again, from its size and location, the most likely candidate would again be a tiger shark. By late July 1821, King was in Prince Regent River, north of present-day Derby. He had seen a crocodile near the boat (which were invariably called ‘alligators’ at the time), observed porpoises (dolphins) well up the river, noted the abundance of mullet, and, like Banks and Flinders on the east coast, was fascinated by the semi-amphibious mudskippers, so much so that he shot several specimens! These fascinating little fish still abound on tidal flats all around the northern coast and any casual observer might be moved to write a similar passage to that penned by King at the time: A curious species of mud-fish (chironectes sp. Cuvier) was noticed, of amphibious nature, and something similar to what we have frequently before seen; these were, however, much larger, being about nine inches long. At low water the mud-banks near the cascade that were exposed by the falling tide were covered with these fish, sporting about, and running at each other with open mouths; but as we approached, they so instantaneously buried themselves in the soft mud that their disappearance seemed the effect of magic: upon our retiring and attentively watching the spot, these curious animals would re-appear as suddenly as they had before vanished … When sporting on the mud, the pectoral fins are used like legs, upon which they move very quickly; but nothing can exceed the instantaneous movement by which they disappear.

A few days later, King put his gun aside and ordered his men to haul the seine net in Hanover Bay, Kimberley coast. This time, they caught plenty of fish of many kinds: At night a successful haul of the seine supplied our people with abundance of fish, among which were mullets weighing from three to five pounds; cavallos, whitings, silver fish, breams, and two species of guard-fish.

Only the mullet is readily identifiable from this list, although these could be any one of several species in that area. The ‘cavallos’ would be a trevally of some kind, ‘whitings’ could be the yellowfin whiting (Sillago schomburgkii), ‘silver fish’ could perhaps be the silvery queenfish (Scomberoides sp.), ‘breams’ may be the northern pikey bream (Acanthopagrus berda), or even small barramundi (Lates calcarifer) and finally, ‘guardfish’ was the name used for needlefish or longtoms (family Belonidae) the largest of

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which occurring in this region is the hound fish, Tylosurus crocodilus. They made one more haul of the seine net in the same place (interestingly, like Flinders, at night), taking a modest catch of ‘about four dozen fish, principally mullet’ before upping anchor and sailing all the way to Mauritius. About five months later, King returned to Australia, again dropping anchor in King George Sound where many others before him had also visited. Here, he observed Aboriginal men spearing a young seal but the crew did not apparently haul nets or use handlines (or if they did, it was not recorded). King then took the Bathurst north, heading directly to Shark Bay, arriving on 20 January 1822. He immediately reconfirmed that the place was well named: We had not anchored five minutes before the vessel was surrounded by sharks, which at once impressed us with the propriety of Dampier’s nomenclature. One that was caught measured eleven feet in length but the greater number were not more than three or four feet long. They were very voracious and scared away large quantities of fish, of which, however, our people during the evening caught a good supply.

That sharks immediately approached the boat is again quite telling. Firstly, it indicates a large population of sharks in the bay, but it also means that the sharks were almost certainly habituated to sailing vessels, which they would associate with food, probably food waste and offal tossed overboard from preceding vessels at anchor. The largest shark was again very likely a tiger shark while the smaller ones (three or four feet long) would most probably have been juvenile whaler sharks (family Carcharhinidae). It seems that King was not so interested in fishing at this point in their voyage since there was an abundant alternative food source nearby. This was the egg-laying season for marine turtles, and they wasted no time in wreaking some havoc among the population: The next morning fifty turtles were turned, but as we could not convey them all on board forty were left on shore upon their backs for the night: upon landing the next morning they were all found dead, having killed themselves by their exertions to escape, and from their exposure to the heat of the sun which was so great during the day that I did not send any of the people on shore. We found, however, no difficulty in procuring more, some of which weighed four hundredweight.

While in Shark Bay, King also made some useful observations of edible molluscs, other invertebrates, including beche de mer (trepang) and a dugong, which he correctly identified, noting Dampier’s finding of one in the stomach of a tiger shark at the same location over 120 years before (although at the time, Dampier thought it was a hippopotamus). The shore of this bay is fronted by a rocky reef covered with shell-fish, of which the principal sorts were species of trochus, chama, conus, voluta, cypraea, buccinum, ostrea, mytilus, and patella; among the latter was the large one of King George’s Sound. Upon the beaches to windward of the cape we found varieties of sponge and coral; and beche de mer were

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observed in the crevices of the rocks but were neither large nor plentiful … A seal of the hair species, like those of Rottnest Island, was seen on the rocks, probably of the same description that Dampier found in the maw of the shark; and also what was found by the French on Faure Island [inside Shark Bay], which M. Peron supposed to be an herbivorous animal and described as a dugong.

And again, before leaving Shark Bay, King summarised their fishing exploits while there. Surprisingly, the species diversity of the catch appears to have been quite minimal: Of fish we caught only two kinds; the snapper, a species of sparus, called by the French the rouge bossu, and a tetradon which our people could not be persuaded to eat, although the French lived chiefly upon it. There are some species of this genus that are poisonous but many are of delicious flavour: it is described by M. Lacepede in a paper in the Annal. du Museum d’Histoire Naturelle (tome 4 page 203) as le Tetrodon argente (Tetrodon argenteus).

As noted previously, Flinders had, in 1801, used the term ‘snapper’ for what was definitely the pink snapper, Pagrus auratus, so it is quite likely that King’s ‘snapper’ is the same species (which would have certainly been relatively common in Shark Bay at the time). Adding further weight to this identification, the ‘bossu’ was a French term for an Atlantic sparid species, the pink dentex (Dentex gibbosus), which is almost identical in appearance to the pink snapper. The ‘tetradon’ would be a kind of toadfish or puffer fish, which were generally known to be poisonous. Considerably earlier (in 1772), Saint Aloüarn had written about toadfish being poisonous and to be avoided, so it is odd that King would have said that the French commonly ate them. It seems he thought that the species they caught would not be poisonous, and whether or not that was the case it is perhaps fortunate that he could not persuade his crew to try them. There is then a long hiatus in King’s journal regarding fish or fishing until March 1822 when, having explored the northwest coast as far as Cape Leveque and heading south to return to Port Jackson, he wrote that: we were accompanied by immense shoals of albicores (Scomber thynnus, Linn.) but they were of small size; very few measured more than twenty inches in length, and the average weight about ten pounds: The meat was very good and tender and as a great number of the fish were caught, proved a grateful relief to our salt diet … Tropic and other oceanic birds, some of a dark brown colour, hovered about us and were our daily companions, particularly the latter which preyed upon the small fish that were pursued by the albicores.

Although the use of the term ‘albacore’ by the English usually applied to yellowfin tuna (Thunnus albacares), in this case King calls them by an early scientific name for Atlantic bluefin tuna (now Thunnus thynnus). This strongly suggests that these were very likely southern bluefin tuna, Thunnus maccoyii – a species that would have been prolific in King’s day, but which was fished to dangerously low stock levels in the mid to late 1900s. The location of his observation would also fit well with what we now

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know of the life cycle of the southern bluefin, with small juveniles seasonally making their way down the western Australian coast at the time of year when King observed them.

Lower image: The first verified illustration of a southern bluefin tuna. It is very likely that this was the ‘albicore’ referred to by King off the west coast of Australia. F. McCoy, Prodomus of the Zoology of Victoria (1875–79).

6. Southern Waters The southern coast of Australia was a popular route to take for sailing vessels heading from the Indian ocean to the Pacific. More specifically, sailing in open water well to the south of the coast took advantage of prevailing seasonal westerly winds and was a fast and generally reliable passage. The first to take this route, Dutch seafarer Abel Tasman (and his crew) also became the first Europeans to set eyes on the southernmost tip of Australia. After sailing with two ships, the Zeehan and the Heemskerck, from Batavia to Mauritius in August 1642, he then tracked across the Indian Ocean, passing well to the south of the Australian continent (of which he was unaware), until, on 24 November 1642, he encountered the southern coast of Tasmania, naming it ‘Van Diemensland’. After a week of wary navigating around the rocky coast, he finally went ashore on a long sweeping stretch of beach he called Frederick Hendrik Bay (now Marion Bay) on the east coast of Tasmania. Unfortunately, his crew does not appear to have been successful in catching any fish. In his summary of reports made by those who went ashore, namely the mate, the major and the second-mate, Tasman noted: at the far end of the point, a great number of seagulls were seen as well as wild ducks and geese, but none were seen towards land, although they heard their various calls. They had found no fish, although different kinds of mussels clustered in different places.

It is not clear from this brief account whether they actively fished, although after such a long voyage it is likely that they might have been keen to haul a seine net or drop a line over the side. The Dutch certainly carried seine nets and hooks and line but the use of them during this Tasmanian landfall must remain unknown. Such was the prominence of the southeastern coast of Tasmania in subsequent voyages and the associated catches of fish, that we will now take a look at the earliest visits in sequence and examine what was caught by the crews of the various expeditions in the same general vicinities. It was another 130 years before the next European vessel reached the Tasmanian coast. This time, it was a French expedition led by Marc-Joseph Marion du Fresne. Commanding the vessels Mascarin and Marquis de Castries, his mission was to convey a Tahitian man, Aotourou, back to Tahiti (who had gone willingly to France with Bougainville). At the same time, the opportunity was to be taken to explore southern waters along the way. 139

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Some of du Fresne’s officers kept logs which have been translated by historian Edward Duyker, and from which can be gleaned some references to fish and fishing. In March 1772, on Maria Island, only a short distance from where Tasman had anchored in the 1640s, du Clesmeur wrote: The middle of the lake is nothing more than a sandbank on which the smallest boat would ground at low tide. We collected a good catch of shellfish and flat fish. Game-fish are common and easy to catch, except the large ones which are so fierce that they cannot be approached to be shot with bullets.

Duyker suggests that the ‘game-fish’ mentioned by du Clesmeur were large stingrays since other officers had mentioned catching large rays. However the French text in this case reads ‘le gibier de mer’, which translates not as ‘gamefish’ but as ‘game of the sea’, which is more likely to mean ‘seabirds’. Furthermore, du Clesmeur then writes that, while these were easy to catch, ‘les grands goziers’ were not, and had to be shot. ‘Grand gozier’ is an old French phrase for pelican (literally ‘large throat or gullet’), confirming that hunting seabirds was in fact the subject of the second part of this passage. Another officer, Julien Crozet, provides some additional information on fishing success at this location, listing a number of common names for some of the fish caught there: We caught catfish, red fish like gurnets, cod, wrasse, large numbers of very big rays, and many small fishes which were unknown to us. Our sailors caught many crayfish, lobsters, and very big crabs; the oysters were very good and abundant. The curious collected starfish, sea-urchins, scallops with long, spiny shells, wheels, olives and trumpets and several rare and very beautiful shells.

Again, Duyker provides the diary entry in French, from which we can gain additional insight into what these fishes might have been. ‘Catfish’ has been translated from the original ‘chats de mer’ (cats of the sea), which sounds perfectly reasonable except for a couple of points. Firstly, there is only one species of catfish in Tasmania, and that is quite rare. Secondly, according to the comprehensive ichthyological resource, fishbase.org, a ‘chat de mer’ is more likely to be a species of catshark, not a catfish. In English, the catfish is so named because of its sensory barbels, which look a little like cats’ whiskers, whereas the catsharks are so named because of their eyes, which are remarkably cat-like. The expected French name for what we would call catfish would be ‘barbotte’, or even ‘poisson chat’. So, if a catshark is in fact what Crozet was referring to, then the orange spotted catshark, Asymbolus rubiginosus, is the most likely candidate that would be caught at Maria Island.

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A late eighteenth-century engraving showing a catshark, ‘Le Chat-rouchier’ (bottom figure). This European species is similar to the Tasmanian spotted catshark and is likely to be the fish caught at Maria Island by Marion du Fresne’s expedition and referred to as ‘chat de mer’. From Bonnaterre, J., 1788. Julian Pepperell.

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‘Bars’ was another type of fish mentioned by Crozet but not translated in the above passage. This term simply means either ‘bass’ or perch and therefore may refer to the bass-like black bream, Acanthopagrus butcheri, although it could also mean any other fish that resembled the generic ‘bass’ shape such as one of the morwongs. The ‘cod’ of Crozet would be very likely one of the gadiform rock cods of Tasmania, which are related to the true cods of the northern hemisphere. Possible candidates would include the bearded rock cod, Pseudophycis barbata, which is common on exposed rocky reefs of southeastern Tasmania, as is the beardie, Lotella rhacinus. On the other hand, if this fish was caught in sheltered water it would most likely be the red cod, Pseudophycis bachus. In summary, the list of fish caught in this location is quite impressive. Allowing for some licence, it includes flounder, catsharks, wrasse, bream or morwong, rock cod, gurnards, large rays (probably the southern eagle ray, Myliobatis australis), and a number of others with which the French were unfamiliar. Only a year after du Fresne’s visit to Tasmania, an English voyager made landfall in the same general area. In February 1773, Tobias Furneaux, captain of the Royal Navy barque, HMS Adventure, the companion vessel to HMS Resolution on Captain James Cook’s second voyage to the Pacific, became separated from Cook in the Southern Ocean. Following a plan in case of separation, he sailed on to the east heading for a rendezvous with Cook in New Zealand. His course, though, took him to the southern tip of Tasmania, whereupon he sailed along the east coast until he found anchorage in a relatively sheltered bay on the eastern side of what is now Bruny Island. The bay is now named Adventure Bay, after his vessel, and it was to become a favoured haven for many seafarers who followed. As was usually the case when a good anchorage was found, Furneaux sent out a fishing party, the results of which did not impress him greatly. Fortunately, though, he gave an indication of the kinds of fish they did manage to catch. The fish in the Bay are very scarce; those we caught were mostly Sharks, Dog fish, and a fish called by the Seamen Nurses, they are like the Dog fish only full of small white spots, and some fish not unlike Spratts. The Lagoons (which are breakish [brackish]) abound with trout and several other sorts of Fish.

The late Gilbert Whitley, a fish taxonomist with the Australian Museum, took considerable interest in fish species likely to have been caught by the early explorers. In this case, he considered that the ‘nurses’ (a common name for various shark species) would most likely be the picked dogfish, Squalus acanthias (Koinga lebruni in Whitley’s day) which does have some white spots. However, the location of capture, the apparent large number of white spots on the body and their likely abundance at the time suggest that these were more likely to be gummy sharks, Mustelus antarcticus. Next, Whitely interpreted Furneaux’s ‘spratts’ as being the Australian sprat, Maugeclupea bassensis

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in his day, but now named Sprattus novaehollandiae. Politely disagreeing with Whitley again, I would consider that Furneaux’s spratt is more likely to be either the blue sprat, Spratelloides robustus, which occurs in shallow bays while Sprattus prefers deep water, or the anchovy, Engraulis australis, which is very common in bays and inlets of this region. On the other hand, I can fully agree with Whitley that the ‘trout’ would have to have been the native trout minnow or mountain trout, Galaxias truttaceus. This beautiful little fish grows to just 20 cm long, and although small closely resembles its larger relatives, the true trouts, which would have been familiar to any Englishman. The location of the catching of these ‘mountain trouts’ – the inlet and lagoon that runs behind Adventure Bay – would be a place that others in ensuing years would also have some success in catching the same species of fish. Today, this small brackish estuary is called Captain Cook Creek, not because of Furneaux’s connection to Cook, but because the great captain also briefly visited this same location on his third and final voyage in 1777. It is still a relatively pristine tidal creek, about 50 metres wide with one main branch and series of connected pools.

The native ‘mountain trout’ (Galaxias truttaceus), noted (and caught) by a succession of visiting mariners to the lagoon behind Adventure Bay. This painting is from the famous ‘Sketchbook of Fishes’ by W.B. Gould c. 1832. State Library of Tasmania.

Cook was again commanding HMS Resolution in 1777 this time, accompanied by the Discovery. On this, his third voyage, he visited Australia for the second time, but only Tasmania, and only Adventure Bay where he stayed for five days. On board was the ship’s surgeon William Anderson who, like other naval medical officers before him, showed considerable interest in the natural world. Anderson had been on the Resolution with Cook on his second voyage, and may have been mentored in biology at that time by father and son naturalists, Johann and Georg Forster. On approaching the Tasmanian coast, Anderson jotted down his observations of the marine animals he saw: In the day saw several Whales and Grampusses, two or three seals, some little Divers, a great number of Medusas heads which floated about, and a Shark of an uncommon size swam some time about the ship.

Of particular note is the large shark, which in these latitudes and with seals in the

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vicinity, was very likely a white shark, Carcharodon carcharias, in which case this would be the first European record of the species in Tasmanian waters. The whales may have been southern right whales (this was the right season for them to be in the area) while the grampuses were probably long-finned pilot whales. Anderson noted consistent good catches by the use of the seine net, and it also transpires that he was an angler who may have been the first to use a rod (and reel?) in Australian waters. Like Furneaux, he fished in the estuary behind Adventure Bay and also recorded the small trout there – the native trout minnow or mountain trout, Galaxias truttaceus: At the bottom of Adventure Bay is a beautiful sandy beach … This beach is about two miles long and is excellently adapted for hauling a seine, which both ships did repeatedly with success. Behind this is a plain or flat, with a salt or brackish lake running in length parallel with the beach, out of which we caught with angling rods many whitish bream and some small trout.

As well as the ‘trout’, Anderson also records for the first time the catching by angling of a type of ‘whitish bream’ which, because of its brackish habitat, is very likely to be the black bream, Acanthopagrus butcheri. As will be seen, ‘bream’ were to be commonly caught not only in this location, but in the general region by other voyagers. In summarising the zoology of the area during his five-day stay, Anderson provided some excellent detail on some of the common fish species they caught while in Adventure Bay. This is one of the best descriptions from this time and place, so it is worth quoting in full: The sea affords a much greater plenty and at least as much variety as the land. Of those, the Elephant fish which is the Pezegallo mention’d in Freziers Voyage page 121 are the most numerous, and excellent eating though inferior to many fish. Several large Rays, Nurses, and small leather jackets were caught and a few soles and flounders. Likewise some small white Bream which were firmer and better eating than those caught in the Lake, Gurnards of two sorts, a small spotted Mullet, and the Atherina hepsettus of Authors. But that next in number and superior in goodness to the Elephant fish were a sort that none of us had seen before. It partakes both of the nature of a round & flat fish having the eyes near each other, the head and fore part of the body brown sandy colour with rusty spots & whitish below. It seems to live in the manner of flat fish at the bottom, from the quantity of slime with which it is always cover’d.

In this passage we learn that the elephantfish, Callorhinchus milii, was the most abundant fish caught by seine net in the bay, while the second most abundant was a new species to Anderson, which he described sufficiently well to be able to make a positive identification. This is the first specific reference to an Australian flathead (notwithstanding Dampier’s illustration of a likely flathead off the west Australian coast in 1699 – see Chapter 5) and can even be identified as the common sand flathead, Platycephalus bassensis, the most

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common of Tasmania’s six species of flathead. Apart from the colouring mentioned by Anderson, the covering of slime (mucous) is characteristic of that species. In fact, a local name for the species is the slimy flathead. The small white bream, in this case, because they were caught in the sea, and differed from the bream in the lagoon, may have been the silverbelly, Parequula melbournensis. The two gurnards may have been the red gurnard, Chelidonichthys kumu, and the butterfly gurnard, Lepidotrigla vanessa, while the ‘small spotted mullet’ is most likely to have been juvenile Australian salmon (Arripis trutta). His Atherina species is possibly the hardyhead, Atherinason hepsetoides. The soles and flounders were likely species of Ammotretis and Rhombosolea while the rays, nurses and leatherjackets, although not being able to be specifically identified, give a good impression of the diversity of fish species in the bay at the time. On Cook’s third voyage in 1777 his surgeon, William Anderson, was the first to describe an Australian flathead in any detail – the common sand flathead caught at Adventure Bay. Illustration of a Tasmanian sand flathead from the ‘Sketchbook of Fishes’ by W.B. Gould, c. 1832. State Library of Tasmania.

The next European to go fishing in Tasmania, in August of 1788, and not coincidentally, at Adventure Bay, was none other than William Bligh. Like Cook, his foray in Tasmania was a prelude to an ensuing eventful voyage, when the famous mutiny on the Bounty took place. Bligh had in fact accompanied Cook on the Resolution in 1777 and knew Adventure Bay from that time. This time, his voyage on the Bounty took him from England directly to Tasmania, and thence to Tahiti, and was to continue to the Caribbean had it not been for the mutiny. Not that Bligh was thinking of such things as he sailed the Bounty into Adventure Bay. (Only a few months before, Arthur Phillip had established the first Australian colony at Sydney Cove, where Bligh would be appointed governor in 1806, only to be removed during the Rum Rebellion.) As soon as the Bounty was safely at anchor in Adventure Bay, Bligh had the seine net unpacked and in action the same day. However: ‘We had very little success in hauling the seine; about twenty small flounders, and flat-headed fish called foxes were all that were taken’. This specific mention of flounders suggests that these were most likely the greenback flounder, Rhombosolea tapirina, while the flat-headed ‘foxes’ must have been true flatheads,

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almost certainly the sand flatheads described by Anderson in 1777, when perhaps this nickname was applied and used again by Bligh. If so, it appears to be the last time it was used, in print at least. A couple of days later, Bligh made a note about the comparative merits of seine and handline fishing at this location: We had better success in fishing on board the ship than by hauling the seine on shore; for with hooks and lines a number of fine rock-cod were caught.

These rock cod were very likely the same as those mentioned by Marion du Fresne’s officers in the same general area in 1772, most likely the southern red codling, Pseudophycis bachus. Bligh took the opportunity to retrace his steps to the tidal brackish lake behind the beach at Adventure Bay, with a tidal rise and fall measured at two feet. He noted that it was fresh at low tide, but brackish at high tide. Like Anderson (who he may well have fished with at the same place in 1777), Bligh broke out his rod (as opposed to handlines) and on 27 August: We were fortunate also in angling in the lake having caught about a score of very fine Bream. These fish are very delicious and particularly those that are a size for frying.

These must have been the same species as caught by Anderson, and called ‘whitish bream’, and would almost certainly have been the black bream, Acanthopagrus butcheri. Brackish coastal rivers and lagoons are their natural habitat and they are still tremendously popular with anglers of the region.

The black bream of southeastern Australia. This illustration from McCoy’s Prodomus of the Zoology of Victoria, 1875–79. Quite possibly the earliest depiction of this species.

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Fishing must have been pursued with a fair amount of vigour, with catches from the seine net also improving. Shellfish were also on the menu, although it seems the crew may have overindulged. On 29 August, Bligh noted: We continued to catch fish in sufficient quantities for everybody and had better success with the seine. We were fortunate also in angling in the lake where we caught some very fine tench. Some of the people felt a sickness from eating mussels that were gathered from the rocks; but I believe it was occasioned by eating too many. We found some spider-crabs, most of them not good, being the female sort and out of season. The males were tolerably good and were known by the smallness of their two fore-claws or feeders.

Tench (Tinca tinca) are not native to Australia. They are cyprinid freshwater fish with a distinctive shape and fin arrangement, so it is very difficult to say what these may have been, although, given the brackish location, perhaps the most likely candidate would be the congolli, Pseudaphritis urvillii. Bligh left Adventure Bay on 4 September 1788 bound for Tahiti to pick up a load of breadfruit and take it to the Caribbean for planting. He never completed this voyage, however, since the famous mutiny took place in April the following year. Bligh must have had a soft spot for Adventure Bay. He returned there for the third time in February 1792 on the HMS Providence along with the tender, HMS Assistance. Accompanying Bligh on this occasion was Lieutenant George Tobin, who was not only a good observer and diarist but also, like Bligh, a keen angler. On 9 February, at anchor in Adventure Bay, he wrote: Close to the wigwam, abundance of small trout were taken with hook and line so there was no apprehension of famine … You must not doubt what has been said about Trout fishing at this distant spot. They rose with more eagerness than was ever the case at Guy’s hole, Dowses hatches or even Bowles’s broad; but not one reached a quarter of a pound weight so that there was no sport, as at your Grandfather’s, in playing them.

Again, the small ‘trout’ were no doubt the spotted trout minnow or mountain trout, Galaxias truttaceus. The Galaxids are distantly related to true trout and salmon but classified in a different order of fish. Tasmania is well known for great trout fishing these days, but the targets are true northern hemisphere trout, mainly brown and rainbow trout, which were not introduced to Australia, Tasmania included, until the second half of the nineteenth century. Bligh had found a fishing companion in Tobin, and it seems they were more interested in the sport of fishing than in catching a feed with the seine net. Bligh must have taken considerable delight in introducing Tobin to the lagoon behind the beach, where he had fished successfully before. Revealing that he used mussels as bait, he again had immediate success with catching bream It [the lagoon] abounds with Bream of which we caught seven in a few minutes with the hook

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and line baited with mussels. The largest fish weighed about a pound.

