Alright, so you wanna know about the rock cod fish, huh? Lemme tell ya, I’ve had my share of run-ins with these fellas. It’s not like they’re the prettiest fish in the sea, not by a long shot. But there’s something about ’em.
My First Real Rock Cod Adventure
I remember this one time, years ago, I decided I was gonna get serious about catching my own dinner. Not just, you know, buying it from the store all cleaned and pretty. Nah, I wanted the full experience. So, I got myself some basic gear, nothing fancy, and a buddy of mine, Tom – he’s one of those guys who thinks he knows everything about fishing – convinced me to go out on his rickety old boat. “Rock cod,” he said, “easy pickings, good eating.” Easy pickings, my foot.
So, we chugged out super early. The kind of early where you’re still half asleep and wondering why you do these things to yourself. We found this spot Tom swore by, near some kelp beds and, well, rocks. Makes sense, right? Rock cod, rocks. Duh.
- The Prep: Getting the bait on the hook with cold fingers, that was fun. Squid, I think it was. Smelly stuff.
- The Wait: Then you just sit there. And wait. Tom’s telling stories, mostly about fish that got away, big surprise.
- The Action (or lack thereof): For a while, nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was starting to think Tom’s “spot” was just a place he liked to nap.
Then, bam! My line goes tight. Not like a huge, fighting marlin, more like I snagged the bottom. But then it moved. “That’s one!” Tom yells, like he hooked it himself. So, I start reeling. And reeling. It wasn’t a crazy fight, but it was definitely something with a bit of heft. Felt like pulling up a grumpy bulldog, you know?
When I finally got it to the surface, there it was. This reddish, kinda blotchy thing with spiky fins and big, dopey eyes. Honestly, it looked like it was personally offended I’d pulled it out of the water. Not exactly majestic. We caught a few more that day, different types of rock cod, ’cause apparently there’s a whole bunch of ’em. Some were red, some were brownish, some looked like they’d lost a fight with a paint factory.
The Not-So-Fun Part
Getting them back to shore was one thing. Cleaning them? That was a whole other ball game. Tom, conveniently, had to “take a call” right when the cleaning started. Typical Tom. These rock cod, they’ve got these sharp spines. You gotta be careful, or you’ll end up looking like you wrestled a cactus. I learned that the hard way, of course. My hands were poked and prodded by the end of it. I was starting to think that store-bought fish wasn’t so bad after all.
It’s funny, because that whole experience reminds me of this one time I tried to assemble some flat-pack furniture. You know, the instructions look simple, all the pieces are there, but halfway through you’re sweating, you’ve got a mystery screw left over, and the thing is wobbling. Catching and cleaning those rock cod felt just like that. A lot more effort than you initially sign up for.
But Then, The Payoff
But here’s the thing. After all that hassle, after the smelly bait, the cold morning, Tom’s endless stories, and the spiky fins, we cooked ’em up. Just simple, pan-fried with some lemon and butter. And you know what? It was fantastic. The meat was white, flaky, and had this clean, mild taste. Suddenly, all that effort felt kinda worth it.
So yeah, rock cod. They’re not glamorous. They can be a pain. But there’s a certain satisfaction in dealing with them, from start to finish. And they do taste pretty darn good if you ask me. Would I go through all that hassle every weekend? Probably not. But every now and then? Yeah, I think I would. It’s a good story, if nothing else.
