despite the rough handling we always had
at sea from the weather, we grew quite fat. But as the greater part of
my fishing experience was gained on the northern rivers of the colony
of New South Wales, it is of them I shall write. Eighteen hours' run
by steamer from Sydney is the Hastings River, on the southern bank of
which, a mile from the bar, is the old-time town of Port Macquarie--a
quaint, sleepy little place of six hundred inhabitants, who spend their
days in fishing and waiting for better times. There are two or three
fairly good hotels, very pretty scenery along the coast and up
the river, and a stranger can pass a month without suffering from
_ennui_--that is, of course, if he be fond of fishing and shooting; if
he is not, he should avoid going there, for it is the dullest coast
town in New South Wales. The southern shore, from the steamer wharf to
opposite the bar, is lined with a hard beach, on which, at high tide
or slack water at low tide, one may sit down in comfort and have great
sport with bream, whiting and flathead. As soon as the tide turns,
however, and is well on the ebb or flow, further fishing is impossible,
for the river rushes out to sea with great velocity, and the incoming
tide is almost as swift. On the other side of the harbour is a long,
sandy point called the North Shore, about a mile in length. This, at the
north end, is met by a somewhat dense scrub, which lines the right bank
of the river for a couple of miles, and affords a splendid shade to
anyone fishing on the river bank. The outer or ocean beach is but a few
minutes' walk from the river, and a magnificent beach it is, trending in
one great unbroken curve to Point Plomer, seven miles from the township.

Before ascending the river on a fishing trip one has to be provided with
a plentiful supply of cockles, or 'pippies,' as they are called locally.
These can only be obtained on the northern ocean beach, and not the
least enjoyable part of a day's sport consists in getting them. They
are triangular in shape, with smooth shells of every imaginable colour,
though a rich purple is commonest. As the backwash leaves the sands
bare, these bivalves may be seen in thick but irregular patches
protruding from the sand. Sometimes, if the tide is not low enough, one
may get rolled over by the surf if he happen to have his back turned
seaward. Generally I was accompanied by two boys, known as 'Condon's
Twins.' They were my landlord's sons, and cert