It is well known that mussels are excellent bait for black bream, so this tends to confirm that this was indeed the species caught in this spot. With the largest weighing less than 250 grams though, these were not big fish at all – black bream may grow to over 2 kg. Over the next few days, each evening Bligh, and presumably Tobin, went fishing to the lagoon behind the beach. He concentrated on fishing for the bream there, using rod and line and a float to suspend the bait above the bottom. He obviously enjoyed this fishing greatly, catching 21 in just one hour before sunset on one occasion. Others in the party also fished, and Bligh reported that Our people continued to catch Rock Cod alongside and the anglers in the lake caught many fine Bream, which may be considered among the richest fish we are acquainted with – some weighed 2 lbs.

The largest bream caught had increased to nearly a kilogram, while those fishing from the Providence at anchor in Adventure Bay, some distance from shore, were catching mainly rock cod, one of several species of gadiform fish common in these waters to this day.

An historic scene at Adventure Bay painted on the spot by George Tobin in 1792. In the background are the ships Providence and Assistance. In the left foreground is a man holding a fishing rod, possibly William Bligh himself. This painting is thought to be the first to depict angling in Australia. State Library of New South Wales.

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The frequency of visits to Tasmania by European vessels was not about to slow down. Just two months after Bligh departed in the Providence, another French expedition arrived in southern Tasmania. Commanded by Joseph-Antoine Bruni d'Entrecasteaux (the General), two ships, Recherche, captained by d’Auribeau and Esperance, captained by Jean-Michael Huon de Kermadec arrived in April 1792 at the southwestern tip of Tasmania. They made their way to the east, where two bays were named after their ships, Recherche Bay on the southeastern tip of Tasmania, and Esperance Bay (now Port Esperance) on the Tasmanian mainland west of Bruny Island. D’Auribeau and Kermadec, as well as several other officers, made observations of the visit in their journal. As was the usual case following a long voyage, fishing was one of the first activities to be undertaken. On 22 April 1792, the day after anchoring in Recherche Bay, d’Auribeau recorded a successful first fishing foray: We sent out a party to fish in the cove opposite us and they caught enough fish to give to all the crew. The quality was in general good.

Entries recording fish catches were then made by d’Auribeau on 25 April, 26 April and 6 May in which he first noted that fish were ‘not very abundant in the basin’ but that the hauls on each occasion were sufficient to supply the crew (of at least the Recherche, presumably) with a meal. D’Auribeau’s opinion of the supply of fish to be had in the area improved considerably, so much so that in summarising the fish and fishing, he wrote: I do not believe that it would be possible to find an anchorage where the fish were more abundant than in the basin we were. There is no doubt we would have had enough to feed the whole crew every day if we had been able to allocate a man from each watch for fishing with the line. The quality of the fish caught in this way from on board was very good and tasty, comprising mullet, mackerel and a kind of trout. When the duties on board allowed us to send a boat with the seine outside the basin and close to the bay in the south-west, it always returned with a very large catch which included many different species. The majority, however, were plaice or a species of sole, sea crayfish, conger eels and so on. Moreover, the naturalists will know in more detail the different species which were to be found and which were unlike those of Europe. There were also to be found in the eastern part of the basin a large quantity of such shellfish as oysters and mussels, which were of excellent quality. The fish are in fact so abundant at this anchorage that in spite of the principal occupations from which we could not divert attention, many of those on board have been able to catch enough to salt quite a large quantity.

This is one of the first references to mullet by Europeans, which, because they were caught ‘on board’, that is, by fishing with hook and line, were almost certainly the yellow-eye mullet, Aldrichetta forsteri (other mullet species feed on organic detritus and are not prone to taking baited hooks). The mackerel referred to would be blue

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mackerel, Scomber australasicus, while the ‘trout’, because of the location, is likely to be the Australian salmon, Arripis trutta, rather than the Galaxids caught by earlier fishers in the tidal creek and lake behind Adventure Bay. A little later, reference was made to the ‘salmon-trout’ of Cook, which would certainly be the Australian salmon (not a true salmonid, by the way, but a native fish bearing some superficial resemblances to the trouts and salmons of Europe). D’Auribeau also makes mention of a flatfish species (perhaps the most common Tasmanian flounder, the greenback flounder, Rhombosolea tapirina) conger eels, which are most likely the southern conger eel, Conger verreauxi, and the sea crayfish, the southern rock lobster, Jasus edwardsii. Perhaps not surprisingly, d’Auribeau’s opinions on fishing success were echoed by his fellow captain, Huon de Kermadec. In his words: Fish abound to such an extent in this bay and in all the surrounding sea that one can be sure, whether one fishes with a line or with the seine, of being able to provide for the crew every day at discretion. All the boats we sent out fishing during our stay of twenty-four days at this anchorage have always brought back a large quantity of all species of fish. Above all we caught many small cod in the bay, a species of mackerel whose flesh I thought even more delicate, elephant fish, scads, large mullet, trout, rays, small soles and excellent crayfish and others. There are three different species of sharks, the largest of which resembles ours in size and length but whose flesh is less oily and of a better taste according to the sailors who ate them, often in preference to other fish. I will restrict myself to speaking about the number of forms and their variety because their enumeration belongs rightly to the scientists. I will only say that in the large quantity of those we ate we did not find a single venomous fish, that the crew could not eat enough of them and that fishing was a great help to us. Without even leaving the anchorage we were able to catch prodigious quantities of fish and all those who wanted to amuse themselves with fishing lines over the sides of the ships were sure to reap a reward. The second kind of fishing, which never provided the daily rations we gave regularly to the crew, was nevertheless quite sufficient to be able to furnish for each a provision of salted and dried fish, and during the last days of our stay they hung up as decorations all round the rigging.

Kermadec adds some other species to the variety caught in Recherche Bay and the main channel. These are cod (beardies?), elephantfish, scads (probably yellowtail, Trachurus novaezelandiae) and rays. He also records tasty sharks, two of which are likely to have been school and gummy sharks. It is also noteworthy that much of the catch was taken by hook and line from the ship, although seining was also very reliable. Their catches were so large, in fact, that they were able to salt and dry some of it to add to their shipboard provisions. Perhaps oddly, preservation of surplus fish catches seems to have been rare in the records of any of the early European voyagers in Australian waters, indicating either that catches were rarely prodigious, or perhaps that when preservation was done it was not of sufficient interest to mention. After leaving Recherche Bay, the two ships sailed leisurely up the channel between

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Bruny Island and the Tasmanian mainland (appropriately, d’Entrecasteaux Channel). They anchored off a sweeping bay on the western side of Bruny Island (present day Simpsons Bay), separated from Adventure Bay by a narrow ridge. During this short voyage, Kermadec noted ‘While traversing the strait we have not caught any other sorts of fish than those we found at the port’. Unfortunately, though, he does not elaborate on what kinds of fish these might have been. Having then sailed all the way to Batavia, and then to southwestern Australia and along the southern coast of the continent, d'Entrecasteaux’s ships made a second visit to Tasmania in January 1793. Not surprisingly, they again headed straight to Recherche Bay, staying in the area for three weeks. With their previous success in mind, they again fished with both seine net and hook and line, one of the officers of the Esperance, Pilot Raoul, noting that ‘we had usually enough fish each day to make it unnecessary to issue more than a small quantity of salt meat’. Raoul also described a method that they devised for catching the prolific crayfish that abounded there: At one place about a hundred lobsters were taken by means of a kind of net made up of three circles and some rods, the whole thing being in the form of a barrel. The fish entered the two ends, and by this method they could be captured and later removed.

In the next passage, Raoul describes a scene that is perhaps the idyllic fishing paradise that many have in their minds when imagining what it must have been like to fish in virgin seas: We set baited lines to take other kinds of fish, as many as twenty and sometimes more of the larger quantity that are bottom dwellers; but they are found only near a rocky bottom and associated with or among the large seaweed with which a part of these bays is filled. From the moment our fishermen began to catch these lobsters with their lines, they had no chance of catching all other species of fish, for they hadn’t time to take the bait. This shows the importance of the nature of the bottom, where all the fish caught here live, together with a small reddish species of cod which we caught at night near the weed. It is in general particularly good.

Here, Raoul is confusingly using the word ‘fish’ to mean crayfish in some instances and finfish in others. He makes the point though that the crayfish were only found in quite specific habitats (rocky bottoms with kelp), where also, a species of reddish cod was mainly found. This would likely be the red cod, Pseudophycis bachus. The two ships made their way around the northern coast of Bruny Island, entering Adventure Bay on 22 February 1793. Again, a seine netting party was sent out and At 4 pm, everyone having returned to the ship, the crew had their supper. The dinghy which had been away fishing returned fully laden, but nearly all the fish were of inferior quality, a sort which the crew called hottentots.

Here again we come across a common name for a species of fish that is used by the sailors. In

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fish terms, ‘hottentot’ appears in fishbase.org as a French name for an African member of the bream/snapper family (Sparidae), Pachymetopon blochii. This species closely resembles the Australian black bream, Acanthopagrus butcheri, so it is more than likely that these were the fish caught in large numbers that day. Oddly though, they were considered ‘inferior’ whereas Bligh had found the presumed black bream that he had caught in the same area delicious. Perhaps the French were spoiled for choice. Towards the end of their stay, it seems that interest in fishing was waning, as indicated by the Recherche journal for 23 February: The dinghy returned from fishing with a small catch, not having enough men to cast the seine. One cannot help observing in this regard how few of the crew show any keenness to catch fish, and in general, to attend to their duties strictly … Their attitudes The French seamen with d’Entrecasteaux on his second visit to Tasmania point to fear for the future, a view (1793) found the southern rock lobster so numerous in Recherche Bay that they devised a simple trap for catching up to 100 at a time. This beautiful illustration which one hopes is mistaken. is from McCoy’s Prodomus of the Zoology of Victoria, 1875–79.

Three days later, on their last day in Adventure Bay, they made one final fishing foray, and a highly successful one at that: At 7 pm we took the large dinghy on board, the little one remaining in the water to go out fishing that night with the seine. They made a very large catch of delicious fish, particularly a species which Mr. Cook called Salmon Trout.

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This large catch can only be the Australian salmon, Arripis trutta. These days this species is generally regarded a poor eating fish, largely because it does not keep well after capture. But when eaten fresh, as was obviously the case on the French ships anchored in Adventure Bay, it is perfectly acceptable. The legendary explorers/surveyors, Matthew Flinders and George Bass, made two voyages to Tasmania, both in 1798. The first of these was on board the schooner Francis, to search for the wreck of the Sydney Cove, and the second, on the Norfolk, to determine whether or not a strait existed between Tasmania and the mainland. On the first voyage, they departed from Port Jackson in the Francis on 1 February and reached the Furneaux Islands on 25th. Flinders made some detailed notes on the seabirds seen there, and noted briefly: ‘Fish were not plentiful, but some were taken with hook and line from the rocks’. The second voyage on the Norfolk departed from Sydney in September 1798. On the way, they were forced by the weather to seek refuge in Twofold Bay, near Eden, on the far south coast of New South Wales (see Chapter 4). On this voyage, Flinders did indeed prove that Tasmania was an island by completing its circumnavigation. He and Bass were focused on this mission and had little need or inclination for fishing, making only a passing reference to an abundance of mussels in the Tamar River: Neither our wants nor leisure were sufficient to induce any attempt to catch fish. Muscles were abundant upon those rocks which are overflowed by the tide; and the natives appeared to get oysters by diving, the shells having been found near their fire places.

These lesser voyages by Bass and Flinders were important, but Flinders’ major achievement was to come several years later when he and his crew on the Investigator became the first to circumnavigate Australia. Having returned to England to prepare for this voyage, Flinders sailed from Portsmouth in July 1801 and dropped anchor in King George Sound, near present-day Albany, in December. This was to be a detailed survey of the Australian coast, and the ship’s company of 88 included various experts in their fields. These included a ‘master landscape painter’, William Westall, a ‘naturalist’, Robert Brown and ‘other gentlemen’ including the great natural history painter, Ferdinand Bauer. This educated group was referred to by Flinders as the ‘scientific gentlemen’. On the voyage, at least to Port Jackson, Westall painted many landscapes, the locations of which are still recognisable. More pertinent to this book though are the fish paintings of Bauer, all of which are exquisite in their detail. Their fishing experiences in King George Sound are covered in Chapter 5, so we pick up with Flinders coasting along the southern coastline of the continent. After leaving King George Sound, Flinders’ next port of call was about 200 nautical miles to the east, near the site of Esperance. There, while anchored in Lucky Bay, they had an encounter with large sharks, quite probably attracted by seals that they had

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recently killed. On 12 January 1802 Flinders writes: Several seals were procured on this and the preceding day, and some fish were caught alongside the ship; but our success was much impeded by three monstrous sharks, in whose presence no other fish dared to appear. After some attempts we succeeded in taking one of them; but to get it on board required as much preparation as for hoisting in the launch. The length of it, however, was no more than twelve feet three inches, but the circumference of the body was eight feet. Amongst the vast quantity of substances contained in the stomach was a tolerably large seal, bitten in two, and swallowed with half of the spear sticking in it with which it had probably been killed by the natives. The stench of this ravenous monster was great even before it was dead; and when the stomach was opened it became intolerable.

Peter Good’s account differed slightly with respect to the number of prey items: ‘on board they caught an enormous shark with the Carcass of two Seals almost entire in its stomach in one of which was found a piece of natives spear’. The location of the incident together with the size and the diet of the sharks leaves no doubt that these were great white sharks, Carcharodon carcharias. The one captured, measuring 12 feet 3 inches overall, or 3.73 metres, would have weighed about 700 kg, probably more with one (or two) seals inside its stomach. This is an adult sized white shark, although less than half the weight of the heaviest recorded (caught off Albany, Western Australia).

The first illustration of a white shark in Australia. White sharks were seen by many early mariners along the coast of southern Australia. From F. McCoy, Prodomus of the Zoology of Victoria, 1875-79.

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The killing of seals here (and a little earlier at King George Sound) is mentioned in passing by Flinders, but is important since it indicates that seals were being used as wild-caught food, and were presumably quite easy to obtain. This would have eased the need to catch large quantities of fish to supplement food intake of the ship’s crew, resulting in less sorties with the seine net and therefore, fewer reports on fish abundance. For the next several weeks, the Investigator continued to sail eastwards along the coast, taking the opportunity to drop a baited hook over the side when conditions allowed. On 17 January, somewhere in the Great Australian Bight, Flinders noted: During the night … there was no current or set of tide past the ship. Every thing was kept prepared for getting under way at a moment's notice; but the wind blew gently off the land, and the people of the watch occupied themselves successfully in catching dog-fish.

‘Dogfish’ was a general term for any kind of small shark, in this area quite possibly gummy or school sharks. Fishing with handlines from sailing vessels was certainly a common occurrence on many of the voyages, but usually only when at anchor, becalmed, or moving very slowly. The method of towing a lure behind a moving vessel, known as ‘trolling’, does not seem to have been practised very much at all. Joseph Banks was intrigued by the opalescent shell lures used in this way by Tahitians, and he did use this method on occasion, but it is simply not mentioned by any of the many journal keepers sailing Dutch, French or English ships. Continuing eastwards, Flinders’ next entry regarding fishing was brief. On 28 January, off Fowlers Bay, a little to the west of present-day Ceduna, he noted: Two teal were shot on the beach, whence it seemed probable that some lake or pond of fresh water was not far distant; a sea-pie and a gull were also shot, and a few small fish caught alongside. These constituted everything like refreshment obtained here, and the botanists found the scantiness of plants equal to that of the other productions; so that there was no inducement to remain longer.

Again, opportunities to supplement on-board provisions following their long voyage from England were being taken at every opportunity. Flinders seems disappointed with the small catch of fish, although these were still being caught by handline off the ship itself, with no mention of sending fishing parties ashore for seining. Landing parties did go ashore, though, but mainly to hunt kangaroos and gather nestling petrels in their burrows. The latter (so-called ‘mutton birds’) were found to be prolific and a major source of food. On 4 February, on the Isles of St Francis, off Ceduna, petrel was on the menu of all on board, but fish were sadly lacking. Flinders writes: A party was sent on shore at dusk to collect petrels, and in less than two hours returned with sufficient to give four birds to every man in the ship. Early in the morning the boats were again sent upon the same errand, and to haul the seine; but the birds were gone off to sea for the day, and no fish were caught. A small kangaroo was brought off, as also a yellow snake, which was the second killed on this island.

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Fishing continued to be patchy but that didn’t seem to be a problem since petrels were easy to find (so much so that the name Petrel Bay was bestowed on one spot in the Isles of St Francis). The birds, though, were not the most considered gourmet fare: A boat was sent to fish with hook and line, and had some success; and at dusk a sufficient number of sooty petrels were taken from the burrows to give nine to every man, making, with those before caught, more than twelve hundred birds. These were inferior to the teal shot at the western Isle of St. Peter, and by most persons would not be thought eatable on account of their fishy taste, but they made a very acceptable supply to men who had been many months confined to an allowance of salt meat.

Two weeks later, the Investigator was in the general vicinity of the Eyre Peninsula near Port Lincoln where a cutter was sent with eight men on board to look for fresh water. Unfortunately, the boat was lost and none of the men was seen again. No doubt, Flinders was very upset at the loss of the men, and they searched day and night for any sign of them. The presence of sharks was a constant worry in the area and at this particular place, named by Flinders Cape Catastrophe. On 23 February he wrote: The recovery of their bodies was now the furthest to which our hopes extended; but the number of sharks seen in the cove and at the last anchorage rendered even this prospect of melancholy satisfaction extremely doubtful.

Food was still required though, and on the next day, their best haul of fish was made in a bay named Memory Cove after the loss: Before quitting Memory Cove a boat was sent to haul a seine upon the beach, which was done with such success that every man had two meals of fish and some to spare for salting.

Considering that at the time there would have been 74 men on board, this must have been a good haul, perhaps as much as 150 kg of fish. Frustratingly, on this, and many other occasions, Flinders did not record the types of fish caught, so we are left to speculate on what these might have been. If they were all the same species, and caught in a school, they most likely would have been either mullet, King George whiting or Australian salmon. During the following month, Flinders surveyed Spencers Gulf, but made no entries about fish. He then sailed to the shallow waters at the head of St Vincent’s Gulf where he noted: ‘These flats abounded with rays; and had we been provided with a harpoon, a boat load might have been caught’. From as early as the records of Dampier on the west coast and Cook and Banks at Botany Bay, stingrays certainly seem to have been common in most shallow areas where these early vessels ventured. It was not long after his survey of St Vincent’s Gulf that Flinders virtually bumped into the French expedition of Nicolas Baudin, who was also surveying the same region. The meeting took place on 8 April 1802, just south of the site of Victor Harbour, at

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the location appropriately named Encounter Bay. The voyages of Baudin around the Australian coastline, and their references to fish and fishing are outlined further in this chapter and in Chapter 5. After leaving Encounter Bay, Flinders sailed through Bass Strait and on to Port Jackson without spending much time in surveying, or any time fishing. He does, though, make one ‘fishy’ allusion about a land feature they passed. This was ‘Cape Wollamai’ (now spelled Woolamai), a prominence on the east of Phillip Island at the mouth of Western Port, Victoria. Flinders makes a special note of why his friend, George Bass, gave the landmark this name: Wollamai is the native name for a fish at Port Jackson, called sometimes by the settlers lighthorseman, from the bones of the head having some resemblance to a helmet; and the form of this cape bearing a likeness to the head of the fish, induced Mr. Bass to give it the name of Wollamai.

The wollamai is, of course, the Australian fish, the pink snapper, Pagrus auratus – such an important fish of both the Aboriginal inhabitants and settlers of Port Jackson. From this point, Flinders headed north to Port Jackson and, after a short stay, on to complete his circumnavigation of the continent. The fish and fishing references of those sections of his voyage are covered in Chapter 4. As already noted, at the same time that Flinders was plying the southern ocean, so too were two French vessels, the Geographe and the Naturaliste, commanded by Nicolas Baudin. They had sailed across the Indian Ocean from Mauritius, visiting Geographe Bay in May 1801 before heading north to Shark Bay (see Chapter 5). Baudin had then sailed to Timor where he stayed for three months before setting sail again on 13 November 1801. Two months later, after sailing wide of the western and southern Australian coasts, he reached his destination of Tasmania – d’Entrecastreaux Channel to be exact – on 13 January 1802. The expedition spent the next two months in Tasmanian waters, making quite a number of observations on fish and other marine life. Two days after arriving, Baudin sent his boats out to fish with the ‘draw-net’ (a standard beach seine net) but without much success: At one o’clock one of the boats came back with a few fish of the plaice and ray varieties. The catch had been very small.

Fishing continued in the days that followed, again with limited success, but on one occasion, on the shores of Bruny Island, the men netted a curious fish that grabbed the attention of Baudin, the scientists and the artist, Charles Lesueur. When everything was done, I sent some men off to cast the draw-net in a pretty little bay with a sandy beach, about 1 mile from the ship. It looked to me to be most suitable for fishing and lay on the starboard coast, that is, the northern part of Bruny Island … The fish were not very plentiful, but a few that were caught were of very good quality, as were the lobsters

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… Amongst the fish, there is a little one which is rather unusual in that its foremost fins are exactly like hands, and that it uses them for clinging to rocks when it is out of water.

While the edible catch in this passage is of interest, especially the mention of lobsters (crayfish), the more important aspect is the first recording of a fish that is entirely endemic to Tasmania – the delightful spotted handfish, Brachionichthys hirsutus. This species was once common in the lower Derwent estuary, but is now listed as endangered, thought to be mainly due to an introduced starfish, the northern Pacific star, that feeds on its egg clusters. Lesueur produced an unfinished painting of the handfish which is not especially accurate, but in contrast, his pencil drawing of perhaps the same individual is superb. The handfish is a type of angler fish. Its long appendage on its ‘nose’ is a modified dorsal fin spine, called the illicium, which is used to attract prey.

The two illustrations of the spotted handfish rendered by Charles Lesueur at Bruny Island. The top painting is not complete, indicated by the pencilled illicium and pelvic fins. It is also anatomically inaccurate compared with his pencil drawing that includes annotated fin-ray counts. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76721 (coloured) and no. 76757 (pencil).

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Perhaps the fishing crews were becoming more familiar with local conditions, since they began to make better catches. On 24 January, Baudin records that The boat that had been out fishing from four in the afternoon until nine at night brought back enough fish for the whole crew to have some. The largest were rays and spotted dogfish; the rest were plaice, perch and a type of mullet which, after tasting, we judged to be the best of all.

Considering the time and the location, the rays were possibly stingarees (Urolophus cruciatus), the spotted dogfish would no doubt have been gummy sharks (Mustelus antarcticus), the plaice, a kind of flounder, the perch, perhaps the jackass morwong (Nemadactylus macropterus), and the mullet, most likely the yelloweye mullet, Aldrichetta forsteri. On 1 February, Baudin decided to go on a fishing trip himself. He took a crew of ten to twelve men to haul the ‘draw-net’, but he also remarked that he wished to make some personal observations of the local inhabitants. They had barely cast the net when sixteen Aboriginal people appeared (four of whom were adult men and two adult women). Baudin describes the interaction that then took place: There were no bounds to the delight of the children and even the grown men when they saw the fish caught in the net. Their capers and exclamations showed plainly how pleased they were. We offered to share our catch with them, but they would accept nothing, making signs that they did not eat fish, but only shell-fish or crustacea.

This passage is of historic significance since it is a first-hand account of Aboriginal Tasmanians apparently having an aversion to eating finfish. Records of finfish and shellfish bones in middens from northern Tasmania strongly suggest that fishing for finfish ceased between 3800 and 3500 years ago. Why this might be the case is unknown. Some other early accounts by European visitors also lend support to this apparent cultural practice, although some recent authors contest whether this was a universal custom throughout Tasmania at the time of first European contact. Baudin’s next journal entry regarding fishing was two weeks later (7 February), and again, his interest was sparked by another strange species of fish caught in the channel: Our boat’s catch was fairly good. Among the fish caught were three of the type that Anderson calls elephant fish. No doubt this naturalist gave them that name on account of the trunk that hangs from the tip of their snout. His description of them did not seem very accurate to our naturalists. Attached to the underside of one of these three fish were two things that are most extraordinary and that I shall do my best to preserve. The material that they are made of is solid, which allows us to hope for the best.

Baudin was referring here to William Anderson, the surgeon who was with Cook when he visited Adventure Bay in 1777. Elephantfish, Callorhinchus milii, appear to have been quite common in the waters of southeastern Tasmania – William Bligh even drew one during his visit to the same region in 1792. The ‘two things’ underneath one

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of the elephantfish must be the paired copulatory ‘claspers’ of a male fish, and while these are also found on sharks and rays, Baudin may not have been aware of this. It is interesting that Baudin was not a naturalist, or a ‘savant’ as the scientists on board were called, and while there was constant friction between himself and Peron in particular, he still took considerable interest as a layman in various interesting finds along the way. Lesueur’s lovely drawing of an elephantfish, and his detail of the underside of the head, was very likely one of the three caught on this day. And showing that taste is on the tongue of the taster, Baudin subsequently reported that he and the crew preferred the flavour of rays and flounder caught in these waters to that of the elephantfish: None of us agreed with Mr Anderson’s opinion of the fish, that he called the elephant fish, but which is more commonly known as the Antarctic chimaera. He says that it was the best of all those caught during his sojourn in Adventure Bay. According to us, it is, on the contrary, the poorest of all the fish we found at the end of the channel and in the bay.

