On the road: Every crusty sea dog has his cray

By TONY WALL

Brian Dasler sucks on a roll-your-own and strains on his craypot line as a big swell rocks his runabout violently.

This is an old sea dog in his element: man against nature in one of the most spectacular ocean playgrounds on Earth.

Day seven of our road trip from Bluff to Cape Reinga and we are in the old 19th-century whaling port of Kaikoura, my favourite stop so far.

South of the township, the rain-swept Kaikoura Ranges plunge down into the sea, leaving only a narrow coastal ribbon for State Highway 1.

Close to shore, the seabed lies under 1500m of water. It is thought that only giant squid, of the type that gave Captain Nemo a hard time in Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, live at that depth.

At South Bay we meet an old mate of mine, Bruce Muir, who gave up life as a butcher in Christchurch to run a charter fishing business from his boat Sylver Ann.

He introduces us to 57-year-old Mr Dasler, who has been fishing here for three decades and can be seen most mornings about 6.30 am motoring out to his craypots in his 4.8m boat.

The sea is lumpy today after a night of heavy rain and a cold southerly. Strong currents have the sea running like a river, with the added excitement of a big swell.

The tide-line can be seen clearly - green sea on one side and dark blue, almost black, on the other.

Mr Dasler squints against the spray as he powers his boat a few hundred metres to the nearest pots.

He used to be a commercial fisherman but nowadays recreational cray fishing keeps him happy and he loves being out in his boat.

The other day he got a thrill when a 1.5m Orca's fin appeared next to him. He watched the killer whales hunt dolphins in packs.

"There were acres of dolphins and a pod of Orcas came and split them up, then rounded them up like sheepdogs."

As a recreational fisherman, Mr Dasler is allowed six crays a day. The females must be 58mm across the tail and the males 54mm, otherwise he has to throw them back.

Commercial fishers can make big money from crays - about $300,000 a tonne - but the season usually lasts only eight months of the year.

After cooking the crays for a few minutes in boiling water, Mr Dasler likes to eat them with a sauce his wife makes, while Mr Muir prefers cray sandwiches with lettuce.

One thing Mr Dasler does not like is having his photo taken - "it's like going to the dentist" - so we leave him, after grabbing three crays.

We hitch a ride with Dolphin Encounters, who are taking tourists out to swim with the hundreds of Dusky dolphins that live in the bay.

Tourism is the town's life-blood. Where once fishing and farming kept it going, now tourists come by the busload to see dolphins, whales and seals.

When we venture out, the sea has settled a bit, but I still get seasick and almost lose my breakfast.

We come across a large pod of dolphins and the tourists snorkel around them, making silly squeaking noises they have been taught to attract the speedy mammals.

Guide Tim Philip says dolphins usually feed at night, when squid come closer to the surface. During the day they rest and mate - prolifically.

"They are extremely promiscuous. The other day a female was mated five times within 2 1/2 minutes. The average mating takes eight to 10 seconds - similar to your average Auckland bloke."

We leave the great wit so we can cook up our crays, which we eat with some hot chips by the side of the road on the way to Blenheim.

The perfect end to the perfect day.

Feature: On the road with Tony and Mark