Who hath no sin?
THE SHAD SHERIFFS have pounced. Three Chinese nationals on the South Coast got stiff punishment when they were found guilty the other day of stripping more than 5 000 mussels from the rocks. They got fines of R120 000 each – or two years in the clink – half conditionally suspended for two years.
This is as it should be. No individual can consume 5 000 mussels. These were being sold commercially, devastating our coastal ecology. The destroyers must be punished. The fisheries laws must be enforced. Well done to the sheriffs! Let us support the law!
And yet … who hath no sin? I recall an incident on the North Coast in the 1950s when, on a spring tide at dark moon, a party of kids set out to catch crayfish for the dads' bait next morning. The girl from next door – let me call her "Jenny" – was carefully coached by her dad on what to do if the Parks Board folk should arrive on the scene.
"Just throw the bag of crayfish into the sea!"
Sure enough, the Parks Board ranger – the shad sheriff – suddenly appeared on the rocks. Jenny was holding a sack of crayfish and her dad's new torch. She threw the torch into the sea.
Nobody went to jail but the shad sheriff almost had a hernia laughing.
Wanna bet?
ON THOSE very rocks I was once – many years later - lawfully and at midday cutting redbait with a friend. It was at Catfish Rock, Umhlali Beach.
I waded ashore with the bait bag. My friend was still out on Catfish. Waiting on the beach was a shad sheriff.
"Let's have a look at those mussels you've got," he said.
"I haven't got mussels. This is redbait."
"You've got mussels," he said. "Open the bag."
"Look, I know the law. But I'll bet you five quid there aren't mussels in this bag."
"Five quid?"
"Yes."
"You're on!"
I opened the bag. Six huge mussels were there among the redbait. The shad sheriff hooted with laughter. He showed me his binoculars.
"See these things – I can see to bloody Australia with them. I saw your mate take the mussels and put them in the bag."
He let me off the five quid. He also let us keep the six mussels. Things were more relaxed in those days.
Dinner chatter
THE OTHER night I was at a dinner up at Umhlali. It was one of those magic moonlit evenings as we looked out over the sea. This was the coast we had grown up on.
One bit of chatter led to another. Eventually we phoned the former shad sheriff of Umhlali, long retired to the Midlands.
"I'm in bed," he said.
"Good," we said. "We're going out after crayfish."
Bottlenecks
I FEAR there could be unanticipated bottlenecks as people arrive to watch the Football World Cup. The other night an Austrian girl was held up for 20 minutes or so at King Shaka International because the immigration officials said there was no such country as Austria, from which she hails and whose passport she holds.
Eventually she told them to "think of Australia", which got them on the right track.
It reminds me of the incident I witnessed in Musgrave post office recently when counter officials assured a woman with a parcel that there's no such place as London - "it's not on our computer."
Austria is, of course, that island off the Australian mainland that is sometimes known as Tasmania or Van Diemensland. The ski-ing is terrific, the oompah! oompah! music superb. It was once the home of the Holy Roman Emperor. But, alas, it's been overshadowed since the glory days by places like New South Wales and Queensland.
Those immigration officials need some coaching in geography, history and culture.
"You say you're from Brazil? You gotta be nuts!"
Tailpiece
Patient: "I can't stop deep-frying things in batter. I get up in the morning and deep-fry my boiled egg. I've deep-fried all my clothes and shoes. I've even deep-fried my bike and battered the cat. What's wrong with me?"
Psychiatrist: "You're frittering your life away."
Last word
After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say: "I want to see the manager."
GRAHAM LINSCOTT
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