Illustrations of the southern elephantfish commonly caught in Tasmania by early expeditions. Top: painting (1803) by Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76734, bottom: William Bligh’s rather naïve painting completed in 1792 at Adventure Bay. State Library of New South Wales.

Fishing continued quite regularly during February. Line fishing was proving to be more reliable than hauling the seine net, with Baudin reporting on one occasion that

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I sent two boats out fishing, one with the net and the other with lines. The latter was much more successful than the little dinghy, for it caught enough for all the crew to have some. It is barely worth the trouble to say what the net caught.

Perhaps there was some rivalry developing between the net fishers and the line fishers. Several days later, Baudin writes: I then decided to send a boat out with the net and another with lines. The catch was fairly abundant, and besides fish, we caught a hundred or so crabs of the spider-crab variety.

This was a fortuitous catch of the large, deep sea spider crab, Leptomithrax gaimardii. These normally dwell in much deeper water, but seasonally come into shallow waters in very large numbers to feed and to breed. Before leaving Tasmania to continue their voyage, Baudin made one brief comment summing up his opinion of the relative richness or otherwise of the waters with respect to fish, a view in stark contrast to that of d’Entrecasteaux’s officers eleven years earlier: In general, this whole coast is poor in fish; at least we find it so, judging from our vain attempts to catch some.

The naturalist, Francios Peron, was very active during the expedition’s stay in Tasmania, especially around Maria Island. Some of his general observations on marine life are of considerable interest. For example, on Maria Island he noted that, although seals were plentiful, he found it ‘impossible’ to obtain a single specimen. The remains of whales, however, ‘littered’ the entire shore ‘at the head of the eastern bay’. This indicates that there may have been a mass stranding at this place not long before they arrived. Maria Island and nearby Marion Bay are notorious locations for repeated mass whale strandings, mostly of the long finned pilot whale, Globicephala melas. The most recent in 2005 when 70 were stranded there. Peron wrote specifically about all aspects of biological sampling on Maria Island, including, of course, fish. In his summary, written in February 1802, Peron detailed some of these observations (later translated by Plomley et al.). I have included the current ‘official’ common and Latin names for the fish in square brackets. Apart from the fact that there generally appeared to be fewer fish along the coast than in D'Entrecasteaux Channel, the impossibility of using the seine (because of the nature of the bottom) meant that I could not examine many species of them. The few that I was able to see also belonged to those species that I had already observed in the North West. The commonest on Maria Island were that species of Cottus that I have described under the name of Cottus dupetithouardii, [this is the dragonet, Bovichthys variegates] the spotted dog-fish, Squalus canicula, [the small-spotted catshark, Scyliorhinus canicula] and that other dog-fish that I have named Squalus daubenton [the gummy shark, Mustelus antarcticus]. We also caught several spiny dog-fish, (Squalus acanthias) [the Picked dogfish].

Peron continues:

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General observations: the genus of rays and that of pleuronects [flatfish – flounders or soles], whose species were so numerous and varied in the Channel, seem excessively rare here. The reason for this is simple: two genera equally fond of soft, muddy bottoms could not be on rocks or a bottom bristling with shellfish. The same observation can be applied to the chimaeras [elephantfish], the toad-fish and the star-gazers, etc. I did, however, find that beautiful species of dorado from D'Entrecasteaux Channel that I have described under the name of Coryphaena salviani.

Peron includes the elephantfish in his list as well as toadfish and stargazers. The last fish mentioned by Peron, his beautiful species of ‘dorado’, Coryphaena salviani, is difficult to pin down via historic scientific nomenclature. Because this is an intriguing reference by Peron to an apparent ‘dorado’, also a common name for the dolphinfish, Coryphaena hippurus, and also because Peron placed it in that genus, others have assumed that this was indeed a Tasmanian record of a dolphinfish which are normally found in tropical or subtropical waters. Against that, I lean strongly towards it being an entirely different species which would be far more likely to be found at such a location. Disregarding for the moment the translation of this fish by Plomley et al. as 'dorado', Peron called it Coryphaena salviani. I finally tracked down a northern hemisphere sparid, Diplodus vulgaris, that was previously named Sargus salviani by Valenciennes in 1830 (the only 'salviani' species I could find). Now, sparids (the family in which Australian snapper and bream are placed) were often called 'dorade' by the French (and Coryphaena was a genus into which a lot of species were lumped). This very fish is illustrated as ‘La Dorade’ in a French publication of 1788 (by Bonnaterre), which Peron may well have carried with him. The illustration shows the dark 'collar' on this species, very reminiscent of the collar on the jackass morwong Nemadactylus macropterus which is common in Tasmanian waters. In fact, the two species have a strong superficial resemblance. Lastly, juvenile jackass morwong are quite delicately coloured with tinges of phosphorescent blue. I therefore strongly suspect that Peron was actually referring to a ‘dorade’, not dorado, and that this was likely a jackass morwong. An engraving of a sparid fish, called ‘La Dorade’, from a late eighteenth-century French encyclopaedia. This bears a strong resemblance to the jackass morwong, which therefore may be the fish referred to as ‘a beautiful species of dorado’ from d’Entrecasteaux Channel, Tasmania. From J. Bonnaterre, 1788.

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This is even more likely since the dorade was noted as being found in the midst of Fucus, or kelp, a habitat of morwongs but certainly not dolphinfish. As already indicated, Peron’s colleague and friend, CharlesAlexandre Lesueur, produced a number of detailed illustrations of fish from Tasmania. These included: two shark species, the broadnose sevengill shark, Notorynchus cepedianus (from Adventure Bay), which he accurately depicted with seven gill slits, and the gummy shark, Mustelus antarcticus (from Northwest Bay, d’Entrecastreaux Channel); also a frogfish which, oddly, does not appear to be a Tasmanian species, and a banded stingaree, Urolophus cruciatus, which they found in abundance in d’Entrecastreaux Channel, and which they thought to have ‘tender and delicate flesh’. This

Drawings made by Charles Lesueur in Tasmania in 1802. Top: Cruciate ray or banded stingaree, also recorded as common in d’Entrecasteaux Channel. Bottom: A gummy shark, which rather oddly has been drawn incorrectly with spines behind the two dorsal fins. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76753 (cruciate ray) and no. 76828 (gummy shark).

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ray is still abundant in Tasmanian bays and estuaries. These illustrations confirm that the scientific aspects of the expedition were primarily (and understandably) aimed at recording new information. In the case of fish, this meant that the main, if not the only fish illustrated were ‘new’ species. After leaving Tasmania, the Geographe sailed west through Bass Strait to South Australia where Baudin had his famous encounter with Matthew Flinders in the Investigator (at Encounter Bay, near Victor Harbour). No other references to fish by Baudin have been found, although Peron does mention killing nine large porpoises (dolphins) on one day because their food stocks were running low. This was just before the encounter with Flinders. Not long after the encounter, things deteriorated badly with respect to illness on board the Geographe, so Baudin abandoned his explorations at this point, retraced his steps and sailed directly to Port Jackson where his sick crew received full assistance. His crew having recovered, in November 1802 Baudin left Port Jackson and headed back to the south coast to continue his mission. He again sailed through Bass Strait, exploring King Island on the way and leaving Peron there with a small group of sealers for two weeks. During this time, the weather was mostly miserable, but when possible Peron continued his scientific work, which included catching some fish. These included seahorses, John Dory, blennies and gobies. As usual, the object of the exercise was to find new and interesting species rather than record the common, edible fish that were caught. Their next port of call was Kangaroo Island, off South Australia, which was first sighted on 2 January 1803. Baudin and his crew spent some time there, becoming the first to circumnavigate and explore it. Peron made observations on the island’s kangaroos, unique species of emu, sea lions and seabirds, all of which he noted to be abundant. He was not so effusive about the fish, though. He had apparently fished extensively with a party of two boats, and wrote disappointedly that: Of the various parts of New Holland that we were able to visit, Kangaroo Island is one of those that seemed to us to have the fewest fish. All our usual methods of fishing and all our searching produced scarcely a dozen species of fish – new ones admittedly, but five or six of them are not normally eaten.

Peron provides some detail of the particular fish that captured his attention: Among them featured a wrasse which, by reason of its dirty, dull grey colours seemed to me deserving of the specific name of Squalidus; a mackerel, rather like the European mackerel, but differing from it in its much smaller size and some of the details of its fins; a scad, with a beautiful azure-coloured back; a saury, 22 inches long and glittering with all the colours of the rainbow; a small reddish dorado; two barracuda; a flute-mouth; three trigger-fish, one of which is noticeable for its four brown lateral bands, another for its beautiful purple colour and pectoral fins, while the third, which is a Balistacanthurus, can be distinguished particularly by

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the black colour of its body and by the four large spikes arming its tail on either side.

Some of these fish are easier to identify than others, but taking them in order, the dirty, grey coloured wrasse could possibly be the brownspotted wrasse, Notolabrus parilus, a common and relatively plain-coloured wrasse of the region; the mackerel is almost certainly the blue mackerel, or as they are better known in Australia, the slimy mackerel, Scomber austalasicus (juveniles occur inshore); the azure backed scad is most likely a yellowtail kingfish, Seriola lalandi; the glittering saury is most likely to be a very large southern garfish, Hyporhamphus melanochir – very common in the region and highly reflective when first caught; the reddish dorado is somewhat problematic, but as ‘dorade’ is a French name for members of the family Sparidae, which includes the pink snapper, Pagrus auratus, the most likely candidate in this case because of its location, probable commonness in the area and its reddish colour; the barracuda would either be the longfin pike, Dinolestes lewini, or the barracouta, Thyrsites atun; the flutemouth is most probably the true flutemouth, Fistularia petimba, but may also be one of the pipefishes, and lastly, the three triggerfishes are identifiable from their description as, in order, a juvenile chinaman leatherjacket, Nelusetta ayraudi (a commercially fished species off South Australia, juveniles of which have four stripes and school in coastal bays), a bridled leatherjacket, Acanthaluteres spilomelanurus (the subject of a lovely painting by Lesueur), and most likely a spiny tail leatherjacket, Acanthaluteres brownii (common in the region, also beautifully painted by Bauer on Flinders’ contemporaneous voyage in the Investigator and named after that expedition’s naturalist, Robert Brown).

Probably Lesueur’s most famous painting of an Australian fish. A male bridled leatherjacket captured at Kangaroo Island, South Australia. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76131.

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Lastly, and importantly, while at Kangaroo Island, Peron recorded the presence of what was certainly the white shark, Carcharodon carcharias. He writes: of all the fish of Decres Island [Kangaroo Island], the most amazing is a species of shark attaining a length of 15 to 20 feet and which is very common in Bourgainville Bay [Nepean Bay]: day and night several of these monstrous creatures could be seen prowling around the ship in search of food, numbing with terror all those who saw them.

He goes on to describe the capture of one of these massive, frightening sharks: One of these fearsome sharks got caught on the swivel-hook, and we had to use pulley-blocks to hoist it aboard. It was 15 feet 6 inches long and weighed no less than 1,000 to 1,200 pounds; its frightful mouth, furnished with seven rows of teeth, gaped open 23 inches … And yet we saw very much larger specimens in the sea than this one.

It is interesting that Peron offered his opinion that these sharks must feed on seals, since in his opinion, the abundance of fish in the area was quite low and therefore insufficient fodder for such large voracious sharks. As it happens, he was completely correct, since we now know that seals are the primary food of adult white sharks, and for that reason they are prevalent around seal colonies. White sharks appear to have been quite commonly found along the southern coastline. Their occurrence was also recorded by some of the earliest observers including William Anderson (on Cook’s third voyage) at Tasmania in 1777, Peter Good, with Flinders at Esperance, and Saint Aloüarn at Flinders Bay (near Augusta, Western Australia). (It is also possible, as mentioned elsewhere, that the early sailing vessels may have been actively attracting sharks since they would have been dumping large amounts of waste and offal while on anchor.) The Victorian coast, especially Port Phillip Bay and Western Port, were overlooked for some time, until it was realised that Tasmania was an island. George Bass had discovered Western Port during his voyage of 1798 and in 1801, James Grant was vested with the task of entering this port for surveying purposes, and with exploring the part of the coast between Wilsons Promontory and Cape Otway. He sailed from Sydney in HM Survey Vessel Lady Nelson and entered Western Port on 23 March 1801. Interestingly, on the way into Western Port, Grant made an analogy with the shape of the south headland ‘having the likeness of a snapper’s head, or horseman’s helmet’. This was the same analogy made by Bass three years earlier, who had called the headland ‘Cape Wollamai’ (see above) so this was either a coincidence or Grant had read Bass’s account, but did not acknowledge it in his version. Once anchored inside the bay, he made a short sortie on shore, and while he was away some of the crew dropped their fishing lines over the side of the ship. When Grant returned, he noted that My crew had caught a number of flat-heads alongside: This fish has its name from the shape of its head, is common to this country, and is good eating. They saw some sharks of a considerable

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Black ink drawing of a flathead by Charles Lesueur. The location is not known, but most likely from southern Australia. Charles Alexandre Lesueur, Muséum d’histoire naturelle, Le Havre – no. 76314.

size, and caught three or four small ones.

These are the first records of flathead being caught by Europeans in Victorian waters, and were probably the same species caught by Anderson in Tasmania in 1777 (the common sand flathead, Platycephalus bassensis). The sharks of ‘considerable size’ cannot be identified, although these may have been six or seven gilled sharks which are still relatively common in Western Port. The small sharks are most likely to be either gummy or school sharks. There is no record by Grant of the use of a seine net. We know that he carried such a net since he had used it in Jervis Bay south of Sydney earlier in his voyage. However, the net had been damaged by sharks at that time so it is likely that it was not used in Western Port for this reason. On 27 March, Grant went to the mouth of the Port with Euranabie, a Port Jackson Aboriginal man brought on the voyage and of whom Grant was quite fond. They found themselves on a rocky point, where I observed playing in the water a number of those kind of fishes, called salmon in New Holland, as I suppose from their scales, for in no other respect do they resemble the fish to which we give the name. These fish are, however, excellent eating, and are generally found in shoals.

Grant then asked Euranabie if the fish would take a baited hook, to which he replied they would. Then, before Grant could organise his fishing tackle, Euranabie had disappeared into the bush. He came back with a ‘small stick’ and sharpened one end with a knife he borrowed from Grant. He then stripped off his European clothes, leapt onto a rock and promptly speared one of the fish and gave it to Grant, who was naturally most impressed: I could not but admire the keenness of his sight, and his ability to preserve the steadiness of his position, standing as he did on the rough edge of a sharp rock, the sea washing above

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The Australian salmon, the fish speared by Euranabie in Port Phillip Bay for James Grant. Most of the early explorers of southern Australia mentioned this species. It also figured prominently as a food fish during the early days of settlement in Port Jackson. From F. McCoy, Prodomus of the Zoology of Victoria, 1875–79.

his knees, his eyes intent upon the fish, very difficult to strike from the smallness of its size, presented to him in a narrow back.

Grant was touched, and impressed with Euranabie’s willingness to oblige. He continued: Though I pressed him to take the fish several times, he constantly refused it, but accepted some tobacco, which he was exceedingly fond of smoking.

The fish that Euranabie speared was clearly an Australian salmon, Arripis trutta, (called ‘salmon’ by this time in Port Jackson). As also praised by d’Entrecasteaux’s officers in Tasmania in 1792, Grant regarded it as an excellent table fish, although it is no longer considered a particularly good fish to eat. This may be simply because they are much better eaten fresh than several days later. John Murray was next to be given command of the Lady Nelson and sailed south from Port Jackson in December 1801 to further survey the Victorian coast. He had accompanied Grant as first mate on the same vessel to Western Port a year earlier, so was an obvious choice for this voyage. On 14 February 1802, Murray sighted the entrance to Port Phillip Bay and carefully sailed through the turbulent tidal waters of the narrow ‘rip’. He was immediately impressed with the scene: a good Channel was found into this new Harbor. Water from ten fathoms to six, and about a

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mile and a half broad; and according to his account it is a most noble sheet of Water, larger even than Western Port, with many fine Coves and entrances in it, and the appearance and probability of Rivers.

During this initial exploration, Murray and his party stayed fairly close to the mouth of Port Phillip and the southern part of the Mornington Peninsula. They searched for fresh water, hunted for game most days and fished quite often, although never with much success. The day after dropping anchor in Port Phillip, as usual, fishing tackle was unpacked and lines were cast: In the morning sent the Gig to Swan Isles for Swans, and on board we caught a few Rock fish. ... At noon the Gig returned with three live and four dead swans.

Murray’s use of common names for fish is tricky. It is hard to say what ‘rock fish’ might have been. They were caught from the anchored Lady Nelson, so they must have been taken on hook and line. The simplest explanation is that they were rock cod or rockling, or more specifically, Australian rock cod or beardie (also known by the more colourful sobriquet of southern bastard rockling), Pseudophycis barbata. The following day (15 February), he recorded that ‘a few snappers were caught, and some rock fish’. In this case, the snappers would have almost certainly been pink snapper, the celebrated species that has been the enduring prime target of many a Port Phillip Bay angler since settlement. Then on the next day, Murray makes the interesting entry that: It is rather odd that the Fish here have as yet invariably taken away our Hooks, to the number of between thirty and forty, and but few are caught.

This indicates that they were being bitten off, or at least the lines were breaking after hooking the fish. It could therefore be that they were hooking flathead, which must have been very common, and which have a tendency to saw through line. Sharks may also have been the culprits, while a third candidate would be any species of leatherjacket – capable of easily biting through small hooks with their parrot-like beaks. A few more rock fish were caught by the small boat on 22 February – a meagre catch that was compensated by catching twenty swans by hand. No more fish were mentioned, but catching swans was still a productive pursuit until their departure from the bay on 11 March. Here again, like Grant, Murray does not appear to have used a seine net, even though the shores of Port Phillip Bay are ideally suited for this kind of gear. Grant may have had the excuse of a torn net, but considering the seine was used so universally at the time, Murray’s lack of mention of seining is hard to fathom – unless they simply forgot to pack one. During his circumnavigation of Australia, Matthew Flinders on the Investigator also made a brief visit to Port Phillip Bay a couple of months after Murray. Unaware of Murray’s discovery, Flinders had thought he was first to find this ‘new’ port on 26 April 1802.

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A little later, he wrote: I congratulated myself on having made a new and useful discovery; but here again I was in error. This place, as I afterwards learned at Port Jackson, had been discovered ten weeks before by lieutenant John Murray, who had succeeded captain Grant in the command of the Lady Nelson. He had given it the name of PORT PHILLIP, and to the rocky point on the east side of the entrance that of Point Nepean.

Flinders remained in Port Phillip Bay for just one week, but during that time made no mention of catching or seeing any fish. At Arthur’s Seat, he did note quantities of fine oysters were lying upon the beaches, between high and low water marks, and appeared to have been washed up by the surf; a circumstance which I do not recollect to have observed in any other part of this country.

As well, they shot some swans and teal during the visit, but fresh fish apparently did not grace their table on this occasion. David Collins, the Judge Advocate of the colony at Port Jackson, was next to arrive in Port Phillip Bay, this time with a major purpose – the establishment of a new penal colony. On 7 October 1803, he sailed the warship HMS Calcutta through the heads carrying 300 male convicts, a group of Royal Marines together with officials, settlers, wives and children, to establish a penal colony. Collins had arrived in Botany Bay as a lieutenant colonel on the First Fleet and had written extensively about life in the new colony, including many references to fish and fishing (see Chapter 3). The colony was not destined to last long, however, and was abandoned in January 1804 for various reasons including lack of fresh water, and quite possibly lack of fish. First Lieutenant James Tuckey kept the log. Very soon after arriving, he made a 90 mile survey of the bay, after which he reported: ‘the soil bad, trees very small, and but little water; nor could they get any fish.’ And later, in a summary of the prospects for fresh produce, he was convinced that fish was not to be relied upon in any way: Fish, it may safely be asserted, is so scarce that it could never be depended on as a source of effectual relief in the event of scarcity. Several varieties of the ray were almost the only ones caught, with sometimes a few mullet, and other small fish; in general, a day's work with the seine produced scarcely a good dish of fish. The number of sharks which infest the harbour may occasion this scarcity of small fish. The rocks outside the harbour's mouth are frequented by seals and sea elephants. The shell-fish are oysters, limpits, mussels, escalops, cockles, seaears; and very large cray-fish are found among the rocks.

Despite the inclusion of two fishermen among the convicts, fishing skills rarely being mentioned on other voyages, the catches of fish were clearly poor, although rays and sharks appear to have been relatively common. As was the case in Port Jackson, there was a strong perception at the time that the presence of sharks in large numbers

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kept other fish populations small – although it probably meant that the ecosystem was healthy but that their skills in catching finfish were lacking. Even so, this general lack of success with the seine net and hook and line during this time would seem to indicate that fish stocks were not abundant. The chaplain of the fledgling settlement, Robert Knopwood, also kept a diary. He was a keen hunter and fisherman (as amplified in his later diary at Hobart Town), and liked his food as well. His first impressions, on 10 October, of Port Phillip Bay were not very encouraging: Mr White, and self, went on the south side of the Bay, opposite the ship, and many miles in and around the opposite shore, but could not find any water but what was very brackish that we could not drink. The land was very bad, light soil, and a great many of the trees blown up by the roots, which appeared to have taken very little root. Not any of the natives did we see, but many hutts, in which were cockle shells and muscle. We see a few birds, parrots and a couple of quails; not the least vestige of any quadrupedes or fish. Along the shore we returned by no means satisfied with the country.

Knopwood makes no mention of fish again until 19 November: ‘Lieut. Johnson, of the Royal marines, Mr. Humphries, and self went in my boat for the first time to Yellows Point; we caught some fish’ and two days later, on a very hot day: At 4 Mr Harris and self, with Steward, a convict, went in my boat a fishing; I caught three maiden rays. We returned to the camp by 8 in the eve; it very soon came on to blow and rain.

This entry gives a little more detail as to the species of ray that were found. In this case, the ‘maiden ray’ was an English name for the thornback ray (Raja clavata), but in Port Phillip Bay is most likely to be thornback skate, Dentiraja lemprieri, the most common coastal skate in southern Australia. Knopwood also recorded that he caught some more ‘very fine maiden reys’ a month later, near Arthur’s Seat. And apart from Knopwood also occasionally mentioning the catching of a single mullet and some very fine crayfish, this is the extent of the reporting of fish and fishing during this aborted attempt at establishing a colony in Port Phillip Bay.

7. Pre-European Fishing in Australia Before the sails of European ships began to appear on horizons around Australia, and before the crews of those ships cast nets and fishing lines into the seemingly virgin waters, coastal Aboriginal people had been fishing and gathering seafood for many thousands of years. Along different parts of the coast, they developed, adapted and modified fishing equipment to suit the landscape and their quarry. Some aspects of this coastal fishing culture can be surmised through archaeological studies. Careful excavation of middens can reveal much about the types and sizes of fish and shellfish eaten, as well as possible changes in both species and size through time. Some midden time lines for fish bone extend back for up to 4000 years, although these are the exception. Fish bone preserves well, although care must be taken in interpretation since the bones of some species of fish last longer than others. On the other hand, the tools used for fishing are usually not so well preserved. Shell hooks and the stone files used to make them may survive for long periods, but fishing lines and nets made from plant fibres perish, as do wooden implements such as spears. Similarly, while stone-wall fish traps (weirs) may survive for considerable periods in tidal inlets, brush-wall traps do not. And of course, even if tools and structures are found, the ways in which they were used is often open to speculation. While the archaeological record can help to inform us about the utilisation of marine resources in historic times, much of what we know, or think we know, about preEuropean Aboriginal fishing methods comes from the first contact writings of those who witnessed it. The captains, officers, crew, and often the medical and scientific personnel on board the ships that first set eyes on, or first settled these shores quickly learned that the Aboriginal inhabitants spent a great deal of their time in pursuit of fish and shellfish. This was an entirely new world, and the activities of the Aboriginal people, including the ways in which they fished, fascinated many chroniclers. How accurate were these observations? Often, cultural differences or attitudes might interfere with interpretations, but in the case of simple observation of fishing activities, techniques and catches, they are likely to be reasonably faithful. Similarly, descriptions of fishing equipment could reasonably be expected to be accurate, especially since many 172

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Aboriginal fish hooks made from turban shells, found in middens in the Sydney region. Reproduced with the permission of the Australian Museum, Sydney.

illustrations of such equipment were painted or drawn at the time, and some fishing tools collected by various expeditions still reside in museums. The approach in this chapter is to focus on a number of regions where there were early direct observations by Europeans of Aboriginal fishing techniques. Many of the relevant voyages have already been mentioned in preceding chapters, but only in relation to their catching fish themselves. Here, we will revisit some of these for their first-hand observations of Aboriginal fishing activities. In January 1688, the English privateer William Dampier arrived in the vicinity of King Sound, in the Kimberley region of northwestern Australia (not to be confused with King George Sound on the southern coast of Western Australia). He spent more than two months there, during which time he careened his vessel, the Cygnet, and while on shore apparently enjoyed good relations with the local Aboriginal people. In the following passage, Dampier makes perhaps the first written record of the use of Aboriginal tidal ‘wares’ (weirs) for trapping fish in this region. Their only Food is a small sort of Fish, which they get by making Wares of Stone across little Coves or Branches of the Sea; every Tide bringing in the small Fish, and there leaving them for a Prey to these People, who constantly attend there to search for them at Low-water. This small Fry I take to be the top of their Fishery: They have no Instruments to catch great Fish, should they come; and such seldom stay to be left behind at Low-water: Nor could we catch any Fish with our Hooks and Lines all the while we lay there. In other Places at Low-water they seek the Cockles, Muscles and Periwincles: Of these Shell-fish there are fewer still: so

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that their chiefest dependance is upon what the Sea leaves in their Wares; which, be it much or little they gather up, and march to the Places of their abode. There the old People that are not able to stir abroad by reason of their Age, and the tender Infants, wait their return; and what Providence has bestowed on them, they presently broil on the Coals, and eat it in common. Sometimes they get as many Fish as makes them a plentiful Banquet; and at other times they scarce get every one a taste: But be it little or much that they get, every one has his part, as well the young and tender, the old and feeble, who are not able to go abroad, as the strong and lusty. When they have eaten they lie down till the next Low-water, and then all that are able march out, be it Night or Day, rain or shine, 'tis all one; they must attend the Wares, or else they must fast: For the Earth affords them no Food at all.

