Whitebait...It's that time of the year

It’s that time of year again. Drive down the Wainui Road around the Cheddar Valley and you will see them. They remind me of herons, sitting motionless along the river bank. Talk to them in whispered tones, do not expect eye contact. Unblinking, they study the mood of the river. Sometimes they are in pairs. In town they would be called Darby and Joan, but here in the country they are Eb and Flo, the river folk. Precariously balanced on tiny fold up chairs, the male of the species scans the murky water for a tell tale ripple. Eb has been sitting at this spot every August for the last ten years, this is his secret posi’. Flo is happy with her book until her partner lets out a triumphant whisper and is galvanized into action. She knows the routine, the Mills and Boon is quickly discarded, she grabs the specially designed bucket (there is a small hole in it). Eb is alert, his senses are reeling, his mouth is watering. He moves faster than a speeding sloth, skillfully scooping the huge net through the water. There is a flash of silver as not one, but two, unsuspecting whitebait (smaller than the last joint on Eb's little finger and thinner than a turkey quil) are lured into the mouth of the net.
‘One each’, exclaims Flo, as her hero wrestles the catch to the shore.

Some years ago we lived in the small village of Edgecumbe, adjacent to the Rangitaiki River. Now I had heard about the whitebait delicacy and I was keen to try my luck. I acquired the obligatory net and made my way to the river bank. Imagine my excitement when by lunch time I had scooped two large buckets full.
‘How’d you get on this morning?’ Enquires Alf, my neighbour.
‘I got two,’ I reply, ‘what about yourself?’
‘Better than you,’ says Alf, ‘I got five, almost enough for a fritter.’
Now I am thinking, (quite wrongly) I got two buckets, Alf got five, his one fritter will not only feed the whole population of Edgecumbe, when he tosses it out of the pan there is likely to be a total eclipse.

Maureen and I had whitebait fritters for breakfast, lunch and tea (the kids would not touch them) In fact we devoured enough to sink an aircraft carrier. Number two’s was off the agenda for a week and a half. My wife thought the best part of the fritter was the egg it was cooked in. Truth be known, I was catching the wrong species, they were bigger than the elusive sylph like delicacy and I was puzzled by the fact that a not so small, gray and somewhat gritty fish was called white. I could hardly believe my ears when I heard that whitebait was fetching up to $150 per kg in local shops. Goodbye mortgage thinks I, as the little critters are placed in snap up bags ready to hit the local consumer.
Experienced white-baiters reckon they know their piece of river so well that they can almost smell them coming. The point to ponder is this, whitebait is great for eating, but when they are ‘Smelt’ they are only good for fertilizer.