‘The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.’
– John Buchan (1875-1940); a Scottish novelist, historian, and politician best known for his adventure and spy novels.
In remote areas where access to markets and alternative food sources is limited, fishing provides a vital source of nutrition and sustenance. It helps ensure food security by providing a consistent and accessible supply of protein-rich food. Even as little children, my siblings and I and others like us in our remote village understood this. Not because we understood the economics of it, but because life felt bad when we had no fish (or other foods for that matter) to eat.
That was the prime reason that drove us children, my cousin, my little brother, and I to embark on a project restoring an abandoned bamboo fish trap in a river along a trail to our paddy farm, several miles away from our village.
The trap originally belonged to a distant uncle who deemed it “too far” for his liking. You see, as long as his paddy farm remained near the trap, situated north of our village, it served its purpose. However, he had chosen to cultivate another area in the southwest, claiming it to be more fertile.
Unaware of his decision to abandon it, we recollected how he would always adjust and repair the trap. Hoping to find him there one day, we ventured to the contraption, only to discover it in disrepair. While the main structure remained intact, the bamboo slats forming the floor and walls were broken or rotted, or missing, washed away during the previous rainy season.
Based on its general condition, we deduced that the trap had been abandoned for several months.
Curiosity piqued, we inquired about his intentions for the trap, and he confirmed that he had indeed abandoned it. Making the journey to check on it no longer appealed to him.
When we suggested the possibility of repairing and restoring the trap, he chuckled and asked, “Does your father know about this?”
Both of us shook our heads, and he chuckled once more.
“Do you think you’re capable of such a task?”
We laughed nervously in response, uncertain of our abilities. We had never undertaken such a large-scale project before.
“We often play around that area, so we might as well attempt to restore the trap,” I replied.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ve left some bamboo stems at my old farm hut. I no longer use them, and I believe they are still in good condition. Drag or carry them to the river to repair the trap. That way, you won’t need to cut down any bamboo.”
“Thank you, Uncle. We will do just that,” we replied almost in unison.
It was Thursday, a memorable day because it was the 20th of August 1964 – my birthday. At the age of eleven, I was filled with excitement and anticipation. Little B, who was nine, and my cousin Ratum, who shared my age, joined me in the adventure.
After school in the late afternoon, we hastened to a little stream on the far side of a hill behind our house to check on my little bamboo fish trap. To our delight, we caught a leg-sized catfish, a few shrimps, and crabs. We also plucked a fully ripe pumpkin and collected a basketful of ‘cangkuk manis’ leaves (a sweet vegetable) from our little food forest in the house compound. That night, after singing the required birthday song, we feasted on our catch. Three children went to bed full, happy, and contented.
The following day, immediately after school, Little B and I hurried to our paddy farm along with Ratum, eager to reunite with our younger siblings and parents. Before Ratum could join us, we needed to obtain permission from his father. Thankfully, the prospect of catching fish convinced the man to grant Ratum’s request to accompany us.
Our farm was situated deep in the jungle, about five to six miles away from our village. Our parents chose to stay there to avoid the daily trek to and from the village. But this meant leaving us to fend for ourselves while attending school.
We ran excitedly to the farm that day, driven by an overwhelming desire to check on the old fish trap. We hoped to reach the farm before the evening sun disappeared below the horizon so that we would have time to visit the site and play in the river before darkness fell.
As we arrived at the trap, its dilapidated state confirmed our suspicions. It desperately needed a lot of love to make it functional again. Thankfully, most of the supporting posts were still standing strong. The dry August weather had kept the water level in the stream low, allowing us to assess the extent of the damage.
That night, we shared our plans with our father. We explained that the fish trap had been entrusted to us by its previous owner.
“You should check on the trap and help the kids restore it. They could learn a thing or two while working on it,” Mother suggested to him.
Father chuckled and said, “I wanted to repair it last year, but the kids beat me to it.”
“So, you’re going to help us?” I asked.
“I will. We’ll start tomorrow,” he affirmed.
The next morning, Father guided us through the restoration process, patiently explaining each step and answering our endless questions.
First, he began by cutting down some trees to rebuild the dam. This was necessary because the main structure of the trap would be attached to it from behind. The round logs spanned the entire width of the river, which was slightly over ten feet wide at the chosen spot. We tied them one by one to the posts and stacked them on top of each other, using strong rattan vines, until the dam stood about six feet tall.
Next, we started repairing the trap walls and floor. Father had processed a lot of slats by splitting the bamboo stems that our uncle had left at his old farm hut. Carefully selecting the ones that were still in good condition, we used them to replace the broken and missing slats.
Early on Sunday morning, one of Father’s friends from upriver came to visit and shared some news from the village. He joined us for breakfast and ended up helping us until noon when he had to leave for another errand. We decided to call it a day as well because Ratum, Little B, and I had to return to the village for school the following day.
The following Saturday, we resumed work on the fish trap, and by evening, we deemed the restoration complete. The contraption stood proudly, ready to fulfil its purpose once again.
With the dam secured, we closed the overflow gate, causing the water level upstream to rise. Soon, the water began to overflow through the gap atop the dam onto the trap behind it. It looked like a little waterfall. This was the intended design to force the fish over the dam and into the trap.
On the way back to our farmhouse, Father praised us for our dedication and determination, which filled our hearts with gladness and pride. He emphasised that nature had much to offer, but its benefits were only for those willing to work hard.
In our excitement, we initially failed to grasp the significance of what we had accomplished with the completion of the project. It was several weeks later while collecting some fish that had landed in the trap, that Ratum commented on it. That was the moment we realised that the restoration of the fish trap was not merely about catching fish. It had been a fun and educational project that brought us closer as a family. We worked together, shared knowledge and skills, and rejoiced in our achievements. It was a bonding experience that we would cherish for years to come, even though we couldn’t put it into words at the time.
Looking back now, I remember that Father was emotionally affected by the experience. He could have completed the project on his own, but by involving us, he discovered something special within himself — a precious thing he had not realised was there. He didn’t say much to us directly, but I overheard him talking with Mother about it.
‘Fishing is much more than fish. It is the great occasion when we may return to the fine simplicity of our forefathers.’
– Herbert Hoover (1874-1964); the 31st President of the United States, serving from 1929 to 1933.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