Aboriginal fish weirs are essentially traps, often built as curved walls enclosing a shallow, sloping part of the shore, or as low barriers across tidal creeks. The walls may consist simply of rocks piled on top of each other, or rows of fine brushwood stuck closely together in the substrate, or as Dampier describes, a combination of both. At low tide, an opening is left at one part of the enclosure, through which, when the tide comes in, fish enter. The opening is then closed so that when the tide recedes, the fish cannot escape and are left high and dry for easy collection. On his return to the west coast of Australia in August 1699, William Dampier spent a week in the large embayment that he named Shark Bay, about 1400 km southwest of King Sound. He recalled his earlier observation of the reliance on small finfish by the Aboriginal people he met in the King Sound area, contrasting it to the inhabitants of the Shark Bay area, who he suggested subsisted primarily on shellfish. By their fireplaces we should always find great heaps of fish-shells, of several sorts; and it is probable that these poor creatures here lived chiefly on the shellfish, as those I before described did on small fish, which they caught in wires [weirs] or holes in the sand at lowwater. These gathered their shellfish on the rocks at low-water; but had no wires (that we saw) whereby to get any other sorts of fish: as among the former I saw not any heaps of shells as here, though I know they also gathered some shellfish.

Importantly, Dampier implies that there could have been weirs in the Shark Bay area, but that he did not see any during his stay. In fact, stone-wall tidal fish traps were almost certainly in use in this area, and can be still seen today in some parts of Shark Bay, such as Eagle Bluff. In September 1791, nearly 100 years after Dampier’s last visit to Australian waters, another English expedition, led by George Vancouver, also recorded fish weirs, this time in King George Sound on the southern coast of western Australia. The expedition’s botanist, Archibald Menzies, was less than complimentary about their construction, but he nevertheless described a working trap, complete with rock wall and brush fence. We saw some rude fish wares which did not bespeak much ingenuity in the contrivers.– They consisted of a row of small boughs of Trees stuck close together in the sand about two or

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three feet & kept close at the top by cross sticks along both sides fastened together with small withies & along their bottom some stones sand & gravel was raised up behind to prevent the fish escaping.

Even though the fish trap was seen and described, Menzies was puzzled by the lack of animal remains around areas of habitation, including fish and shellfish: we examined with the greatest care round their huts and fire places & could find no vestiges of the bones of birds animals or fish, no Shells or any remnant whatever that might enable us to form a criterion of their means of subsistence.

Of course, a simple explanation of this would be that he wasn’t looking in the right places for such remains. Vancouver literally put King George Sound on the map, leading to subsequent visitations to this safe anchorage by many other expeditions. In January 1802, Matthew Flinders stayed there for four weeks. He made observations on the local Aboriginal inhabitants, their appearance, songs, clothing and weapons, but made little reference to their fishing, other than the following brief passage: everything we saw confirmed the supposition of captain Vancouver, that they live more by hunting than fishing. None of the small islands had been visited, no canoes were seen, nor was any tree found in the woods from which the bark had been taken for making one. They were fearful of trusting themselves upon the water; and we could never succeed in making them understand the use of the fish hook, although they were intelligent in comprehending our signs upon other subjects.

Certainly, hook-and-line fishing does not appear to have been practised by Aboriginal fishers in western Australia (hooks are unknown from the entire west coast), so one wonders at their bemusement in receiving Menzies’ gifts of fish hooks some years earlier. It is odd that Flinders does not mention fish weirs during his lengthy stay at King George Sound, especially since they had been seen there by Menzies before him and later by Phillip Parker King (see below). In fact, several large semi-circular fish traps built from rocks are still clearly visible on the northern shore of Oyster Harbour. Another record of active use of fish traps in the southwest of Australia is that of Baudin, not long after his arrival at Geographe Bay. On 6 June 1801, he wrote: Around four o’clock in the afternoon the Naturaliste’s boat, which had come back to the ship during the night, came across to the Geographe; the mineralogist who was in it and who had gone ashore the day before reported to me that what had been mistaken for a river was little more than a lagoon into which the sea-water flowed. He confirmed that he had been to the mouth, which is barred by a number of wooden stakes that the natives place across the opening to catch fish brought in by the rising tide.

This coastal inlet and lagoon is the Vasse River at Busselton, at the southern end of Geographe Bay.

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Phillip Parker King, on his first epic voyage around the Australian continent, followed others in visiting King George Sound. In January 1818, he noted the extensive use of fish weirs there, which makes it all the more odd that these were not mentioned by Flinders sixteen years earlier. King’s entry reads: The mouths of all the creeks and inlets were planted with weirs, which the natives had constructed for the purpose of catching fish. Mr. Roe, on his excursion round the harbour, counted eleven of these weirs on the flats and shoals between the two rivers, one of which was a hundred yards long, and projected forty yards, in a crescent-shape, towards the sea; they were formed by stones placed so close to each other as to prevent the escape, as the tide ebbed, of such fish as had passed over at high water.

By this time, it is clear that such fish weirs were well known, as indicated in the continuation of the passage above: This expedient is adopted in many parts of the continent; it was observed by Lieutenant Oxley, R.N., the surveyor-general of New South Wales, in his journey on the banks of the Lachlan River: the same was also seen by me on several parts of the North-West Coast; and, from its being used on the South-East, South-West, and North-West Coasts, it may be concluded to be the practice throughout the country.

To reinforce this point, a month later while exploring the newly discovered Exmouth Gulf of the northwest coast, he noted: ‘the mouths of the creeks were planted with weirs, similar to those in the river at Oyster Harbour’. While not a record of fishing as such, on his second visit to King George Sound, in December 1821, King observed a fascinating incident, the opportunistic spearing of a seal by local Aboriginal hunters. At daylight the following morning the natives had again collected on both sides, and upon the jolly-boat's landing the people to examine the wells Jack, having quite recovered his good humour, got into the boat and came on board. The natives on the opposite side were vociferous to visit us, and were holding long conversations with Jack, who explained everything to them in a song, to which they would frequently exclaim in full chorus the words ‘Cai, cai, cai, cai, caigh’ which they always repeated when anything was shown that excited their surprise. Finding we had no intention of sending a boat for them they amused themselves in fishing. Two of them were watching a small seal that, having been left by the tide on the bank, was endeavouring to waddle towards the deep water; at last one of the natives, fixing his spear in its throwing-stick, advanced very cautiously and, when within ten or twelve yards, lanced it, and pierced the animal through the neck, when the other instantly ran up and stuck his spear into it also, and then beating it about the head with a small hammer very soon despatched it.

In 1802, Flinders had written that the Aboriginal residents of King George Sound did not ‘make use of a womerah, or throwing stick’, but here, Phillip Parker King had clearly observed its use in spearing the seal. This passage is also interesting because Flinders had found a seal inside a white shark at Esperance, on the southern cost, which

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had an Aboriginal spear embedded in it. No doubt, seals were important components of the Aboriginal diet in the region. Before leaving King George Sound, it is worth referring to some later descriptions – from the late 1830s – of Aboriginal fishing methods there. Robert Neill, a keen angler, artist and naturalist, was especially interested in the fish of the region, and in recording his catches as paintings and scientific descriptions (complete with actual fish scales attached to his notes) he also included the local Aboriginal names of the fish, together with some interesting notes on fishing methods. Here is Neill’s word picture of the fishspearing skills of the locals: The method adopted by the Aborigines when engaged in spearing fish is extremely simple – they generally select a rock which juts furthest out into the sea on which they sit on their hams [haunches], and with a little stone, beat crabs legs &c into fragments; which they throw in to attract their prey; and the instant a fish appears in the act of seizing the bait, the native, whose spear point is ready near it, suddenly darts it, & rarely fails in bringing up a fish on its barbed point.

This account is very similar to the methods described in Port Jackson by Watkin Tench, where the ‘burleying’ of the fish was achieved by chewing and spitting shellfish into the water. Further, in his notes on the ‘skipjack’, which from his excellent painting is clearly the silver trevally, Pseudocaranx dentex, Neill actually describes how the fish weirs in King George Sound may have been used as an active, rather than simply passive way to catch fish. He states that the ‘skipjack’ is a: Very common & staple article of food for the Natives who get together on fine calm days and drive the shoals into wears formed by the aborigines with branches of trees and shrubs.

Neill’s records from the late 1830s are later than most of those included in this book. Care needs to be taken in assuming that the fishing practices described were the same as those of pre-contact times since there could easily have been some cross-cultural fishingrelated exchanges by then. A full generation at least had passed since Vancouver and Menzies first discovered this safe harbour. As well as publicising the location

Robert Neill’s painting of the silver trevally, then called the ‘skipjack’, an important food fish of Aboriginal residents of King George Sound. Natural History Museum, London.

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of the safe harbour of King George Sound (actually named King George III Sound), Vancouver also recorded the presence there of large numbers of whales and also of seals. As a result, opportunistic private whalers and sealers headed there within a short time. For example, after reading Vancouver’s account, Thomas Dennis sailed all the way from England in his whaling vessel, Kingston, with the sole aim of making his fortune catching whales. He arrived at King George Sound in August 1800 and immediately found southern right whales in the sound and surroundings, killing several within the first few days. Several years later (February 1803), French captain Nicolas Baudin met with an American sealer in King George Sound who had also read Vancouver’s accounts and had come there from the east in a bid to bring back 20,000 seal skins (he had several hundred at the time of his meeting with Baudin). Clearly, this safe and well-known anchorage was becoming a magnet for a growing number of vessels and so, by the time the French scientific expedition led by Dumont D’Urville arrived in King George Sound in Astrolabe in October 1826, it was no surprise that they were immediately approached by an older Aboriginal man who was obviously familiar with visiting ships. Shortly afterwards, two parties of Europeans were met with – one group of eight men who had been abandoned there earlier that year by the ship, Governor Brisbane, and another twelve men, apparently castaways from the schooner Hunter. The latter group had six Aboriginal adults with them, two of whom were women from Tasmania. One of four men (Hambilton) that Durville allowed to stay with the vessel on the way to Sydney told him that the Aboriginal people of King George Sound did not have water craft and, despite the apparent abundance of fish, did not have nets, but only stone fish traps (weirs) in the tidal rivers. (D’Urville had seen one of these himself, in French River, now Kalgan River, the same as reported by King in 1818 and which is still largely intact.) Turning our attention now to the east coast, on 29 April 1770, as James Cook piloted the Endeavour through the heads of Botany Bay, one of the first sights that greeted the crew was a small, scattered fleet of bark canoes, each with a single male occupant engaged in the act of fishing with a multipronged spear. Joseph Banks was amazed that the occupants were so engrossed in the task at hand that they did not even look up to see the alien ship pass into their world. He wrote: By noon we were within the mouth of the inlet which appeard to be very good. Under the South head of it were four small canoes; in each of these was one man who held in his hand a long pole with which he struck fish, venturing with his little imbarkation almost into the surf. These people seemd to be totaly engag'd in what they were about: the ship passd within a quarter of a mile of them and yet they scarce lifted their eyes from their employment; I was almost inclind to think that attentive to their business and deafned by the noise of the surf they neither saw nor heard her go past them.

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On the other hand, Cook’s first entry regarding the local inhabitants referred to their dwellings, but did not mention them in the act of fishing: Saw, as we came in, on both points of the bay, several of the Natives and a few hutts; Men, Women, and Children on the South Shore abreast of the Ship, to which place I went in the Boats in hopes of speaking with them, accompanied by Mr. Banks, Dr. Solander, and Tupia.

Cook’s reference to Tupia at this point is noteworthy. Tupia (or Tupaia) was a Tahitian noble who had agreed to join the Endeavour during their stay in Tahiti. He was a skilled artisan and was intrigued enough by the scene upon entering Botany Bay to put pencil and brush to paper, producing a captivating illustration of the fishing scene off Kundal (Kurnell). This remarkable sketch depicts two bark canoes, bound at each end, and with wooden spacers, just as described by later writers. One canoe has two occupants, both with distinctive short paddles in each hand (again, as described and illustrated subsequently) while in the other, a fisherman holding a four-pronged fish spear at the ready, leans over intently concentrating on the task at hand, just as Banks described. Tupaia’s sketch even includes enough anatomical detail to indicate that the person fishing was indeed male (again, as Banks noted), whereas the gender of the two occupants of the other canoe cannot be ascertained. It was not until the observations of personnel of the First Fleet that the gender-specific fishing roles were realised – men fished with spears while women fished with hook and line. A depiction of the first sighting of Aboriginal fishers on the east coast of Australia, from the deck of the Endeavour as she entered the heads of Botany Bay. This extraordinary image was not painted by any of the Englishmen on board, but by the Tahitian noble, Tupaia. British Library.

The Endeavour spent the next eight days anchored inside Botany Bay, during which time both Cook and Banks recorded some observations on seafood eaten by the Aboriginal inhabitants. On the morning following their arrival, Cook set out to survey the bay: After breakfast we sent some Empty Casks a shore and a party of Men to cut wood, and I went myself in the Pinnace to sound and explore the Bay, in the doing of which I saw some of the Natives; but they all fled at my Approach. I landed in 2 places, one of which the people had

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but just left, as there were small fires and fresh Muscles broiling upon them; here likewise lay Vast heaps of the largest Oyster Shells I ever saw.

The ‘muscles’ would most likely be the common blue mussel of the region, Mytilus edulis, or possibly the hairy mussel, Trichomya hirsuta, while from the description of their size, the oysters referred to must have been mud oysters, Ostrea angasi, which are much larger than the Sydney rock oyster. Before leaving Botany Bay, Cook summarised his observations regarding Aboriginal catching and eating of shellfish in the region: On the sand and Mud banks are Oysters, Muscles, Cockles, etc., which I believe are the Chief support of the inhabitants, who go into Shoald Water with their little Canoes and peck them out of the sand and Mud with their hands, and sometimes roast and Eat them in the Canoe, having often a fire for that purpose, as I suppose, for I know no other it can be for … and on the same day … Altho’ I have said that shell fish is their Chief support, yet they catch other sorts of fish, some of which we found roasting on the fire the first time we landed; some of these they strike with Gigs [a multi-pronged spear], and others they catch with hook and line; we have seen them strike fish with gigs, and hooks and lines are found in their Hutts. Sting rays, I believe, they do not eat, because I never saw the least remains of one near any of their Hutts or fire places.

This is an important passage since it is the first European recording of the Aboriginal use of hook and line, albeit by finding this equipment in huts rather than seeing this method first hand. Cook also mentions the fire in canoes, something observed and illustrated many times in the years after the arrival of the First Fleet. Such fires, set on a dried mud hearth in the middle of the canoe, were indeed used for cooking the catch of the day on the spot. Interestingly, while in Botany Bay Banks mentioned seeing at night ‘many moving lights … in different parts of the bay such as we had been usd to see at the Islands; from hence we supposd that the people here strike fish in the same manner’. These may have been fires in canoes, or around the shoreline, but in any case, fishing with hook and line was not actually witnessed during the Endeavour’s eight days in Botany Bay. And as it happens, Cook’s surprise at the lack of stingray remains in Aboriginal cooking areas was a significant observation. While it may have been possible that stingrays had simply not been caught by Aboriginal fishers at that time, the lack of evidence of stingray fishing is more likely the result of the fact that the taking of stingrays (and sharks) in the Sydney region was considered taboo by at least some of the coastal Aboriginal groups. This dietary custom is covered in more detail later in this chapter. The voyage of the Endeavour north from Botany Bay is covered in Chapter 2. Including their enforced stay for repairs in the Endeavour River in northern Queensland, they had spent just over four months on the east coast, and as they departed from Australian waters both Cook and Banks wrote summaries of all their observations and findings. Cook’s references to Aboriginal fishing methods are brief:

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Joseph Lycett’s painting of Aboriginal night-time fishing and feasting on fish, c. 1817. Lycett, Joseph, National Library of Australia. nla.obj-138499378.

They have wooden fish Gigs, with 2, 3, or 4 prongs, each very ingeniously made, with which they strike fish. We have also seen them strike both fish and birds with their Darts. With these they likewise kill other Animals; they have also wooden Harpoons for striking Turtle, but of these I believe they get but few, except at the seasons they come ashore to lay. In short, these people live wholy by fishing and hunting, but mostly by the former.

On the other hand, Banks provides considerably more detail, especially with regard to fishing (and turtle spearing) methods and seafood eaten. For food they seem to depend very much tho not intirely upon the Sea. Fish of all kinds, Turtle and even crabs they strike with their Lances very dextrously. These are generaly bearded with broad beards and their points smeard over with a kind of hard resin which makes them peirce a hard body far easier than they would do without it. In the sourthern parts these fish spears had 4 prongs and besides the resin were pointed with the sharp bone of a fish; to the Northward again their spears had only one point; yet both I beleive struck fish with equal dexterity. For the Northern ones I can witness who several times saw them through a glass throw their Spear from 10 to 20 yards and generaly succeed; to the Southward again the plenty of Fish bones we saw near their fires provd them to be no indifferent artists. For striking of Turtle they use a peg of wood well bearded and about a foot long: this fastens into a socket of a staff of light wood as thick as a mans wrist and 8 or 9 feet long, besides which they are tied together by a loose line of 3 or 4 fathoms in lengh. The use of this must

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undoubtedly be that when the Turtle is struck the staff flies off from the peg and serves for a float to shew them where the Turtle is, as well as assists to tire him till they can with their canoes overtake and haul him in. That they throw this Dart with great force we had occasion to observe while we lay in Endeavours river, where a turtle which we killd had one of them intirely buried in its body just across its breast; it seemd to have enterd at the soft place where the fore fins work but not the least outward mark of the wound remaind. Besides these things we saw near their fire places plentifull remains of lobsters, shell fish of all kinds, and to the Southward the skins of those Sea animals which from their property of spouting out water when touched are commonly calld sea squirts. These last, howsoever disgustfull they may seem to an European palate, we found to contain under a coat as tough as leather a substance like the guts of a shell fish, in taste tho not equal to an oyster yet by no means to be despisd by a man who is hungrey.

The reference here to eating sea squirts, which must have been tunicates (known by Australian anglers as ‘cunjevoi’) is the only time that this is recorded, including by any of the later chroniclers of the first years of the Sydney settlement. Next, Banks mentions fish hooks made from shell, and fine fishing lines – almost certainly the fishing lines and hooks referred to by Cook, found in ‘huts’ at Botany Bay. His description of nets, not for catching fish but for carrying various items, is also significant: Their fish hooks are made of shell very neatly and some exceedingly small; their lines are also well twisted and they have them from the size of a half inch rope to almost the fineness of a hair made of some vegetable. Of Netting they seem to be quite ignorant but make their bags, the only thing of the kind we saw among them, by laying the threads loop within loop something in the way of knitting only very coarse and open, in the very same manner as I have seen ladies make purses in England.

Banks repeated his description of these bags while summarising his observations on Australia, indicating that the same type of net bags had been seen in the south as well as in the north: ‘even the bags they carried their furniture in were of exactly the same manufacture, something between netting and Knitting which I have no where else seen in the intermediate places’. We will return to Banks’ noting some of the hooks being ‘exceedingly small’ shortly, since this is important in determining how fish of different sizes may have been caught. In summary, Banks and Cook had described, briefly but quite clearly, the two fishing implements they saw: fishing spears (‘gigs’), being multi-pronged in Botany Bay and single pointed in the Endeavour River, and at Botany Bay shell fish hooks of different sizes attached to well made twisted lines of varying diameter, including some as fine as hairs. They did not observe any nets used for fishing (but did describe finely made net bags), nor did they see any fish traps or weirs. Eighteen years later, as the first fleet dropped anchor in Sydney Cove, those on board

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were not yet aware of the rich connections of the Aboriginal inhabitants to the fish and other marine life of the area. On horizontal sandstone slabs all around the harbour were, and still are, etched outline carvings of many animal and human figures, not the least of which are marine animals including fish, sharks and whales. The fish carvings are not small either, with many measuring from one to two metres in length. Clearly, fish were of special significance to the Aboriginal residents of the Sydney region, many having specific species as their totems. Horizontal sandstone fish carving typical of many found around the Sydney foreshores. Courtesy Val Attenbrow.

Almost immediately after arriving, some of the First Fleeters keeping journals and diaries began to record the fishing methods of the Aboriginal people of the harbour, while paintings of the harbour often included bark canoes with their cooking fires, along with other Aboriginal fishing activities around the shore. In his account written only months after arriving (July 1788), one of the more meticulous chroniclers, Watkin Tench, noted the local people’s dependence on fish. The passage also refers to Aboriginal claimants stealing fish from beach hauling crews (as did other writers) – a development that has been interpreted in various ways. Tench writes: Fishing, indeed, seems to engross nearly the whole of their time, probably from its forming the chief part of a subsistence, which, observation has convinced us, nothing short of the most painful labour, and unwearied assiduity, can procure. When fish are scarce, which frequently happens, they often watch the moment of our hauling the seine, and have more than once been known to plunder its contents, in spite of the opposition of those on the spot to guard it: and this even after having received a part of what had been caught.

One interpretation of the theft, or demand of fish caught, is that the Aboriginal inhabitants were incensed that the interlopers were stealing their fish, and in such large quantities that they were simply taking what was theirs. This is a reasonable interpretation, although it is also true that this kind of behaviour was more the exception than the rule, based on many other accounts of peaceful sharing net catches with Aboriginal onlookers and helpers.

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Some modern writers have suggested that the fish resources of the harbour were already being exploited at a relatively high, but sustainable level by the Aboriginal population and that the sudden increase in exploitation tipped the balance, leading to an almost instantaneous shortage of fish and resentment by the Aboriginal population. Such a depletion is highly unlikely, though, since the quantities of fish caught by the new settlers were not large compared with later sustainable commercial catches from these waters, right up to recent times. Returning to the Aboriginal fishing methods used at the time of first contact, Tench gives a detailed account of the daily fishing routine of an Aboriginal couple. This rather lengthy passage is worth quoting in full because of the detail it contains: In the domestic detail there may be novelty, but variety is unattainable. One day must be very like another in the life of a savage. Summoned by the calls of hunger and the returning light, he starts from his beloved indolence, and snatching up the remaining brand of his fire, hastens with his wife to the strand to commence their daily task. In general the canoe is assigned to her, into which she puts the fire and pushes off into deep water, to fish with hook and line, this being the province of the women. If she have a child at the breast, she takes it with her. And thus in her skiff, a piece of bark tied at both ends with vines, and the edge of it but just above the surface of the water, she pushes out regardless of the elements, if they be but commonly agitated. While she paddles to the fishing-bank, and while employed there, the child is placed on her shoulders, entwining its little legs around her neck and closely grasping her hair with its hands. To its first cries she remains insensible, as she believes them to arise only from the inconvenience of a situation, to which she knows it must be inured. But if its plaints continue, and she supposes it to be in want of food, she ceases her fishing and clasps it to her breast. An European spectator is struck with horror and astonishment at their perilous situation, but accidents seldom happen. The management of the canoe alone appears a work of unsurmountable difficulty, its breadth is so inadequate to its length. The Indians, aware of its ticklish formation, practise from infancy to move in it without risk. Use only could reconcile them to the painful position in which they sit in it. They drop in the middle of the canoe upon their knees, and resting the buttocks on the heels, extend the knees to the sides, against which they press strongly, so as to form a poise sufficient to retain the body in its situation, and relieve the weight which would otherwise fall wholly upon the toes. Either in this position or cautiously moving in the centre of the vessel, the mother tends her child, keeps up her fire (which is laid on a small patch of earth), paddles her boat, broils fish and provides in part the subsistence of the day. Their favourite bait for fish is a cockle. The husband in the mean time warily moves to some rock, over which he can peep into unruffled water to look for fish. For this purpose he always chooses a weather shore, and the various windings of the numerous creeks and indents always afford one. Silent and watchful, he chews a cockle and spits it into the water. Allured by the bait, the fish appear from beneath the rock. He prepares his fish-gig, and pointing it downward, moves it gently towards the

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object, always trying to approach it as near as possible to the fish before the stroke be given. At last he deems himself sufficiently advanced and plunges it at his prey. If he has hit his mark, he continues his efforts and endeavours to transpierce it or so to entangle the barbs in the flesh as to prevent its escape. When he finds it secure he drops the instrument, and the fish, fastened on the prongs, rises to the surface, floated by the buoyancy of the staff. Nothing now remains to be done but to haul it to him, with either a long stick or another fish-gig (for an Indian, if he can help it, never goes into the water on these occasions) to disengage it, and to look out for fresh sport. Depiction of a woman fishing with a handline. She sits with her back to a fire, and her baby can be seen in the bow of the canoe. T.R. Browne, 1813. State Library of New South Wales. Spearing fish from the shore, or sometimes from canoes, was strictly a male occupation in the Sydney region. Thomas Watling, c. 1790. Natural History Museum, London.

But sometimes the fish have either deserted the rocks for deeper water, or are too shy to suffer approach. He then launches his canoe, and leaving the shore behind, watches the rise of prey out of the water, and darts his gig at them to the distance of many yards. Large fish he seldom procures by this method; but among shoals of mullets, which are either pursued by enemies, or leap at objects on the surface, he is often successful. Baneelon has been seen to kill more than twenty fish by this method in an afternoon. The women sometimes use the gig, and always carry one in each canoe to strike large fish which may be hooked and thereby facilitate the capture. But generally speaking, this instrument is

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appropriate to the men, who are never seen fishing with the line, and would indeed consider it as a degradation of their pre-eminence. Unless summoned away by irresistable necessity, sleep always follows the repast. They would gladly prolong it until the following day; but the canoe wants repair, the fish-gig must be barbed afresh, new lines must be twisted, and new hooks chopped out. They depart to their respective tasks, which end only with the light.

This fascinating passage contains several observations not made by Tench’s contemporaries. Firstly, he mentions the fact that spearing into schools of mullet was a successful method while, secondly, he records that women did use the fish spear (the ‘gig’), but as a sort of gaff, to facilitate the landing of larger fish they hooked. This makes perfect sense, as any angler would know. Swinging small hooked fish into a boat by means of the line usually presents few problems, but when a larger fish is brought to the side of the boat, the act of lifting it by the line can often result in either the line breaking or the hook pulling free. A landing net or a gaff (a short pole tipped with a large, curved barbless hook) solves this problem, as would the multi-pronged, barbed fish spear so commonly in use around the harbour. John Hunter also presents one of the best early accounts of Aboriginal fishing equipment and techniques in the Sydney region. Again, it is well worth quoting at length since it paints an excellent picture of how the local inhabitants fished and what implements they used right at the time of European arrival, again noting some aspects not mentioned by others: The men fish with a spear, or fish-gig, in the use of which, it is apparent they are very dextrous. The fish-gig is in length something more than the war lance, but they can, according to the depth of water, increase its length, by a variety of joints; some have one, some two, three, or four prongs, pointed and barbed with a fish, or other animal's bone. We have sometimes, in fine weather, seen a man lying across a canoe, with his face in the water, and his fish-gig immersed, ready for darting: in this manner he lies motionless, and by his face being a little under the surface, he can see the fish distinctly; but were his eyes above, the tremulous motion of the surface, occasioned by every light air of wind, would prevent his sight: in this manner they strike at the fish with so much certainty, that they seldom miss their aim. [This was the method that Banks had observed on the first day that the Endeavour entered Botany Bay]. The women are chiefly employed in the canoes, with lines and hooks; the lines appear to be manufactured from the bark of various trees which we found here, of a tough stringy nature, and which, after being beaten between two stones for some time, becomes very much like, and of the same colour as a quantity of oakum, made from old rope: this they spin and twist into two strands: in fact, I never saw a line with more than two. Their hooks are commonly made from the inside, or mother of pearl, of different shells; the talons of birds, such as those of hawks, they sometimes make this use of; but the former are considered as best. … The men also dive for shell-fish, which they take off from the rocks under water; we frequently saw them leap from a rock into the surf or broken water, and remain a surprising

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time under: when they rise to the surface, whatever they have gathered they throw on shore, where a person attends to receive it, and has a fire ready kindled for cooking. Sylised depiction of an Aboriginal method of spearing fish, with head submerged, as described by John Hunter. J.H. Clark, Field Sports of the native inhabitants of New South Wales, 1813. National Museum of Australia.

William Bradley, writing in October 1788, makes similar observations to the above, adding a brief but important description of how the hooks were made. The Natives strike fish with their barbed Spears from the rocks & sometimes from the Canoe in with they stand up: in general we observe the Canoe occupied by the Women who fish with hook & line, which I never noticed any of the Men to use or that the women use the Spear. The line appears to be made from the inside / bark of the Cabbage tree, it is laid of two strands well twisted & strong. Their hooks seem to be made both from the claws of Birds & the inside of a shell resembling the pearl Oyster Shell, from the latter I have seen a hook made, they rub it down on the rocks until fit for their purpose & then shape the hook in a curve with a sharp shell or stone.

Summing up, Aboriginal fishing methods used in the Sydney region, described in these and other first-hand accounts, were either baited handlines, always used by women, and multi-pronged hand spears, called by the English ‘fish-gigs’ or ‘fizz-gigs’, always used by men, except for the purpose of ‘gaffing’ larger fish by some women fishers. Nets, traps or weirs to catch fish were not mentioned by European observers in the Sydney region. Fishing gear used, as described and also illustrated, included: lines twisted from two strands of fibrous plant – often the bark of the kurrajong tree (the Aboriginal word for their fishing lines was ‘carr-re-jun’), flax or even animal hair. These lines were considered by the settlers to be of excellent quality, to the extent that they copied the method when their own cotton fishing lines began to perish after several years of use.

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Hooks were made from thick, pearly shells, later identified as the Sydney or heavy turban shell, Turbo torquatus. Fish spears were constructed from either the shoots of gum trees, or the floral spike of the grass tree, Xanthorrhea sp. Spears could be jointed to extend their length and could be more than twelve feet (3.7 metres) long. In the Sydney region, fish spears were always multi-pronged, with from two to four prongs, these constructed from either sharpened animal bones, stingray spines or possibly the single dorsal spines of leatherjackets (both stingray and leatherjacket spines are naturally barbed). The prongs were fixed to the spear by binding with twisted cord and then coated with resin.

Early illustration of Aboriginal fishing gear from Sydney by Thomas Watling (c. 1790) showing a four-pronged fish spear and a shell hook attached to line (lower part of the painting). Natural History Museum, London. Left: A ‘yellow gum plant’, or grass tree, from which fish spears were made in the Sydney region. John White’s Journal of a Voyage to New South Wales, 1790. State Library of Victoria.

Women nearly always fished with handlines from canoes, while men mainly spear-fished from shore. Men also used canoes for spearing, sometimes from a standing position, and sometimes, leaning over the side with their heads underwater.

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Depiction of Aboriginal fishing activity in Port Jackson, as illustrated in 1803 by French artist with the Baudin expedition, Charles Lesueur. Apart from spearing and canoe fishing, there is also a man lying in the foreground, concealed by brush and holding a fish in his mouth in an apparent attempt to catch a sea eagle hovering overhead. This image bears some strong similarities with a later (c. 1817) painting by Joseph Lycett (see Chapter 1) suggesting that Lycett may have been influenced by this work. National Library of Australia. nla.obj-135686453.

The canoes were perceived by the settlers to be of simple construction, but in the hands of the skilled occupants were highly efficient. Regarding nets and rock-wall or brush weirs, which were certainly used to catch fish in other areas, these were not observed by Europeans to be used in the Sydney region. I will return to the question of the possible use of nets and of weirs. One fascinating aspect of Aboriginal fishing culture in the Sydney region was the ritualised severing of the top two joints of the little finger of the left hand of many, but not all, females. This was observed

Illustrations of Aboriginal shell fish hooks (and an emu feather) published in John White’s Journal of a Voyage to New South Wales, 1790. State Library of Victoria.

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very early after settlement, but how, when and why it was done was not understood for some time. John Hunter’s description of this practice, written in 1788, is typical: many of the women want the two lower joints of the little finger of the left hand, which we have not as yet been able to discover the reason or meaning of. This defect of the little finger we have observed in old women, and in young girls of eight or nine years old; in young women who have had children, and in those who have not, and the finger has been seen perfect in individuals of all the above ages and descriptions.

Similarly, also writing in 1788, William Bradley and two of the First Fleet surgeons, John White and George Worgan, all describe this practice in much the same way, although none was able to determine its purpose. It was David Collins who was first to allude not only to how the joints were removed, but also the name of the practice, ‘Mal-gun’, and the reason for the ‘mark’. It signified a fisher. Whether it made the fisher a better one is probably a moot point, but from Collins’ passage it would appear that it was certainly a ‘badge of honour’. The relevant passage appears in Collins’ account of the colony, published in 1798. The women are, besides, early subjected to an uncommon mutilation of the two first joints of the little finger of the left hand. The operation is performed when they are very young, and is done with a hair, or some other slight ligature. This being tied round at the joint, the flesh soon swells, and in a few days, the circulation being destroyed, the finger mortifies and drops off. I never saw but one instance where the finger was taken off from the right hand, and that was occasioned by the mistake of the mother. Before we knew them, we took it to be their marriage ceremony; but on seeing their mutilated children we were convinced of our mistake; and at last learned, that these joints of the little finger were supposed to be in the way when they wound their fishing lines over the hand. On our expressing a disgust of the appearance, they always applauded it, and said it was very good. They name it Mal-gun; and among the many women whom I saw, but very few had this finger perfect. On my pointing these out to those who were so distinguished, they appeared to look at and speak of them with some degree of contempt.

Whether the removal of the top part of the little finger aided in winding and casting line off the left hand is hard to say. It is possible that this might be the case, since the little finger is much shorter than the others, leading to possible tangles of loops of line when casting, but it is equally possible that there was no practical reason for the practice and that it was entirely cultural. Apart from the Sydney region, only one other reference regarding the practice of removing women’s finger joints in any other area could be found. This was recorded during the much later 1847 survey along the Queensland coast by HMS Rattlesnake. While on Moreton Island, the ship’s naturalist John McGillivray observed that, ‘The married women had lost the last joint of the little finger of the right hand’. At first sight, it might be assumed that the practice was perhaps widespread and that the women on Moreton Island marked in this way were also fishers. However,

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this assumption does not necessarily stand up on several counts. Firstly, only the top joint of the finger was missing (whereas in Sydney, the top two joints were removed) and secondly, the operation had been performed on the right, not the left hand. It may also be that McGillivray made simple errors regarding both the number of joints removed, and from which hand. The main problem though in linking this isolated observation with women and hook-and-line fishing is that Aboriginal fish hooks are not known at all from southern Queensland. In fact there is a distinct gap in finds of any fish hooks at all between Point Plomer on the New South Wales central coast and the Keppel Islands, on the central Queensland coast, more than 500 km to the north of Moreton Island. It is beyond the scope or aim of this book to explore the extent of Aboriginal fishing and seafood gathering around Australia prior to European contact through the considerable body Thomas Watling’s sensitive sketch of a Sydney of archaeological evidence. Dirr-a-goa, showing the severed joints One area in particular, Sydney Harbour, stands woman, on the little finger of her left hand, signifying out in this regard, thanks to the work of Dr Val her as a fisher. This practice was known by the Attenbrow of the Australian Museum published in Aboriginal term ‘Mal-gun’. Natural History Museum, London. various papers and the book, Aboriginal Sydney. Sydney is of great interest for a number of reasons. As already noted, from the first days of contact, Aboriginal fishing in and around Sydney Harbour was observed more closely and written about in more detail than anywhere else in Australia. The archaeological record has been examined at a number of sites around the harbour, to the extent that the species of fish caught, and their relative numerical importance prior to European contact, is known with some certainty. Thirdly, many of the species of fish caught in the harbour by the earliest settlers were listed in some detail, and often illustrated (Chapter 3), and lastly, a comprehensive study of recreational and commercial fishing in the harbour carried out in the early 1980s provides data for comparison of the species and sizes of the fish that were caught then and 200 years later. Attenbrow provides a full list of fish species identified from many studies of bones found in middens at a number of sites in the Sydney region. These sites included Vaucluse and Woollahra (both near the northern headland at the mouth of Sydney Harbour), Balmoral Beach, on the north side of Middle Harbour, and Balls Head and Sugerloaf in mid-harbour. Away from the harbour, sites include, to the north, Barrenjoey (Pittwater),

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and to the south, the Royal National Park, Wattamolla, Bate Bay and Kurnell – the latter being Cook’s original landing place inside Botany Bay. The excavated material in these middens dates from the time of first contact to 1500–3000 years ago and reveals a wide range of fish species being consumed throughout this period. Overall, by far the most common fish species through these sites was snapper (Pagrus auratus) followed by yellowfin bream (Acanthopagrus australis). Other important species or groups were various species of wrasse (family Labridae) especially the eastern blue groper (Achoerodus viridis) and including the crimson banded wrasse (Notolabrus gymnogenis) and the blue throated wrasse (Notolabrus tetricus). Other fish that appeared at many but not all sites are: rock cod (Epinephelus sp.), leatherjackets (family Monacanthidae), luderick or blackfish (Girella tricuspidata), mulloway (Argyrosomus japonicus), dusky flathead (Platycephalus fuscus) and tarwhine (Rhabdosargus sarba). Less common in relative numerical terms were morwongs (family Cheilodactylidae), silver trevally (Pseudocaranx dentex), Australian salmon (Arripis trutta), sea mullet (Mugil cephalus), garfish (Hyporhamphus australis), bastard trumpeter (Latridopsis forsteri), yellowtail kingfish (Seriola lalandi), flounder (family Bothidae), eel-tail catfish (family Plotosidae), whiting (Sillago ciliata), weed whitings (family Odacidae), wirrah (Acanthistius ocellatus), tailor (Pomatomus saltatrix) and sharks (remains of the last found only at Kurnell). Attenbrow makes the important point that, so far, there have been no studies that have shown changes or successions in the fish species caught by the Aboriginal population of the Sydney region through time. Fish and animal bones only last about 3500 years in midden situations, so at least over that length of time the fishery appears to have been quite constant. Huge rises in sea levels had occurred in the early Holocene, around 6000 years ago, to the extent that the coastline of Sydney at that time is now underwater tens of kilometres out to sea. At the time of sea level rise, the area was occupied, so great changes were experienced in the environment, including possibly the availability or abundance of different fish species. Fish remains in middens were not nearly as common as the shells of mussels, oysters, gastropods and the like, but Attenbrow makes the astute point that fish were often eaten as soon as they were caught, either in the canoe (broiled on the central fire) or on shore. This means that we might expect fish remains at relatively low levels at sites where shellfish were commonly taken to be eaten – or at least, to be underrepresented as a true proportion of the diet. Considering the observations of the first settlers of Aboriginal fishing methods in the Sydney region, we might assume that this impressive array of fish species must have been caught by just two methods – hook and line, and spear. It has also been suggested that other methods may also have been used, but not observed or reported by the early chroniclers. Indirect evidence for this possibility comes from a fascinating example of interpretation of the remains of fish found in middens.

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A Thomas Watling sketch of an Aboriginal group on the north shore of Port Jackson cooking and eating their fresh catch of fish ‘on the spot’. This custom would lessen the chances of preservation of fish bones in shell middens. Natural History Museum, London.

The sizes of fish caught by people in the past can be estimated by measuring various bones of known species found in middens and extrapolating to the sizes of fish these would have come from. Studying a shell midden in an elevated rock shelter at Mt Trefle, near South Head, Sydney Harbour, Val Attenbrow, together with Dominic Steele, estimated the sizes of snapper and bream being caught at the time – radiocarbon dating showing that the site had been occupied from 1300 years ago to the time of first European settlement. As usual for Sydney Harbour, the bones of snapper and bream, but especially snapper, dominated the fish fauna in the midden. By measuring various skull bones, the size ranges of these were estimated as follows: Snapper: 66 mm to 550 mm, divided into two size groups: 66 to 289 mm (most under 230 mm) and 413 to 550 mm, and bream: less than 320 mm, most less than 230 mm. Those in the lower length ranges are certainly small fish, which for both snapper and bream less than 250 mm long would be immature fish in their first year of life. The interpretation of the finding of such small fish in this study was that, because of their size, it is unlikely that they were caught by either hook and line or by spearing, and must therefore have been netted, poisoned or trapped. The authors favoured the use of traps or weirs, since there is no indisputable evidence of nets being used for fishing in Sydney or on the New South Wales south coast, whereas weirs or traps were certainly used both to the north and south of Sydney. This all sounds perfectly reasonable except

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for one thing. The assumption that snapper and bream of the size found in the middens could not have been caught on hook and line does not hold true. In a major study of recreational fish catches conducted in Sydney Harbour in 1980/1981, the lengths of many thousands of fish caught by anglers were accurately measured, among them, hundreds of snapper and bream. Interestingly, these two species ranked third and fourth by numbers caught, and first and fourth by total weight of the annual recreational catch from the harbour – not unlike their dominance in the preEuropean Aboriginal catch. The lengths of snapper in the recreational catch ranged from 100 mm to 320 mm, with the bulk of the catch measuring 140 mm to 180 mm. Lengths of bream ranged from 100 mm to 390 mm, nearly all measuring less than 310 mm and with the bulk of the bream catch measuring 200 mm to 260 mm. What this means is that the size ranges and average sizes of snapper and bream caught by modern anglers in Sydney Harbour using hook and line were almost exactly comparable to the sizes of the same species found in the North Head midden. Therefore, while it is possible the small snapper and bream in the Sydney Harbour midden had been caught in unobserved fish traps, there is no good reason to strongly promote this hypothesis since it is clear that fish of that size could equally have been caught by hook and line – a method in widespread use that was readily observed and described by the first European settlers. There is one postscript on this topic. Joseph Banks wrote during his visit to Botany Bay in 1770 that in the Aboriginal dwellings he inspected, he found fish hooks made from shell, some of which were ‘exceedingly small’. He does not provide dimensions of the hooks, but there is no doubt that Banks, being a fly fisher of some note, would certainly be talking about very small hooks. Therefore, if Aboriginal fishers were also using such small hooks in Sydney Harbour, this would have increased the likelihood of them catching small fish, also helping to explain the finding of these in middens. During the voyage of the Endeavour northwards along the Queensland coast, neither Banks nor Cook made any references to Aboriginal fishing methods or equipment. While the ship was careened in the Endeavour River, however, Banks did provide some comment on the evidence for Aboriginal hunting of turtles inside the Great Barrier Reef. As described in Chapter 2, during their enforced stay at this location Cook sent boats out to the inner reef for food, namely, turtles, stingrays and giant clams. After refloating the ship, on 11 August 1770, Banks accompanied Cook on a reconnoitre of Lizard Island, which lay about 30 miles to the north. The purpose of this trip was to search for an opening in the reef, which they did from the vantage point of the 330 metre summit of the island, still called Cook’s Look. They did indeed see a pass in the outer reef, which they were soon to sail through, but Banks, ever the naturalist observer, made some important notes that showed firstly that Aboriginal people regularly visited

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Lizard Island (but were not present at the time) and other islands and, secondly, that they successfully hunted turtles and even preserved the meat by drying: The Indians have been here likewise and livd upon turtle, as we could plainly see by the heaps of Callipashes [carapaces] which were pild up in several parts of the Island. Our Master who had been sent to leward to examine that Passage went ashore upon a low Island where he slept. Here he saw vast plenty of turtle shells, and so great plenty had the Indians had when there that they had hung up the finns with the meat left on them in trees, where the sun had dryd them so well that our seamen eat them heartily.

This clearly indicates that the turtles were not a ‘virgin’ stock and that Aboriginal hunters were routinely harvesting them. Banks found empty dwellings and large shell middens on Lizard Island as well, and adroitly surmised that, because the Aboriginal canoes he had seen on the mainland would not be able to negotiate windy weather, as they were encountering at the time, there must be seasons when the weather is calm enough for such trips to be made from the mainland. Well to the south of Lizard Island, two journal entries separated by 42 years tell the story of Aboriginal fishing methods in the Moreton Bay area, southern Queensland, that add considerably to our knowledge of methods used in different regions. The first of these comes from one of the voyages of Matthew Flinders. Not his epic voyage in 1801–1803, in which he circumnavigated Australia in the Investigator, but his earlier 1799 sojourn north from Port Jackson in the Norfolk, with the aim of exploring two possible river or embayment entrances that Cook had recorded on his way up the coast in 1770. At the time, these were called Glass-house Bay and Hervey’s Bay, and are what we know now as Moreton Bay and, to the north, Hervey Bay. On board the Norfolk was Flinders’ Aboriginal companion, Bongaree, a Kuringgai man from Broken Bay (to the north of Port Jackson) who was to prove a great asset on this voyage, as well as on Flinders’ later circumnavigation of the continent. Having reconnoitered the northern part of Moreton Bay, Flinders comments on the local Aboriginal people and their fishing methods. On 28 July 1799 he writes: These people were evidently of the same race as those at Port Jackson, though speaking a language which Bongaree could not understand. They fish almost wholly with cast and setting nets, live more in society than the natives to the southward, and are much better lodged. Their spears are of solid wood, and used without the throwing stick. Two or three bark canoes were seen; but from the number of black swans in the river, of which eighteen were caught in our little boat, it should seem that these people are not dextrous in the management either of the canoe or spear.

This is a particularly important entry since it records for probably the first time the use of nets by Aboriginal fishers. It is uncertain exactly what Flinders means by ‘cast’ nets, and ‘setting’ nets, although the contemporary meaning would be nets that are cast in an arc so as to fall on top of a school of fish, and nets that are set in place with the intention of entrainment or entanglement of fish.

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Flinders then recorded further observations and thoughts about the Aboriginal inhabitants of the area. These details are not included in his official journal of the voyage, which was handed over to David Collins who was, at the time, Secretary to the Governor of the Colony. As was often the case in those times, Collins incorporated the more detailed notes from Flinders into his own Account of the English Colony in New South Wales and it is from this second-hand account that we are able to learn more about Flinders’ observations of Aboriginal fishing activities in the area. At what is almost certainly Deception Bay, Collins records that Flinders’ party found a large net, probably the ‘setting net’ referred to above: In a house which stood upon the west side of the head, they found a net, or seine, about fourteen fathoms [25 metres] long, the meshes of which were much larger than any English seine, and the twine much stronger; but its depth was much less, being not more than three feet. At each end it had a pointed stick of about the same length. Upon the shoal near the house, there was more than one inclosure of a semicircular form, and the sticks and branches of which it was made were set and interwoven so close, that a fish could not pass between. This net Mr. Flinders supposed was to be placed diametrically across the semicircle at high water, and thus secure all the fish that might get within the inclosure, until the falling tide should leave them dry. He brought away the net, as a proof of the superior ingenuity of these over the natives of Port Jackson, leaving them in return a hatchet, the only present which he had to make them; and that they might the sooner learn the great use of their new acquisition, and be consoled for the loss of their net, he cut down some branches and laid them before the hut.

Here, Flinders was clearly describing one or more fish traps, built on the tidal flats and constructed from brush woven into a semicircular enclosure. He surmised, perhaps correctly (although there is no evidence of this being observed) that the net would probably have been used actively to block the escape of fish after entering the enclosure at high tide. Several days later, Flinders was exploring the broad, shoaling reaches of Pumicestone Passage between the mainland and Bribie Island, when he and Bongaree witnessed an actual fishing scene, although at some distance: While lying here, Mr. Flinders had some opportunity of observing their manner of fishing, which was perfectly new to his companion Bong-ree. The party on the east shore, near which the vessel lay, went out each morning at daylight along the side of the river with nets on their shoulders; and this, as far as a distant view would allow of observation, appeared to be the mode in which they used them. Whichever of the party sees a fish, by some dextrous manoeuvre, gets at the back of it, and spreads out his scoop net: others prevent its escaping on either side, and in one or other of their nets the fish is almost infallibly caught. With these nets they saw them run sometimes up to their middle in water; and, to judge from the event, they seemed to be successful, as they generally soon made a fire near the beach, and sat down

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by it; not doubt, to regale with their fish, which was thus no sooner out of the water than it was on the fire.

And in an apparently separate incident, Flinders witnessed a similar event, this time giving an indication of the numbers of men involved in their cooperative fishing venture: At one time they saw near twenty natives engaged in fishing upon one of these flats, the greater part of whom were employed in driving fish into a net which was held by their companions. That they were so engaged, they convinced our people by one of the party holding up a fish to them while he was standing in the water.

These ‘scoop’ nets may be the cast nets mentioned by Flinders in his journal, and were clearly a novel sight for Bongaree. Whatever the case, it seems clear that the Aboriginal fishers of the Moreton Bay region had nets of at least two different forms, possibly three, judging from Collins’ next entry regarding nets seen by Flinders: they were provided with nets for catching very large fish, or animals, as the fragments of a rotten one lying on the shore were picked up, the meshes of which were wide enough to admit the escape of a moderate sized porpoise; and the line of which it was made was from three quarters to an inch in circumference. Probably the large animals which Mr. Flinders took to be sea lions might be the objects for which these large nets were fabricated.

This was probably an insightful speculation on Flinders’ part. The ‘sea lions’ were clearly dugongs (he had seen one break the surface several days earlier, thinking it a seal of some kind), and it is now widely accepted that nets were indeed used by Aboriginals in the hunting and capture of dugong in Moreton Bay. We now come forward to November 1847, when HMS Rattlesnake was on her way from Port Jackson to survey the north Queensland coast and the Coral Sea. The inclusion of observations from such a late voyage breaks my rule of relying mainly on observations near to the time of first contact. However, the passages by the ship’s naturalist, John MacGillivray, describing Aboriginal cooperative fishing techniques are so reminiscent of those recorded by Flinders that they reinforce those observations and show that these methods were still being practised in the same area several decades later. In MacGillivray’s first passage, the fishing activity is occurring on a sheltered beach on the inside of Moreton Island (possibly towards the northern end), while in the second, observed during the Rattlesnake’s return two years later, it is on an ocean beach – the only observation of Aboriginal fishing in such a location found in researching this book. By now, the dugong was well and truly recognised (although mistakenly called a cetacean), and had even become the target of a fishery in Moreton Bay. MacGillivray writes: Among the marine animals of Moreton Bay are two cetacea of great interest. The first of these is the Australian dugong (Halicore australis), which is the object of a regular fishery

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(on a small scale however) on account of its valuable oil. It frequents the Brisbane river and the mudflats of the harbour, and is harpooned by the natives, who know it under the name of Yung-un. The other is an undescribed porpoise, a specimen of which, however, I did not procure, as the natives believed the most direful consequences would ensue from the destruction of one; and I considered the advantages resulting to science from the addition of a new species of Phocoena, would not have justified me in outraging their strongly expressed superstitious feelings on the subject. We observed that whenever a drove of these porpoises came close inshore, a party of natives followed them along the beach, and when a shoal of fish, endeavouring to avoid their natural enemies, approached within reach, the blacks rushed out into the water with loud cries, and, keeping their bag nets close together, so as to form a semicircle, scooped out as many fish as came within reach.

And a second similar encounter occurred in May 1849. The crew of the Rattlesnake had met the same Aboriginal group they saw on Moreton Island two years before, and again witnessed them fishing. This time, the fish were identified as mullet, this clearly being the annual ‘run’ of sea mullet (Mugil cephalus) to the north for the purpose of spawning. One night while returning from an excursion, I saw some fires behind the beach near Cumboyooro Point [now, Comboyuro Point, the northwestern point of Moreton Island], and on walking up was glad to find an encampment of about thirty natives, collected there for the purpose of fishing, this being the spawning season of the mullet, which now frequent the coast in prodigious shoals.

Having slept the night as guests of this group, and feasting on fresh char-grilled mullet through the night, MacGillivray describes the scene: At daylight everyone was up and stirring, and soon afterwards the men and boys went down to the beach to fish. The rollers coming in from seaward broke about one hundred yards from the shore, and in the advancing wave one might see thousands of large mullet keeping together in a shoal with numbers of porpoises playing about, making frequent rushes among the dense masses and scattering them in every direction. Such of the men as were furnished with the scoop-net waded out in line, and, waiting until the porpoises had driven the mullet close in shore, rushed among the shoal, and, closing round in a circle with the nets nearly touching, secured a number of fine fish, averaging two and a half pounds weight. This was repeated at intervals until enough had been procured. Meanwhile others, chiefly boys, were at work with their spears, darting them in every direction among the fish, and on the best possible terms with the porpoises, which were dashing about among their legs, as if fully aware that they would not be molested.

To my mind, this passage from MacGillivray is particularly evocative. It shows that the seasonal mullet run was eagerly anticipated by Aboriginal fishers, as it must have been for perhaps thousands of years, and that their methods were highly effective, both by the use of nets and spears, and by taking advantage of the dolphins’ driving the mullet inshore. The mullet run continues, and net fishermen still keep watch from hills

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and headlands for the telltale surface ripples and black shadows of the schools as they travel along the northern New South Wales and southern Queensland coasts to their ancestral spawning grounds.

8. Last Cast Having retraced the fishing activities of many early voyages around Australia, what can we now say about the types of fish caught, and their possible abundance compared with what might be the case today? Perhaps, however, this question should be qualified a little. Since it is highly unlikely that present-day fish populations are at the same levels as they were two centuries or more ago, we should really be asking whether or not the biodiversity of fish, and their abundance, in the areas first visited on these voyages has changed to a large, or a lesser, extent. Or put another way, would commercial and recreational fishers, if transported back in time to fish side by side with the fishing crews of these vessels, be amazed by the diversity and abundance of fish? Of course, fishing success relies on a combination of a number of factors – the abundance of fish, the catchability of fish (that is, the propensity of the fish to be caught), the fishing gear used and the skill of the fisher. Therefore, in considering these questions, we also need to ask if the fishermen of those days were properly skilled and equipped with fishing gear that was suited to the task. Even though the fishing gear used on all the voyages mentioned was rarely if ever described, we can be virtually certain that it was very similar from ship to ship – even across the two centuries spanned and that it would have been made independently in Holland, England and France. The hand-hauled beach seine net appears to have been universally used throughout this time while the other standard fishing method employed by all and sundry was, not surprisingly, the simple handline, that is, hook and line. That said, we know very little about the dimensions of the nets used, their mesh sizes and configurations such as length of hauling ropes (‘warps’), presence of a cod-end and so on. Illustrated publications of the day depict a variety of different methods of net fishing from the shore including fyke nets, gill nets, trammel nets, hoop nets, set nets and so on, but the basic beach seine net appears to have been the stock-standard type carried on voyaging ships. As with seine nets, even though we know all boats would have carried and used handlines, we do not know the types of line cord used, their lengths, breaking strains or the sizes of hooks. Nevertheless, we do know, again from publications of the day, that these came in a wide variety of breaking strengths and hook sizes, similar to the range used today. In 1772, in preparation for a second voyage with Cook, Joseph Banks 200

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purchased from a London hook-maker, fourteen different sizes of fishing hooks and twelve different line sizes. And indicating that large sharks were expected on such voyages, he also bought a number of shark hooks, some chain for the ‘leader’ and a variety of gaff hooks. We have also learned that the First Fleet carried large amounts of fishing gear, in the form of 14 ‘nets’ (which are assumed to be beach seine nets), 8000 hooks and 576 fishing lines. Other fishing tools such as harpoons and fish spears are occasionally mentioned in some contexts, but the seine net and handline were used universally. The use of both of these types of fishing gear is simple, and in the hands of experienced fishers, highly effective. It is interesting to note that today, fishing methods in coastal bays and inlets are little changed. The beach seine net, with the same basic configuration, is still hauled in many estuaries (although a power winch has replaced a team of men) and hook and line is the tackle of choice of all recreational anglers. Some expeditions seem to have had more success in fishing than others and it is tempting to suggest that this could be due to the skill of those charged with fishing duties. However, fishing success, or lack of it, can also be affected by many factors such as the time of year, the presence or absence of a particular cohort or ‘year class’ of fish, or, of course, good old-fashioned luck. However, skill is certainly a significant Range of hook sizes and shapes available in the late factor in overall fishing success. eighteenth Century. There is little doubt that most of the We are not often told about fishing skills ships visiting Australia at the time carried such tackle. of individuals, so we are left to surmise. It seems clear, for example, that Lieutenant John Gore of the Endeavour was a keen fisher. In only a matter of days in Botany Bay, he was the one who had watched stingrays moving onto the shallows on flooding tides and had ‘gone out striking’ to catch some. And when he returned with his catch of several huge rays, to the accolades of the other men, no doubt he was very pleased with himself. Joseph Banks himself was a keen fly angler in England, and often took the opportunity of fishing from the Endeavour, sometimes even from the porthole of his cabin. On the way to Australia, Banks was often called up onto the deck by the yell of a fisherman who had caught a fish. It seems this

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was a sort of standing order, and he writes of being summoned to inspect sharks several times and a skipjack tuna on another – a fish he was excited to see, duly dissecting it and making detailed notes about its internal parasites. Given the sizes of the crews, it seems highly likely that there would have been at least some enthusiastic, skilled fishermen on most of the voyages we have considered. They went fishing at every opportunity, and not just on Australian shores, but often in other locations before arriving, or on previous voyages. In some cases, where prolific catches were made, as, for example, on Saint Aloüran’s Gros Ventre in Flinders Bay, Western Australia, or by the crews of the Recherche and Esperance in southern Tasmania, perhaps both skill and local abundance of fish played a part. Certainly, when good catches were made, the spirits of all on board were lifted. Regarding the First Fleet, the naval fishing crews operated the beach seining gear to begin with, and were sometimes, but not always, quite successful in both Botany Bay and Sydney Harbour. Later, convict fishermen were co-opted to supply the colony. As noted though, catches of fish fell off markedly during the first winter, and apparently for the next several winters. Lack of local knowledge might explain lack of initial fishing success during these lean months, but after several years, experience would presumably have countered this lack of knowledge to a large extent. In summary, there is little doubt that the fishing gear carried by these early voyages, and the skill levels of the fishers, stood them in good stead for being able to fish to a reasonable level of efficiency. Has the species diversity or composition of the catch changed? Or put another way, if one were to go fishing in the same place now, with the same fishing equipment, would the same species be caught? In all cases examined, where lists of fish species caught at different locations in the past are available, as for example in Shark Bay, King George Sound, Flinders Bay, Adventure Bay and even Sydney Harbour, the species identified from the catches, either by interpretation of common names, the provision of scientific names by naturalists, or by examining drawings and paintings, can be still found in the same places. The one exception to this would be the finding of one or more handfish in the Derwent estuary, Tasmania, by Peron and depicted by Lesueur. This species is now extinct in that specific location and critically endangered in its remaining nearby habitats. The fact that unusual or newly discovered fish species were so often illustrated and/or described, tends to convey perhaps false impressions that these were more common than was really the case. For example, the Sydney fish fauna illustrated by Thomas Watling and the so-called Port Jackson Painter included species such as the striped anglerfish, the frogfish, the elephantfish and the sawshark – none of which is particularly common in Port Jackson today, and importantly, were unlikely to have been common then. Furthermore, it is difficult, if not impossible, to say if abundance of many of these species has changed, since past catches were rarely quantified by species.

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As we have seen, there are many instances of journal entries right around the coast simply recording accounts to the effect of ‘we went fishing and we caught some fish’. These anecdotes may tell us about some aspects of the circumstances and catches, but not about the relative abundance of species of fish at that time and place. Nevertheless, in reviewing through all the accounts of fish catches, it becomes clear that while catches were sometimes good – enough to feed entire crews, and even on the odd, rare occasion, to salt some fish down for storage – on other occasions, catches were, to put it mildly, poor. Given that proven fishing methods were being used in pristine, virtually unfished waters, such poor catches come as some surprise. In fact, the lament of not catching many fish is repeated often – and tellingly, why would one record that in an official journal if it was not of some significance? While accounts of fish catches by numerous expeditions have been treated in considerable detail in the foregoing chapters, it is useful to revisit some of these to gain an overall sense of whether or not fish populations were vastly different in those early years of European visitation. Without being exhaustive, the following accounts of fishing success from different locations and times help to shed light on this question. On the east coast, James Cook’s very first fishing foray was quite successful, netting a feed of fish for the crew of the Endeavour. However, other hauls of the seine net made during their short stay in Botany Bay yielded poor results. On the voyage northwards along the coast, few mentions of fishing were made, and when they were catches were not notable. The longest time spent on shore was on the banks of the Endeavour River in northern Queensland where, again, good catches were initially made, but these declined quickly, Cook writing: ‘I sent a boat to haul the sean, who return'd at noon, having made 3 hauls and caught only 3 fish’. And when departing Australian shores, Cook’s summary regarding fishing potential was anything but enthusiastic, viz: ‘the sea is indifferently well stocked with fish of varying sorts’. In 1779, Banks appeared before a Select Committee of the House of Commons where he waxed lyrical about the resources of the east coast, especially Botany Bay – the site he was recommending for a settlement to be made. He stated, among other things, that fish were abundant, With regard to fish, however, his enthusiasm was not necessarily reflected in his own journal entries at the time, although, in summarising their fishing experiences on the east coast, he stated that fish were not as plentiful as in higher latitudes but were ‘far from scarce’. While he also stated that they generally caught 50 to 200 lb of fish in the seine, that was certainly not the way Cook, or Banks himself, described catches on a number of occasions. Banks was highly influential and, due no doubt in part to his optimism, the hopes of the First Fleeters rested to some extent on the assumption that fresh fish would be abundant in the new colony, and would supplement stores while crops were planted. However, this proved a forlorn hope. Some initial hauls were promising, but generally,

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fishing did not live up to expectations. Occasional catches were good. But gluts were few and seldom – usually when a school of Australian salmon could be netted. And while some diarists thought that fish supplies in the summer months were acceptable, all attested to a great dearth of fish in the colder months. This is summed up by Phillip, who wrote within the first year of colonisation: Fish affords, in this place, only an uncertain resource: on some days great quantities are caught, though not sufficient to save any material part of the provisions; but at times it is very scarce.

And that great chronicler of early Sydney life, Watkin Tench, reinforced this observation quite succinctly: ‘Fish, which our sanguine hopes led us to expect in great quantities, do not abound’. To which can be added his most famous lament in regard to fishing in the new colony: ‘But the universal voice of all professed fishermen is that they never fished in a country where success was so precarious and uncertain’. Around other parts of the Australian coast, fishing success also appears to have been a hit or miss affair. Take, for example, the various expeditions to Tasmania. Abel Tasman, during his brief visit to Marion Bay in 1642, simply wrote that his men ‘found no fish’, although it seems unlikely that they actually tried to catch any. Marion Du Fresne’s expedition in 1772 had good success fishing at Maria Island, but less than a year later, Tobias Furneaux reported fish in Adventure Bay were ‘very scarce’. In contrast, William Anderson, who visited the same bay with Cook in 1777, had considerably more success with the seine net there, but illustrating the vagaries of fishing, William Bligh, fishing in the same location in 1788, had ‘very little success in hauling the seine’, although fishing with hook and line was moderately successful. In 1792, the expedition of Bruni d'Entrecasteaux fished in Recherche Bay and around Bruny Island, including Adventure Bay, where he and his officers, D’Auribeau and Kermadec, waxed lyrical about the catches taken by both seine net and hook and line. In Kermadec’s words: ‘Fish abound to such an extent in this bay and in all the surrounding sea that one can be sure, whether one fishes with a line or with the seine, of being able to provide for the crew every day at discretion’. On the western shores of the continent, similarly contrasting fishing stories were emerging. As early as 1629, the ill-fated Dutchman Francois Pelsaert, whose ship, the Batavia was famously wrecked in the Abrolhos Islands, wrote that ‘The sea abounds in fish in these parts’ a view not shared by William Dampier who in 1688 while on the Kimberley coast wrote: ‘Neither is the sea very plentifully stored with fish’ and ‘Nor could we catch any fish with our hooks and lines all the while we lay there’. In 1696, much further to the south, Willem de Vlamingh noted that the waters around Rottnest Island were ‘full of fish’ and that the Swan River contained ‘an abundance of fish’. Excellent hauls of fish were reported in 1772 by Saint Aloüarn, whose crew fished primarily with hook and line from the anchored Gros Ventre in Flinders Bay, near present-day Augusta, southwestern Australia. In contrast though, fellow Frenchman

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Nicolas Baudin, after spending two weeks in nearby Geographe Bay in 1801, reported that ‘Fish were very rare’. Another western Australian anchorage visited by a succession of early voyages was King George Sound, lying about 140 nautical miles to the east of Flinders Bay. George Vancouver discovered this harbour in 1791, the on-board botanist, Archibald Menzies writing that the seine net was hauled there with ‘little or no success’ and later, that the net ‘was hauled in every situation about the sound where it was likely to procure most fish, but those on board were frequently more successful with their hooks and lines’ concluding that fish ‘were not very plenty’. Following Vancouver, in 1801, Matthew Flinders and his ‘scientific gentlemen’, aboard the Investigator, spent three weeks in King George Sound, and were moderately successful in catching fish. The junior botanist, Peter Good, reported of one expedition: ‘a boat went fishing and caught so many that they were served out to the Ships Company’. This would appear to have been a somewhat isolated incident, though, since Flinders, in summarising their stay, wrote that, even though the seine net was hauled at night, around fires set specifically to attract fish (a method that Flinders successfully employed in other areas), ‘little success was obtained in this way’. On the other hand, his men were much more successful using hook and line from boats and the shore, resulting in a fresh meal of fish for the ship’s company every three or four days. With 88 men on board, and allowing, say 500 grams of whole fish per person as ‘a fresh meal’, this would equate, over the three week stay, to about 260 kg of fish – not a large take of the main species mentioned by Flinders, namely, small ‘mullet’ (possibly King George whiting) and large snapper up to 9 kg in size. The third major voyage to drop anchor in King George Sound was the French expedition led by Nicolas Baudin. Less than a year after Flinders’ visit there, Baudin’s two ships on this part of the voyage, the Geographe and the Casuarina, stayed within the Sound for twelve days during which time they had considerable fishing success. Interestingly, the slope of the beaches and lack of weed cover caused Baudin to forego the use of the seine net, so all of the catches were made by hook and line. Here the crews of both vessels feasted on snapper, samsonfish and wrasses, even though they were constantly pestered by sharks taking their hooks. But the bulk of the catch was blue mackerel, which was caught in large enough numbers to warrant salting and drying for provisions for their ongoing voyage. The brief examples highlighted above of the highs and lows of fishing success on the earliest voyages to various parts of Australia, together with the many other examples outlined in preceding chapters, convey a sense that, even though fish were certainly relatively abundant in some regions, much of the coast could hardly be described as a fishing paradise. We have also noted that the species mix of fish that might be caught today in the same locations would be essentially similar to those landed by the early explorers or settlers. That said, what might be said about some individual species that may have

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become rare, or even some that may have become more common? In comparing the early records with species checklists today, no particular species obviously stands out in either regard. However, with the advantage of current knowledge of fish biology, one group of fish that might be expected to have declined in numbers since the early voyages are the sharks and rays – known collectively as chondrichthians. It is well known that the life cycles of sharks and rays tend to make them more vulnerable than bony fishes (teleosts) to the effects of fishing. Generally speaking, sharks and rays grow slowly, reach maturity at relatively old ages, and give birth to small numbers of welldeveloped live young, but not necessarily annually. (Some species lay eggs, but again, numbers of eggs are few compared with the enormous fecundity of broadcast spawning bony fishes.) So if marked changes in the abundance of fish were to be detected by examining old records of catches, they might be expected to be most obvious in the records of catches or observations of the abundance of sharks and rays. In examining the journals and accounts of all the voyages that were considered, it is clear that sharks and rays feature prominently. This is not always because of their prolific numbers. Although small sharks were certainly very common in many locations – but sometimes because encounters with very large individuals were deemed so newsworthy, as seems to be the case even today. It almost goes without saying that sharks and Shark Bay in western Australia were synonymous in most accounts. The first record from this location by Dutch captain Willem de Vlamingh mentions catching ‘three great sharks’, and when William Dampier arrived there, his first entry was to record that the fish they saw ‘are chiefly sharks’, which is why, of course, he named the place Shark’s Bay. Around Rosemary Island, Dampier records ‘a pretty many sharks’, and small sharks, or ‘dog fish’ recur in his accounts of fishing off the northwest coast. Saint Aloüarn also caught ‘sharks and dogfish sharks’ in Shark Bay in 1772, as did Baudin and his party in 1801. Peron had an encounter with a shark in Shark Bay that rushed towards him, being wary since a crew member had been attacked by a shark nearby a short time previously. That incident, recorded by Peron, is the first known shark attack on a European in Australia – on the weight of probability, the shark in question being most likely a large tiger shark. Saint Aloüarn in Flinders Bay in 1772 had success catching a great variety of fish, which did include small sharks, plus one white shark weighing more than 500 pounds. In 1772, Du Fresne caught catsharks at Maria Island in Tasmania, and soon afterwards, Furneaux, fishing in nearby Adventure Bay, noted that, although the fish in the bay were scarce, they mainly caught a variety of small sharks. And on the next voyage to Tasmania, this time by Cook in 1777, William Anderson recorded the first white shark sighting in those waters. The officers on D’Entrecastreaux’s voyage commonly recorded catching sharks around southern Tasmania (probably mainly school and gummy sharks), while Peron and Lesueur recorded a number of ‘new species’ of sharks in Australia, although unfortunately, their abundance at the time was not noted.

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A nineteenth-century French depiction of shark fishing. The terminal tackle used here is a length of chain, no doubt attached to a large hook fashioned for the purpose. While this appears to be a blue shark, several expeditions along the southern Australian coast recorded the capture of large sharks, almost certainly white sharks.

Another to have an encounter with large white sharks was Matthew Flinders. Three of them were observed near the anchored Investigator at Esperance, one of which was caught and found to have eaten one or possibly two seals. Peron also mentioned several white sharks, 15 to 20 feet long, prowling around the Geographe when anchored near Kangaroo Island. And also off South Australia, Flinders’ crew had no trouble catching dog-fish, again, likely to be school and gummy sharks. On George Vancouver’s visit to King George Sound in 1791, Archibald Menzies mentioned ‘a number of large sharks’ which he thought scared other fish away. And in the same place thirty years later, Phillip Parker King found an ‘immense number of sharks that were constantly playing around he vessel’ which proved to be a nuisance, taking fish from the men’s hooks. In Exmouth Gulf, Phillip Parker King – the first to visit there – hooked and lost an ‘immense shark’, which was clearly a tiger shark, and went on to catch other large sharks along the Kimberley coast. King also visited Shark Bay, in 1822, where his ship was immediately surrounded by sharks after anchoring. In Jervis Bay in 1801, James Grant had a seine net torn to pieces by two sharks, and a little later in Western Port, Victoria, saw some large sharks and caught a few small ones.

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In nearby Port Phillip Bay, in 1804, Tuckey made the oft-repeated lament that fishing for finfish was poor due to ‘the number of sharks which infest the harbour’. Early chroniclers in Sydney often wrote about large, voracious sharks abounding in Sydney Harbour. As early as June 1788, Worgan wrote that the harbour was ‘full of sharks’ that were ‘very destructive to other fish’ and that as a consequence, a great many sharks were caught. Watkin Tench also recorded large sharks, while William Bradley made mention of a shark grabbing an oar and then the rudder of a rowboat in the middle of the harbour. Although this brief review certainly indicates no shortage of interactions with sharks, it needs to be borne in mind that sailing vessels of the day, dumping sewage and offal overboard, may well have been actively attracting sharks, in which case sightings of large sharks may have been artificially inflated. Similar extracts regarding the occurrence of the other chondrichthian group, the rays indicate that they too were very commonly seen or caught in many areas around the coast. As well as seeing many sharks in Shark Bay, Dampier mentioned ‘skates, thornbacks and other fish of the ray kind’ while it almost goes without saying that large short-tail stingrays were frequently seen by the crew of the Endeavour in Botany Bay in 1770, resulting in the harpooning of several huge specimens. In Tasmania, rays were a constant part of the catch. Du Fresne’s officers recorded large stingrays at Maria Island, while Anderson also mentioned ‘several large rays’ being caught in Adventure Bay. Later French expeditions to Tasmania all mention rays on numerous occasions, including Peron who noted a new species, the banded stingaree, in abundance in d’Entrecastreaux Channel. In Sydney, the first catch of fish by boats of the First Fleet in Botany Bay included stingrays, and while rays and skates were sometimes mentioned in Sydney Harbour by writers including Collins and Worgan, they were not noted in large numbers. Shovelnose rays are mentioned often, but mostly because it seems they were thought of as being very odd, appearing to the English to be half ray and half shark. Many other accounts of rays are included in the preceding chapters, not least being that of Flinders in Spencers Gulf who saw large numbers of rays on the flats, wishing he had a harpoon so that he could catch a boatload. In summary, do all these sightings and interactions with sharks and rays mean that they were more common than they are today? It is tempting to answer in the affirmative, since the accounts are so consistent. Even so, the same sharks and rays still occur in all of these places, and direct comparisons of their relative abundances today compared with the past present significant challenges. Returning to the overall theme of the book, the finding that fishing in the earliest period of European visitation and settlement in Australia was not incredibly productive appears to be counterintuitive since it is often imagined that fish must have always

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teemed in virgin waters. So why is there a seeming disconnect between this imagined past, and the reality of what was reported by the first European fishers? To attempt to answer this, we need to consider the productivity of Australian marine waters. Australia’s marine waters play host to a diverse fauna of fishes. About 4800 species have been described in the region, of which about 520 are endemic, that is, occurring nowhere else. In contrast, though, to this apparent bounty of life is the fact that our waters have relatively low biological productivity. Much marine life relies on the availability of nutrients derived from decaying organic matter on land, flushed into the ocean by rivers, or brought up from the seafloor in a process known as upwelling. Due to low rainfall and accidents of geomorphology that include a particularly narrow continental shelf, marine waters around Australia largely miss out on the huge volumes of upwelled nutrients that reach other more biologically productive regions of the globe. Relatively speaking, waters around New Zealand are much more productive than around Australia – a fact borne out by Cook’s and Banks’ effusive reports of the quantities of fish caught during their stay around those islands, contrasted by much more subdued comments on fish abundance along the eastern Australian coast. Low productivity notwithstanding, estuarine and coastal commercial fishers still ply their trade around Australia using seine nets, gill nets and handlines little changed from those of the first Europeans to fish in the same waters. The familiar species of food fish that the first European netters and handliners caught – bream, snapper, flathead, Australian salmon, King George whiting, and many others – are still caught in consistent numbers by both commercial and recreational anglers, and can commonly be seen on sale in seafood markets and restaurants around Australia. The stocks of some of these species, in some places, have certainly been impacted by fishing, just one case in point being the iconic Australian snapper. But others have proven to be resilient over more than two centuries, helped to a large extent by much improved fisheries management measures now in place. Urbanised and industrialised harbours and estuaries around the Australian coastline are obviously much altered from the pristine havens that the first European voyagers laid their eyes on. Nevertheless, heavily urbanised waterways such as Botany Bay, Port Phillip Bay, the Swan River and Moreton Bay continue to support diverse and productive fisheries. And in those places that have largely escaped large-scale urbanisation including oft-visited harbours such as Shark Bay, King George Sound and Adventure Bay, it is highly likely that hauling a seine net or casting a line would result in similar catches to those made by the first Europeans to try their luck, test their fishing prowess and catch a feed in what were then, uncharted waters.

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Bibliography Scott, E. 1929. Australian Discovery by Sea. J.M. Dent and Sons, London. Smallwood, C.B. and N.R. Sumner. 2007. A 12-Month Survey of Recreational Estuarine Fishing in the South Coast Bioregion of Western Australia During 2002/03. Department of Fisheries, Western Australia, Fisheries Research Report No. 15. Smith, Keith Vincent. 2005. Tupaia’s Sketchbook. Electronic British Library Journal, Article 10. Smith, Keith Vincent, A. Bourke and M. Riley (curators). 2006. Eora: Mapping Aboriginal Sydney, 1770–1850. An exhibition of the State Library of New South Wales, 5 June – 13 August 2006. Sumner, N.R., P.C. Williamson, S.J. Blight and D.J. Gaughan. 2008. A 12-Month Survey of Recreational Boat-Based Fishing Between Augusta and Kalbarri on the West Coast of Western Australia During 2005–06. Department of Fisheries, Western Australia, Fisheries Research Report No. 177. Sumner, N.R., P.C. Williamson and B.E. Malseed. 2002. A 12-Month Survey of Recreational Fishing in the Gascoyne Bioregion of Western Australia During 1998/99. Department of Fisheries, Western Australia, Fisheries Research Report No. 139. Tench, Watkin. 1789. A Narrative of the Expedition to Botany Bay. Printed for J. Debrett, London. Tench, Watkin. 1793. A Complete Account of the Settlement at Port Jackson: Including an Accurate Description of the Situation of the Colony; of the Natives; and of its Natural Productions. G. Nicol and J. Sewell, London. Thomson, J.M. 1974. Fish of the Ocean and Shore. Collins, Sydney, London. Tobin, George. Journal and sketches on HMS Providence 1791–1793, written in 1797, with additions to 1831. Mitchell Library ML A562, CY 1421. Tuckey, J.H. (1776–1816). A Voyage to Establish a Colony at Port Philip in Bass’s Strait on the South Coast of New South Wales, in His Majesty’s Ship Calcutta, in the Years 1802–3– 4. Prepared from the print edition published by Longman, Hurst, Rees and Orme, London 1805. Digital text sponsored by University of Sydney Library, Sydney, 2003. Valentijn, F. Oud En Nieuw Oost Indien. J. van Braam, Dordrecht, 1724–1726. Walter, R. and A. Anderson. 2001. Fishbone from the Emily Bay Settlement Site, Norfolk Island. Records of the Australian Museum, Supplement 27, 101–108.

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Wege, J., A. George, J. Gathe, K. Lemson and K. Napier (eds). 2005. Matthew Flinders and his Scientific Gentlemen: The Expedition of HMS Investigator to Australia, 1801–05. Western Australian Museum, Perth. Wheeler, A. 1986. Catalogue of the Natural History Drawings Commissioned by Joseph Banks on the Endeavour Voyage 1768–1771 held in the British Museum (Natural History). Part 3: Zoology. Bulletin of the British Museum (Natural History), Historical Series Volume 13 (3), 1–173 (Complete) London, 1986. Wheeler, A. and D.T. Moore. 1994. The Animal Drawings of Ferdinand Bauer in the Natural History Museum, London. Archives of Natural History, 21 (3), 309–344. Wheeler, A. and A. Thompson. 1996. John Lewin’s Watercolour and Line Drawings in the Linnean Society of London Archives: Their Relationship to his Career in New South Wales and Tahiti. Archives of Natural History, 23 (930), 369–384. White, John. 1790. Journal of a Voyage to New South Wales with Sixty-Five Plates of Non Descript Animals, Birds, Lizards, Serpents, Curious Cones of Trees and Other Natural Productions. Printed for J. Debrett, London. Project Gutenberg, December 2003. Whitehead, Peter. 1968. Forty Drawings of Fishes Made by the Artists who Accompanied Captain James Cook on his Three Voyages to the Pacific, 1768–1771, 1772–1775, 1776–1780, Some Being Used by Authors in the Description of New Species. Trustees of the British Museum (Natural History), London. Whitley, G.P. 1956, Archibald Menzies and the Fishes of King George’s Sound. The Western Australian Naturalist, 5 (3), 57–59. Whitley, G.P. 1964. A Survey of Australian Ichthyology. Proceedings of the Linnean Society of New South Wales, 89 (1), 11­–127. Whitley, G.P. 1970. Early History of Australian Zoology. Royal Zoological Society, Sydney. Whitley, G.P. 1975. More Early History of Australian Zoology. Royal Zoological Society, Sydney. Worgan, George B. 1788. Journal of a First Fleet Surgeon. Published by The William Dixson Foundation, Sydney. Also available on Project Gutenberg. Yarrell, W. 1836. A History of British Fishes. Illustrated by Nearly 400 Woodcuts. 2 vols. John Van Voorst, London.

General Index

Numbers in bold refer to illustrations Abalone, 90 Aboriginal fishing methods, 11, 91, 98, 172–199 Aboriginal gender specific fishing, 179, 185, 187–188 Aboriginal names of fish, 177 Aboriginal stingray, shark taboo, 27, 180 Aboriginals not eating finfish, Tasmania, 159 Aboriginals, apparently famished, 53 Aboriginals, seizing fish, 53, 54, 183 Aboriginals, sharing fish with, 47, 49, 93–94, 183 Abrolhos Islands, 97 Adventure, 17, 142 Adventure Bay, 17, 142–152, 148, 163 Agnes Water, 29 Albacore, 75, 137 Albany, 17, 153, 154 Alligator, see Crocodile, 36 Anchovy, 143 Anderson, William, 143, 146, 159, 166 Angler fish, 100 Anglerfish, striped, 70 Angling, 146–147, 201 Aotourou, 139 Archaeological studies, 172, 191 Arthur’s Seat, 170–171 Artists, 40, 65 Ashburton River, 134 Assistance, 147 Astrolabe, 52, 85 Attenbrow, Val, 191, 193 Augusta, 110 Australian Museum, 70, 142, 191 Australian salmon, 41, 41, 52, 59, 60, 73, 78, 80, 87, 133, 145, 150, 153, 156, 168, 168, 192, 204 Australian Shark Attack File, 67

Baitfish, 29, 36, 95 Ball, Lieutenant, 51, 86, 89 Ballistes, bag-throated, 65, 68 Balls Pyramid, 86 Banks, Joseph, 14, 20, 21, 22, 28, 29, 30, 32, 33, 35, 38–40, 44, 102, 155, 201 Banks, Joseph, summary fish observations, 37 Barbotte, 140 Barracouta, 71, 72, 111, 165 Barracuda, 109 Barramundi, 135 Barrington, George, 61 Barrow Island, 134 Bass, 62 Bass groper, 87 Bass Strait, 91, 127, 157, 164 Bass, Australian, 83 Bass, George, 89–91, 153, 166 Batavia, 96, 139, 151 Batavia, 97 Bathurst, 134–135 Baudin, Nicolas, 12, 15, 17, 18, 19, 118– 124, 127–132, 156–161, 164 Bauer, Ferdinand, 15, 16, 30, 94–95, 125, 153, 165 Beardie, 142, 150, 169 Beche de mer, 136 Bernier Island, 124 Biddy, silver, 46 Black cod, 86, 87 Blackfish, 59, 81, 81, 192 Blennies, 164 Bligh, William, 15, 17, 145–148, 152, 159 Blue devil, eastern, 71, 76, Blue Mountains, 83 Blue salmon, 134 Bluefish, 86, 87 Bongaree, Bong-ree, 91, 93, 94, 133, 195–197 Bonito, 75, 130 Bonito, oriental, 103, 112

214

Bonnefoi, 131 Bossu, 137 Botanist Bay, 28 Botany Bay, 19, 22–27, 42, 43–52, 57, 64, 85, 89 Botany Bay, naming of, 28 Bougainville, Luis de, 12, 139 Bounty,145 Boussoule, 52, 85 Bradley, William, 48, 49, 52, 55, 61, 62 Brazil, 41 Breaksea Spit, 29 Bream, 14, 36, 46, 73, 107, 142 Bream Bay, 38 Bream, black, 49, 142, 144, 146, 146, 148, 152 Bream, English black, 49, 49 Bream, English freshwater, 46, 107 Bream, northern pikey, 135 Bream, red sea, 130 Bream, western yellowfin, 107 Bream, yellowfin, 36, 46, 59, 60, 71, 72, 80, 192–194 Broad Sound, 95 Broken Bay, 52–53 Broome, 124 Brown, Robert, 14, 124, 153, 165 Browne, T.R. (Richard), 77, 79, 81 Bruny Island, 149, 151 Buccaneer Archipelago, 97 Buchan, Alexander, 40 Bullrout, 80 Bullseye, common, 69, 69 Bustard Bay, 41 Butler, Daniel, 65 Butter bream, 32 Butterfish, 32 Butterfish, starry, 66 Butterfish, unidentified, 72, 73 Calcutta, 170 Cale, rainbow, 16, 16, 72, 76

General Index Camp Cove, 49 Canoes, bark, 178–79, 183, 186–189, 185, 187, 188, 195 Cape Catastrophe, 156 Cape Dromedary, 22 Cape Howe, 21, 22 Cape Leeuwin, 92, 110, 114, 119 Cape Leveque, 137 Cape of Good Hope, 92 Cape Otway, 166 Cape Town, 73 Cape Wollamai, 157, 166 Cape York Peninsula, 12, 21 Capitaine, 85, 89, 111, 122 Captain Cook Creek, 143 Cardinal fish, Sydney, 69, 69 Casuarina, 127 Catfish, 140 Catfish, eel-tailed, 194 Catfish, fork-tailed, 134 Catshark, 141, 141 Catshark, orange spotted, 140 Ceduna, 155 Chaetodon long-spined, 65 Chaetodon, pungent, 65, 69, 69 Chatham, 115 Chats de mer, 140 Chien de mer, 112, 127 Chinaman fish, 119 Clams, 121 Clams, giant, 33, 34, 36, Clark, Ralph, 47, 87, 89 Cleveland Bay, 32 Cobbler, 116, 117 Cobia, 62 Codling, southern red, 146 Collins, David, 44, 52, 55–59, 91, 170 Congolli, 147 Cook, James, 10, 12, 17, 20, 21, 28, 35, 38, 48, 85, 86, 109, 115, 142–143 Cook, James summary of fish observations, 35–36 Coral, 35, 125 Coral fish, pennant, 76 Cottus, southern, 69, 69 Crabs, 30, 36, 42 Crabs, blue swimmer, 30, 31, 42 Crabs, spider, 147, 161 Crabs, three spot swimmer, 30, 31, 42 Craw fish, 36, 39 Crayfish, 151, 170–171 Crocodile, saltwater, 33, 135 Crows, 32 Crozet, Julien, 140, 142 Curtis Island, 30, 42

Cuttle bones, 22, 32, 102 Cuttlefish, 102 Cuvier, Baron Georges, 126 Cygnet , 97 d’Auribeau, 149–150 d’Entrecasteaux Channel, 151, 157, 163 d’Entrecasteaux, Joseph-Antoine Bruni, 14, 149, 168 D’Urville, Dumont, 178 Dampier Archipelago, 106 Dampier, William, 12, 13, 17, 28, 97–98, 98, 101–105, 107–109, 134, 136, 173 Damsel fish, 112 Dawes Point, 82 Dentex, pink, 137 de Houtmann, Frederick, 110 Derby, 134 Derwent estuary, 158 Devil rays, 103 Dhufish, 113, 120, 120 Diamondfish, 32, 32, 80 Dirk Hartog Island, 96, 99, 102, 114 Discovery, 115, 143 Dixson Collector’s Chest, 79 Dogfish, 36, 107, 114, 124, 127, 155 Dogfish, picked, 142 Dolphinfish, 66, 76, 77, 79, 106, 106, 133–134, 162–163 Dolphins, 20, 29, 93, 106, 106, 134, 164 Dorade, 162, 162, 165 Dorado, 162 Dordrecht, 110 Drag net, 119, 122 Dredge, 119 du Clesmeur, 140 du Fresne, Marion, 139–140, 146 Dugong, 91, 98, 105, 136 Duquesne-Guitton, Abraham, 12 Dutch East India Company, 2, 96 Duyfken, 12, 96 Duyker, Edward, 140 Eden, 90, 153 Eel, convict snake, 75, 76 Eel, eels, 39, 95 Eel, moray, 71, 76, Eels, southern conger, 150 Eendracht, 96 Elephantfish, 39, 71, 76, 144, 150, 159– 160, 160, 162 Ellis, Elizabeth, 80

215 Emperor, blue-lined, 123, 123 Emperor, redthroat, 75, 76, 85–89, 88, 111 Emperor, spangled, 111, 123 Emperors, 85, 111, 123 Emus, 164 Encounter Bay, 157, 164 Endeavour, 10, 14, 15, 19, 24, 27, 28–42, 46, 102 Endeavour River, 30, 33, 38, 41, 42 Esperance, 149, 151 Esperance Bay, 149 Esperance place, 153, 166, 176 Euranabie, 167 Exmouth Gulf, 133–134 Eyre Peninsula, 156 Faure Island, 131 First Fleet, 19, 19, 43–85 Fish catches, recreational, Sydney Harbour, 194 Fish remains in middens, 192–194, 193 Fish traps, weirs, 172, 174–175, 177– 178, 187, 189, 193, 196 Fish, abundance or scarcity, 202– 204 Fish, catch on Norfolk Island, 87 Fish, lack of preserving, 39, 51, 55 Fish, large haul, Port Jackson, 55, 56, 60 Fish, salting, 131, 150 Fish, sandstone carvings, 183, 183 Fish, scarcity in winter Port Jackson, 50, 53, 54, 55, 58, 93, 202, 204 Fisheries observers, 57 Fishing gear for sharks, 100 Fishing gear, First Fleet, 44 Fishing lines, Aboriginal, 24, 182, 186 Fishing lines, making from bark, 58 Fishing lines, perishing, 58 Fishing lines, Tahitian, 24 Fishing rod, 24, 144, 146 Fitzroy River, 94 Flathead, 92, 108, 109, 144, 166–167, 167 Flathead, bar-tailed, 109 Flathead, dusky, 78, 79, 80 Flathead, fringe-eyed, 109 Flathead, northern sand, 108, 109 Flathead, sand, 92, 144, 145, 146, 167 Flinders Bay, 85, 110, 113–115, 166 Flinders, Matthew, 12, 14, 15, 16, 19, 31, 59, 89–95, 124–127, 130, 132–

216 133, 153, 155, 157, 164, 166, 169– 70 Flounder, 60, 142, 145, 159–160, 192 Flounder, greenback, 145, 150 Flounder, large-toothed, 35 Flutemouth, 165 Flying fish, 32, 69, 69, 94–95 Food fish, 38, 60, 67, 73, 80, 112, 209 Forster, Georg, 28, 66, 143 Forster, Johann, 28, 143 Fortescue, 80, 116 Forwood, Stephen, 27 Foxes, 145 Francis, 153 Fraser Island, 29, 93 Frederick Hendrik Bay, 139 Freycinet, Louis De, 127 Friendship, 47 Frogfish, 163 Frogfish, commerson’s, 70 Frogfish, painted, 70 Furneaux Islands, 153 Furneaux, Tobias, 12, 17, 142 Garfish, 33, 72, 102, 111, 165, 192, 74 Garfish, southern, 111 Geelvinck, 98 Geographe, 12, 15, 19, 118, 118–120, 127, 157, 164 Geographe Bay, 111, 119–120, 157 Georges River, 89 Geraldton, 97 Giant Australian cuttlefish, 22 Giant guitarfish, 100 Giant stingray, 25, 27 Gimber, George, 44 Goannas, 35 Goatfish, bluestriped, 71, 117 Goatfish, southern, 116 Goby, gobies, 94, 164 Gonzal, 12 Good, Peter, 124, 125, 154, 166 Gore, John, 25, 27, Grains, 18, 27 Grampus, 29, 143–144 Grant, James, 91, 166–168 Great Australian Bight, 155 Great Barrier Reef, 12, 34, Green, Charles, 33 Greenouth River, 100 Grinner, large scaled, 121, 122 Groper, baldchin, 122, 123 Groper, blue, 72, 74, 79, 80, 81, 81, 192

Fishing for the Past Gros Ventre, 12, 109–110, 114–115 Guichenot, 131 Gulf of Carpentaria, 12, 95 Gulf St Vincent, 156 Gurnard, butterfly, 145 Gurnard, flying, 77 Gurnard, red, 76, 77, 145 Gurnards, 142 Hamelin Pool, 131 Hammer oysters, 30 Handfish, spotted, 158, 158, 202 Handlines, 24 Hanover Bay, 134 Hardyhead, 95, 145 Harpoon, 18, 27 Hartog, Dirk, 96 Heemskerck, 139 Herring, 92, 112 Hervey Bay, 90 Hickes, Zachary, 20 Hippocampus, 125 Hobart Town, 171 Hook and line, Aboriginal, 179–180, 184, 185 Hook and line, line fishing, handline, 18, 19, 24, 28, 32, 33, 37, 39, 56–58, 73, 85–87, 89, 95, 98, 106, 110, 114, 116, 119, 122, 125, 126, 130, 139, 147, 149–150, 155, 160, 169, 171, 200, 204 Hooks, Aboriginal, 49, 172, 173, 182, 186, 188, 189, 191, 194 Hooks, various kinds, 44, 201, 201 Hottentots, 151–152 Hound fish, 135 Hunter River, 92 Hunter, John, 47, 53, 73–77, 86, 93, 128 Ile de France, 110, 118 Investigator, 12, 15, 19, 31, 92–95, 124, 153, 155–156, 164, 169 Isles of St Francis, 155–156 Jakarta, 96 Janzoon, William, 12, 96 Java, 40 Jervis Bay, 91, 167 Jewfish, 60, 92 John Dory, 60, 80, 80, 81, 81, 164 Johnstone, Lieutenant J., 47 Kalgan River, 178 Kangaroo, 51

Kangaroo Island, 164, 166 Kangaroos, 32, 36, 122, 155, 164 Keppel Bay, 94 Kergulen Islands,110 Kermadec, Jean-Michael Huon de, 149– 151 Kimberley coast, region, 12, 97, 134 King George Sound, 17, 92, 115, 116, 124, 125, 127–128, 133, 136, 153, 155 King Island, 164 King Sound, 97 King, Phillip Gidley, 86, 89 King, Phillip Parker, 18, 90, 97, 132– 134, 136–138 Kingfish, yellowtail,165, 192 Knopwood, Robert, 171 Kyeemagh, 23 L’Astrolabe, 52, 85 L’Oiseau, 12 La Pérouse, Jean-François de Galaup, 19, 51–52, 85–86, 89 Labillardière, Jaques-Julien, 14 Lady Nelson, 91, 95, 166, 168 Lake Illawarra, 89 Leatherjacket, 14, 25, 27, 36, 62, 73, 79, 107, 116, 145, 192 Leatherjacket, bridled, 165, 165 Leatherjacket, chinaman, 165 Leatherjacket, fan-bellied, 65 Leatherjacket, horseshoe, 117, 117 Leatherjacket, southern pygmy, 16 Leatherjacket, spiny tail, 165 Leatherjacket, yellow finned, 76, 78, 80 Leeuwin, 110 Lefevre, 131 Lesueur, Charles-Alexandre, 15, 118– 120, 127–128, 157–158, 160, 162, 165 Lewin, John, 81, 83, 83, 84 Lewin, William, 81 Light horseman, 52, 55, 56, 62, 63 Lights, used with seine net, 125 Lizard Island, 35 Lizardfish, 121 Lobster, southern rock, 150, 152 Lobsters, 37, 39, 151 Longtom, 33, 33, 102, 104, 111, 135 Longtom, crocodilian, 104 Longtom, slender, 104 Longtom, stout, 78, 80 Lophius, doubtful, 69 Lord Howe Island, 51, 86, 88

General Index Lucky Bay, 153 Luderick, 59, 71, 81, 81, 192 Lycett, Joseph, 79, 80, 82, 84 Mackerel, 14, 35, 36, 72 Mackerel. blue, 36, 38, 60, 116, 130, 149, 165 Mackerel, horse, 39 Mackerel, jack, 111 Mackerel, slimy, 38, 60, 111, 165 Mackerel, Spanish, 35 Macquarie Collector’s Chest, 79, 81 Macquarie, Governor Lachlan, 83 Madeira, 41 Magnetic Island, 32 Mahi mahi, 133 Mangrove jack, 112 Mangrove red snapper , 110 Manning Peak, 134 Maori, 23 Maori cod, 116 Maria Island, 140, 161 Marion Bay, 139 Marlin, blue, 114 Marquis de Castries, 139 Mascarin, 139 Maugé, René, 119 Mauritius, 110, 118, 139 Memory Cove, 156 Men-of-war birds, 29 Menzies, Archibald, 14, 115 Mermaid, 90, 132–134 Middens, 159, 172, 191–192, 195 Molluscs, 73, 118, 136 Molluscs, Aboriginal names, 73 Monkey Mia, 131 Monkfish, 108, 108 Montague Island,22 Montebello Islands, 97 Moreton Bay, 90 Mornington Peninsula, 169 Morwong, 36, 111, 142, 163, 192 Morwong, blue, 111, 111 Morwong, crested, 42, 42 Morwong, jackass, 159, 162 Morwong, rubberlip, 113 Mount Dromedary, 22 Mudskipper, 30, 94, 94, 135 Mullet, 35, 37, 46, 46, 53, 62, 81, 81, 82, 82, 92, 94–95, 99, 135, 149, 156, 171 Mullet Island, 52–53 Mullet, bully, 63 Mullet, diamond, 35 Mullet, blue striped, 116

Mullet, fascinated, 69, 69 Mullet, flat-tail, 60 Mullet, red, 71, 116 Mullet, sand, 60 Mullet, sea, 30, 59, 60, 63, 78, 80, 192 Mullet, yelloweye,126, 149, 159 Mulloway, 60, 92 Murray cod, 83, 83, 84 Murray, John, 168–169 Muséum d’histoire naturelle, 15, 120 Mussels, 90, 121, 147, 148, 153, 170 Mutton birds, 155 Nagle, Jacob, 49 Nannygai, 82, 83 Napoleon, 118 National Library of Australia, 74 Natural History Museum, 15, 40, 70, 76, 77 Naturaliste, 12, 19, 118, 118, 120, 127, 157 Nautilus, 30 Needlefish, 33, 103, 111, 135 Neill, Robert, 116 Nepean, letter from Phillip, 54 Net fishing, 19 Nets, Aboriginal, 182, 187, 189, 195– 198 New Caledonia, 28 New Zealand, 20, 23, 24, 38, 40, 41, 89 Newcastle, 78–80, 92 Night fishing, Aboriginal, 181, 181 Nodder, Frederick, 66, 68 Norfolk, 90, 153 Norfolk Island, 51, 74, 76, 85–90 North West Cape, 133 Northumberland Islands, 95 Nyptangh, 98 Old wife, 32, 36, 65, 71, 76, 77, 80, 107, 108, 108 Oyster Harbour, 115, 133 Oysters, 35, 36, 49, 90, 94, 103, 122, 125, 131, 170 Parkinson, Sydney, 14, 21, 26, 27, 29, 30, 35–37, 40–42 Parrotfish, 127 Parrotfish, spotted, 116 Paterson, William, 92 Pelican, 140 Pelsaert, Francois, 97 Perch, estuary, 62, 83 Percy Isles, 95

217 Peron Peninsula, 131 Peron, Francois, 14, 118, 121, 124, 129, 131, 161, 162, 164, 166 Perth, 99, 119 Petit, 131 Petrel Bay, 156 Petrel, petrels, 87, 102, 155–156 Phillip Island, 157 Phillip, Arthur, 12, 43–49, 57, 67, 85, 86, 93 Pigeon House, 22 Pigeons, 32 Pigfish, red, 76, 88, 88 Pike, longfin, 165 Pilchard, 112 Pintado bird, 20, 101 Pipefishes, 165 Point Hicks, 20 Poisson chat, 140 Polynesians, 89 Porpoises, 29, 30, 93, 106, 134, 135 Port Bowen, 94 Port Curtis, 94 Port Dalrymple, 90 Port Egmont hen, 20 Port Hacking, 89 Port Jackson, 44, 47, 48, 51, 54, 76, 89, 93, 95, 127, 153, 157, 164, 168 Port Jackson painter, 70, 72 Port Jackson, RV, 69 Port Lincoln, 156 Port Phillip Bay, 166, 168–171 Prince Regent River, 134 Princess Royal Harbour, 115 Productivity of Australian waters, 209 Providence, 15, 147–148 Pufferfish, 28, 40, 41, 92, 137 Pufferfish, half smooth golden, 41, 42 Pufferfish, silver, 72, 74 Pufferfish, silver cheeked, 28 Queen snapper, 111, 111 Queenfish, 103, 135 Ransonnet, Joseph, 131–132 Raper shark painting, 50 Raper, George, 16, 56, 73, 74, 76, 77, 87, 128 Ray, cruciate, 163 Ray, fiddler, 42 Ray, maiden, 171 Ray, manta, 103 Ray, rays, 42, 73, 105, 131, 145, 150, 156, 159–160, 170 Ray, shovelnose, 42, 61, 62, 62, 81

218 Ray, southern eagle, 142 Ray, thornback, 171 Ray, white-spotted, 100 Recherche, 149, 152 Recherche Bay, 149–150 Redfish, 82, 83 Reef of Frederick Houtmann, 97 Remora, 41 Resolution, 17, 142–143, 145 Roberts, James, 27 Rock cod, 63, 83, 86, 87, 142, 148, 151, 169, 192 Rock cod, bearded, 63, 142 Rock cod, red, 80, 81, 142 Rockfish, 36, 109, 169 Rockhampton, 30, 94 Roebuck, 17, 17, 101, 103, 105, 107 Rosemary Island, 106 Rottnest Island, 98, 99, 120 Sailfish, 102 Saint Aloüarn, Louis de, 12, 18, 85, 109– 115, 119, 123, 137, 166 Salmon-trout, 150, 152 Samsonfish, 128 Sandperch, red-barred, 121, 122 Sandy Cape, 29, 93 Sarde, 85, 89, 112–114 Sardine, 112 Sardine, northern, 121 Sargue, 112 Sawfish, 70, 95 Sawshark, 70, 72 Scad, 111, 112 Scad, bigeye, 35 Scalyfin, McCulloch’s, 112 Scarborough, 47 Scientific gentlemen, 124, 153 Scoop nets, Aboriginal, 94 Scorpionfish, western red, 129 Sea dragon, weedy, 125, 126 Sea level rises, 194 Sea lions, 164 Sea snakes, 32, 105–106, 135 Seabream, 107 Seahorse, 125, 164 Seal hunting, Aboriginal, 176–177 Seal Island, 124, 127 Seals, 96, 124, 154–155, 161, 166 Seapike, common, 111 Seine net, netting, 18, 19, 23, 24, 29, 33, 34, 36, 39, 45, 47, 48, 51, 52, 55–57, 59, 69, 73, 90–92, 94–95, 115–116, 121, 124, 125, 130, 132, 135, 139, 144–145, 147, 150–151, 155, 157,

Fishing for the Past 167, 171, 200–203 Sergeant, 116–117, 117 Sergeant baker , 76 Severing finger joints, Mal-gun, 189– 191, 191 Shark attack, interaction, 63, 67, 131 Shark attraction to ships, 63, 117, 133, 136, 166, 208 Shark Bay, 12, 17, 28, 96, 99, 101–105, 104, 114, 119–121, 123–124, 129, 131, 133, 136–137, 157 Shark of Port Jackson, 79, 79 Shark ray, 100 Shark, angel, 62, 108 Shark, blue, 77 Shark, broadnose sevengill, 163 Shark, bull, 61, 76, 77 Shark, dusky, 26, 42, 100, 108 Shark, epaulette, 42, 42 Shark, Galapagos, 86, 142 Shark, gummy, 92, 112, 155, 159, 163, 163, 167 Shark, Port Jackson, 66, 68, 119 Shark, sandbar, 108 Shark, scalloped hammerhead, 82, 83 Shark, school, 92, 112, 155, 167 Shark, sevengill, 167 Shark, shortfin mako, 77 Shark, shovelnose, 42 Shark, sixgill, 167 Shark, tiger, 61, 100, 103, 105, 114, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136 Shark, Watts’s, 67, 68 Shark, whaler, 42, 77, 81, 108, 136 Shark, white, 113, 144, 154, 154, 166 Sharks, 26, 29, 36, 42, 49, 61, 62, 73, 86, 91, 92, 94–95, 100, 103–104, 107, 109, 114, 116, 133, 143, 150, 153, 156, 166, 170, 192, 202 Sharks and rays, historic abundance, 206–208 Sharks eaten by crews , 105 Shaw, George, 14, 69 Shell lures, 155 Shellfish, 26, 35, 49, 61, 73, 75, 107, 122, 131, 147, 170 Shellfish, Aboriginal use of, 61, 173– 175, 180, 186, 192 Shells, 121 Sicklefish, spotted, 40, 41 Silver batfish, 32 Silver biddy, 80 Silverbelly, 145 Simpsons Bay, 151

Sirius, 44, 45, 48, 50, 57, 58, 62, 63, 65, 73, 74, 86–89, 87 Skate, skates, 62, 103 Skate, thornback, 171 Skottowe, Thomas, 77, 78, 81 Smallpox, 53 Smoky Cape, 28 Snapper, 52, 56, 56, 62, 75–79, 80, 81, 81, 82, 83, 113, 127, 137, 192– 194 Snapper of Norfolk Island, 87, 88 Snapper, mangrove red, 112, 114 Snapper, pink, 41, 41, 46, 60, 85, 89, 107, 112–114, 123, 126, 128, 128, 130, 157, 165, 169 Snappers, Lutjanids, 123 Snook, 111 Solander, Daniel, 14, 25, 28, 32, Soldier, 116 Soles, 39 Southwest Rocks, 28 Spare, 129 Sparus, 116 Sparus, doubtful, 69, 69 Spawning run, 59 Spear, 27 Spearing fish, Aboriginal, 184, 185, 187, 187 Spears, Aboriginal, 172, 178–179, 181– 182, 186–187, 188 Species diversity, 202, 209 Spencers Gulf, 156 Sporing, Herman, 25, 27, 30, 40, 42 Sprat, Australian, 142 Sprat, blue, 92, 142 Sprat, sandy, 92 Squirefish, 113 St Lawrence, 95 Stargazers, 162 State Library of New South Wales, 72, 76, 77, 80 Steep Point, 102 Sticklebacks, 116 Sting-ray Harbour, 28, 103 Stingaree, banded, 159, 163, 163 Stingray, black, 103 Stingray, black blotched, 35 Stingray, honecomb, 35 Stingray, smooth, 25, 27, 42, Stingray, stingrays, 24–26, 25, 35, 36, 42, 46, 52, 60, 140, 156 Stripey, 71, 73 Strong, Sarah, 65, 67 Supply, 51, 55, 86 Surmullet, European, 116

General Index Swan River, 12, 19, 99, 101 Swans, black, 99, 101, 169, 170, 195 Sweep, 71, 129 Sweep, sea, 112 Sweep, silver, 71 Sydney Cove, 12, 44, 52, 70, 89 Sydney Cove, 153 Sydney Harbour, 27, 64, 67, 69, 70, 77, 83 Tahiti, 40, 41, 139, 145 Tahitians, 155 Tailor, 59, 80, 192 TAL Dai-ichi Life (Earl of Derby) Collection, 72 Tamar River, 90, 153 Tarwhine, 36, 46, 192 Tasman, Abel, 139–140 Tasmania, 90, 93, 139, Tench, 147 Tench, Watkin, 51, 57, 62–64, 73, 93 Thirsty Sound, 30 Thompson, Jim, 59 Threadfin fourfinger, 36, 37, 40 Threadfin salmon, 36, 41, 100, 111, 123 Timor, 109 Toadfish, 92, 115, 137, 162 Tobin, George, 147–148 Tom Thumb, 89 Tommy ruff, 112 Town of 1770, 29 Trawl net, 18 Trawling, 119, 125 Trepang, 136 Trevalla, snot-galled, 66 Trevalla, snot-nosed, 66 Trevally, silver, 72, 73, 78, 80, 80, 87, 192 Trevally, trevallies, 35, 36, 81, 81, 95, 103, 135 Triggerfish, 107 Triggerfish, starry, 107, 108 Trolling, 24, 155 Trout minnow, 142

Trout, brown, 147 Trout, coronation, 41, 42 Trout, mountain, 142, 143, 144, 147 Trout, rainbow , 147 Trumpeter, bastard, 194 Trumpeter, four-lined, 76 Tryall, 97 Tuckey, James , 170 Tuna, 35, 76, 78, 80, 103 Tuna, Atlantic bluefin, 137 Tuna, longtail, 81, 81 Tuna, skipjack, 103, 130, 202 Tuna, southern bluefin, 74, 81, 81, 137– 138, 138 Tuna, yellowfin, 74, 76, 137 Tupaia, 33 Tupaia, Aboriginal fishing scene, 179, 179 Turbot, 60 Turtle Bay, 114 Turtle eggs, 100 Turtle hunting, Aboriginal, 181–182, 194–195 Turtle, green, 36, 51 Turtle, turtles, 29, 34, 36, 51, 94, 95, 99, 104– 105, 114, 119, 131–132, 134, 136 Tuskfish, blackspot, 123 Twofold Bay, 90, 153 Ulladulla, 22 Van Diemensland, 139 Vancouver, George, 14, 17, 115, 129 Victor Harbour, 156, 164 Vis R. (Fish River), 96 Vlamingh, Willem de, 17, 19, 98– 100 VOC, 96, 98 Voyage to New Holland, 13 Wallis, James, 79–81 Warehou, blue, 66 Watling, Thomas, 16, 70, 72, 73, 79 Weedfish, crested, 72, 73, 78, 80, 81, 81 Weseltje, 98 Westall, William, 153

219 Whale, blue, 109 Whale, fatality caused by, 64 Whale, whales, 29 Whaler shark, 26, 124 Whales, 63, 90, 96, 101, 106, 119 Whales, baleen, 29 Whales, evidence of stranding, 161 Whales, humpback, 29, 90, 95, 106, 120–121 Whales, long-finned pilot, 144, 161 Whales, killer, 90 Whales, southern right, 64, 144 Whangarei, 38 White, John, 14, 45, 47, 49, 54, 61, 65, 67, 69, 72, 73 Whiting, blue week, 76 Whiting, King George, 126, 156 Whiting, sand, 82, 83 Whiting, weed, 194 Whiting, yellowfin, 59, 121, 135 Whitings, 91, 121, 192 Whitley, Gilbert, 13, 66, 70, 75, 116, 142 Wilsons Promontory, 166 Wirrah, eastern, 78, 80, 80, 192 Wobbegong, banded, 67, 78 Wollomai, Wo-lo-my, 75, 126 Worgan, George, 44, 45, 47, 48, 50, 53, 60, 61, 93 Wrasse, 142, 192 Wrasse, blue throated, 194 Wrasse, brownspotted, 116, 165 Wrasse, comb, 70 Wrasse, crimsonbanded, 76, 192 Wrasse, Maori, 77, 78, 80, 81, 81, 82, 82, 127, 127 Wrasse, Sandager’s, 75, 76, 88 Wrasse, southern Maori, 116 Wrasse, yellow-green, 75, 76, 88 Wyndham, 134 Yellows Point, 171 Yellowtail, 36, 95, 111, 112, 150 Yeppoon, 94 Zeehan, 139 Zoophytes, 14, 118, 118, 124

Scientific Names Index Numbers in bold refer to illustrations

Abalistes stellatus, 107 Abramis brama, 46, 107 Acanthaluteres brownie, 166 Acanthaluteres spilomelanurus, 166, 165 Acanthistius ocellatus, 78, 192 Acanthopagrus australis, 46, 49, 59, 60, 71, 192 Acanthopagrus berda, 136 Acanthopagrus butcheri, 49, 142, 144, 146, 152, 146 Acanthopagrus latus, 107 Achoerodus viridis, 72, 74, 80, 78, 192 Aldrichetta forsteri, 149, 159 Ammotretis, 145 Antennarius commerson, 70 Antennarius pictus, 70 Antennarius striatus, 70 Aptychotrema rostrate, 42, 61, 62 Argyrosomus japonicas, 60, 92, 192 Arripis georgianus, 112 Arripis trutta, 41, 41, 52, 60, 78, 80, 87, 145, 150, 153, 168, 168, 192 Asymbolus rubiginosus, 140, 141 Atherina, 145 Atherinason hepsetoides, 145 Balistes, 116 Ballistidae, 107 Belonidae, 34, 102, 111 Bodianus unimaculatus, 76 Bothidae, 192 Bovichthys variegates, 161 Brachionichthys hirsutus, 158, 158 Callorhinchus milii, 39, 71, 76, 144, 159, 160 Carangidae, 128 Carcharhinidae, 107, 124, 136 Carcharhinus galapagensis, 86 Carcharhinus leucas, 61, 76, 77, 79 Carcharhinus obscurus, 26, 26, 42, 100, 108 Carcharhinus plumbeus, 108 Carcharodon Carcharias, 113, 144, 154, 154, 166 Catharacta sp., 20 Centroberyx affinis, 80 Centropogon latifrons, 116

Cheilodactylidae, 192 Cheilodactylus vestitus, 42, 42 Chelidonichthys kumu, 76, 77, 146 Choerodon rubescens, 123 Choerodon schoenleinii, 123 Conger verreauxi, 150 Coris picta, 70 Coris sandeyeri, 75–77, 88 Coryphaen, 162 Coryphaena hippurus, 15, 29, 66, 76, 79, 106, 106, 134, 162 Coryphaena salviani, 162 Cristiceps australis, 78 Cymbacephalus nematophthalamus, 109

Halicore australis, 198 Hemirhamphidae, 111 Hemiscyllium ocellatum, 42, 42 Heniochus acuminatus, 76 Heterodontus portjacksoni, 66, 119 Heteroscarus acroptilus, 72, 76 Himantura uarnak, 35 Hyperlophus vittatus, 92 Hyporhamphus australis, 111, 192 Hyporhamphus melanochir, 165 Hyporhamphus regularis, 72, 74 Istiophorus platypterus, 102, 102

Dactyloptena orientalis, 77 Daption capensis, 20 Dasyatis brevicordata , 25, 42 Dasyatis thetidis, 103 Dentex gibbosus, 137 Dentiraja lemprieri, 171 Dinolestes lewini, 165 Diplodus vulgaris, 162 Drepane punctate, 41

Jasus edwardsii, 150, 152 25,

27,

Echeneis naucrates, 41 Eleutheronema tetradactylum, 36, 37, 41 Engraulis australis, 143 Enoplosus armatus, 36, 65, 71, 76, 77, 107 Epinephelus daemelii, 86–87 Epinephelus sp., 192 Favonigobius sp., 94 Fistularia petimba, 165 Gadidae, 121 Galaxias truttaceus, 143–144, 143 Galeocerdo cuvier, 61, 100, 104, 133, 134 Gasterosteus, 116 Girella cyanea, 87 Girella tricuspidata, 59, 71, 192 Glaucosoma hebraicum, 113, 120, 120 Globicephala melas, 161 Gymnapistes marmoratus, 116, 117 Gymnothorax minor, 71 Haletta semifasciata, 76

220

Isurus oxyrhinchus, 77

Katsuwonus pelamis, 103, 130 Koinga lebruni, 142 Labridae, 192 Labrus gigantheus, 120 Lagocephalus scleratus, 28, 72, 74 Lagocephalus spadecius, 41 Lates calcarifer, 136 Latridopsis forsteri, 192 Latridopsis purpurissatus, 76 Leiuranus versicolor, 75, 76 Lepidotrigla vanessa, 145 Leptomithrax gaimardii, 161 Lethrinidae, 123 Lethrinus laticaudis, 123, 123 Lethrinus miniatus, 75, 76, 85–86, 88, 89 Lethrinus nebulosus, 111 Liza alata, 35 Liza argentea, 59 Lotella rhacinus, 142 Lutjanidae, 123 Maccullochella peelii, 81 Macquaria colonorum, 63 Makaira nigricans, 116 Manta birostris, 103 Maugeclupea bassensis, 142 Megalapsis cordyla, 35 Meuschenia hippocrepis, 117, 117 Meuschenia trachylepsis, 76, 78 Microcanthus strigatus, 71 Mobula sp., 103

221

Scientific Names Index Monacanthidae, 27, 107, 192 Monacanthus chinensis, 65 Monodactylus argenteus, 31, 80 Mugil cephalus, 59, 60, 63, 78, 82, 192, 198 Mullus surmuletus, 116 Mustelus antarcticus, 142, 159, 161, 163, 163 Mustelus lenticulatus, 39 Mylobatis australis, 42, 142 Mytilus edulis, 180 Myxus elongatus, 46, 46 Nelusetta ayraudi, 165 Nemadactylus macropterus, 159, 162 Nemadactylus valenciennes, 111, 111 Neoarius graeffei, 134 Notolabrus gymnogenis, 76, 192 Notolabrus parilus, 116, 165 Notolabrus tetricus, 192 Notorynchus cepedianus, 163 Odacidae, 192 Opthalmolepsis lineolatus, 77, 78, 82, 116, 127, 127 Orectolobus ornatus, 67, 78 Pachymetopon blochii , 152 Pagrus auratus, 41, 41, 52, 56, 56, 62, 63, 75–78, 80, 80, 85, 107, 112, 113, 123, 126, 127–128, 137, 157, 165, 192 Pagrus major, 130 Parapercis nebulosi, 121, 122 Paraplesiops bleekeri, 71, 76 Parequula melbournensis, 145 Parma mccullochi, 112 Pelates quadrilineatus, 76 Periophthalmus sp., 94 Phyllopteryx taeniolatus, 125, 126 Platycephalidae, 109 Platycephalus bassensis, 92, 144, 145,

167 Platycephalus endrachtensis, 109 Platycephalus fuscus, 78, 80, 192 Plotosidae, 192 Polydactylidae, 123 Polyprion americanus , 87 Pomatomus saltatrix, 59, 192 Pomocentridae, 112 Portunus pelagicus, 30, 31, 42 Portunus sanguinolentus, 30, 31, 42 Prionace glauca, 77 Pristiophorus cirratus , 70, 72 Pseudaphritis urvillii, 147 Pseudocaranx dentex, 78, 80, 87, 177, 177, 192 Pseudophycis bachus, 142, 146, 151 Pseudophycis barbata , 63, 142, 169 Pseudorhombus arsius, 35 Pterodroma solandri, 87

Seriolella brama, 66 Sillaginidae, 121 Sillago ciliate, 59, 82, 192 Sillago schomburgkii, 121, 135 Sparidae, 124, 130, 152, 165 Sparus, 124 Sphaerena novaehollandiae, 111, 112 Sphyraena sp., 109 Sphyrna lewini, 80 Spondyliosoma cantharus, 49, 49 Spratelloides robustus , 92, 143 Sprattus novaehollandiae, 143 Squalus acanthias, 142, 162 Squatina pseudocellata, 108 Squatinidae, 108 Stromateus maculatus, 66 Stromateus stellatus, 66 Strongylura leiura, 104 Symphorus nematophorus, 119

Raja clavate, 171 Rhabdosargus sarba, 192 Rhina ancylostoma, 100 Rhombosolea, 145 Rhombosolea tapirina , 145, 150 Rhyncobatus djiddensis, 100 Sarda australis, 75 Sarda orientalis, 103, 112 Sargus salviani, 162 Saurida undosquamis, 121, 122 Scomber australasicus, 38, 60, 111, 116, 130, 150, 165 Scomber scombrus, 60 Scomberoides sp., 103, 136 Scorpaena sumptuosa, 129 Scorpis aequipinnis, 112 Scorpis lineolatus, 71 Scyliorhinus canicular, 161 Sepia apama, 22 Seriola hippos, 128, 128 Seriola lalandi, 165, 192

Taeniura meyeni, 36 Thalassoma lutescens, 75, 76, 88 Thunnus albacares, 74, 76, 78, 137 Thunnus maccoyi, 74, 137, 138 Thunnus thynnus, 137 Thyrsites atun, 71, 72, 111, 165 Tinca tinca, 147 Trachurus declivis, 111 Trachurus novaezelandiae, 39, 111, 150 Trichomya hirsute, 180 Trygonorrhina sp., 42 Turbo torquatus, 189 Tylosaurus crocodilus , 104, 136 Tylosurus gavialoides, 78 Upeneichthys vlamingii, 116, 117 Upneichthys lineatus, 70, 116 Urolophus cruciatus, 159, 163, 164 Xanthorrhea sp., 189 Zeus faber, 78, 80

Another Book from Rosenberg Publishing

223

Lying for the Admiralty Margaret Cameron-Ash How could Captain Cook, supposedly ‘the greatest navigator of his age’, have missed coastal features that even the dullest sailor would have discovered – features as obvious as Bass Strait? But he didn’t miss them – he hid them.  The Endeavour voyage is best understood in its historic context of furious rivalry as France and Britain race for strategic discoveries in the South Seas.   Philip Stephens, secretary of the Admiralty, is determined that, when a ship is sent to observe the transit of Venus, it will also find new territories for Britain. He appoints Cook to command the Endeavour, helps him to research the old maps of earlier navigators and ensures that he sails with an abstract of Abel Tasman’s journal.   After observing the transit in Tahiti, the Endeavour sails on through uncharted waters, racked by tension between Joseph Banks, who believes that a Southern Continent lies between South America and New Zealand, and Cook, who does not. Cook makes important discoveries in New Zealand and Australia, survives disaster on the Great Barrier Reef, and nurses his damaged ship to Batavia.   Throughout the voyage, obeying secret orders, Cook hides all his strategic discoveries. With a detective’s instinct, the forensic skill of a lawyer, and an eye for engaging detail, Cameron-Ash re-examines Cook’s original journals and charts with all their erasures, additions, omissions and fabrications.   Richly illustrated with maps, portraits, ships, and landscapes, Lying for the Admiralty is a cartographical thriller that reveals Cook in a fresh light - as an explorer who truly merits the title of ‘the greatest navigator of his age’ and a patriot who is willing to tarnish his record for the sake of his country.   2018 marks the 250th anniversary of the start of Cook’s Endeavour voyage (17681771). Conferences, tours and exhibitions will be hosted by the international Captain Cook Society and many national institutions from London to Canberra. Margaret Cameron-Ash is a lawyer, a former visiting fellow at the University of NSW and the author of Supreme and District Courts Practice (1982, Law Book Co). After working and lecturing as a lawyer in Sydney and London, she widened her area of research to include early Australian history, with a special interest in cartography. She has published numerous papers about Captain Cook. ISBN 9780648043966, 240 pages, 240 x 180 mm, paperback, July 2018, rrp $34.95 paperback ISBN 9780648043973, $17.50 epdf

224

Another Book from Rosenberg Publishing

Where Australia Collides with Asia Ian Burnet This book follows the epic voyages of natural history of Continent Australia, Joseph Banks, Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace.   The voyage of Continent Australia after it breaks away from Antarctica 50 million years ago with its raft of Gondwanaland flora and fauna and begins its journey north towards the equator.   The voyage of Joseph Banks on the Endeavour who with Daniel Solander became the first trained naturalists to describe the unique flora and fauna of Continent Australia that had evolved during its 30 million years of isolation.   The voyage of Charles Darwin on the Beagle, who after his observations in South America and the Galapagos Islands, sat on the banks of the Coxs River in New South Wales and tried to rationalize his belief in the idea of biblical creation and understand the origin of species.   The voyage of Alfred Russel Wallace, who realized that the Lombok Strait in Indonesia represents the biogeographical boundary between the fauna of Asia and those of Australasia. On the Asian side are elephants, tigers, primates and specific birds. On the Australasian side are marsupials such as the possum-like cuscus and the Aru wallaby, as well as birds specific to Australia such as white cockatoos, brush turkeys and the spectacular Birds of Paradise. It was tectonic plate movement that brought these disparate worlds together and it was Alfred Russel Wallace’s ‘Letter from Ternate’ that forced Charles Darwin to finally publish his landmark work On the Origin of Species. ISBN 9780994562784, 208 pages, 240 x 180 mm, 2017, rrp $34.95 paperback ISBN 978099456791, $17.50 epdf