by Derek Hansen
‘But why make them sterile?’ said Gregan.‘I thought you’d want fish like that to breed.’
‘Three reasons,’ said Peter. ‘Triploids make big, strong fighting fish and that’s what we all want. Secondly, we don’t want them to breed. They breed a month after brown trout and use the same breeding grounds to lay their eggs. Their activity disturbs the eggs of the brown trout and they even feed on them. So if we want both brown trout and rainbow trout to grow big and prosper, we have to have sterile rainbows.’
‘But how can rainbows prosper if they can’t breed?’ said Gregan.
‘We buy fingerlings and restock,’ said Peter. ‘The third reason is purely commercial. Highland Waters isn’t the only lake around here. There are hundreds and all of them have trout and many have their own resident guides. The fact is, big fish attract more fishermen and as a professional guide I need to compete and make a living. The bigger and more plentiful the trout are, the more work I get. And there’s also the question of land.’
‘Land?’This was something Gregan understood.
‘There are still a few blocks left to sell. You wouldn’t be interested, would you? I could put you onto Ian Walters. He’s a local builder. Does a great job. He did the Horrocks house.’
‘Maybe,’ said Gregan. His heart was screaming ‘yes’, but his brain was urging caution. The funny thing was, he’d never bought a house from anyone before and had never bought property except on a scale for development. He’d always argued that by the time individual blocks and single dwellings came on the market, the real money had already been made — and he was often the bloke who’d made it. To his white-shoe way of thinking, no matter how much he paid for a block of land at Highland Waters, he’d end up paying far too much. But the seeds of ownership had been sown and they’d fallen on fertile soil. Gregan knew he’d have to figure out a way of doing something about it.
‘Before I leap in at the deep end,’ he said. ‘Tell me about some of these other lakes.’
Gregan sat out on his terrace in sunny Surfers, a lager glass filled with light beer in one hand, his mobile in the other and a teledex on the heavy glass table in front of him. He was wearing plain multi-pocketed shorts and a Patagonia multi-pocketed shirt in an exquisite shade of drab green. He had olive all-terrain walking sandals on his feet. Although in perfect trout camouflage, he was definitely in white Bally slip-on mode. He began working his way through the names of every advertising man he knew. As he did so, he couldn’t help comparing his surroundings with those of the Central Highlands. They had nothing in common yet he found beauty in both.
His own home was ruthlessly modern: all angles, white paint and hanging walls of tinted glass. He liked the overall look of it and the interior, which was twentieth-century classic American in a Spence & Lyda/Herman Miller sort of way. There wasn’t a wall that didn’t boast a Geoffrey Smart, Brett Whiteley or Arthur Boyd, except those in his study, which were adorned with pictures of glass towers and developments. In truth, he’d wanted something a little grander, something Gone With the Wind-ish, antebellum South with proud white columns, but his wife had been resolutely opposed.
‘The world doesn’t need another Tara,’ she said.
All the same Gregan couldn’t help feeling a little envious when he looked across the water at the replica French château and, two metres away from it on the adjacent block, a replica Tuscan villa with a most delightful Balinese garden. He decided it was the classic look that he liked and stored his preference away for possible application in Tasmania.
‘Owen!’ said Gregan. ‘Mate! How’re ya going? I haven’t heard a peep out of you since I rang to tell you how much I liked the brochure you did for me.’ Gregan kept the patter up before slipping in the key question.‘Been trout fishing down Tassie lately? No? I thought you were a keen trout fisherman. You’re not? Never mind, we’ve still got to do lunch some time. I’ll call you.’
He made four similar calls before he finally struck gold. Not only had his old mate Richo been trout fishing in Tasmania, he was considering buying a property there. Richo had sold his agency to an American advertising conglomerate for a potful of money and was just three months short of completing his service contract.
‘What are you going to do then?’ asked Gregan. ‘Retire? Mate, you’re far too young to do that and you can’t spend every day fishing. I know, I’ve tried. You’ve got to have something else going to keep the mind active and the juices flowing. I’ve had an idea that’ll not only make us a decent buck but enable us to chase bloody big rainbows for the rest of our lives. Interested?’
Of course he was.
Gregan flew Richo up from Sydney and took him to his favourite restaurant where the Moreton Bay bugs were exceptional and the mud crabs came from Sandy Bay and were the size of dinner plates.
‘I’ve identified two lakes near Bronte Park with potential,’ said Gregan.‘Including the surrounding land, one is fourteen hectares and the other eighteen. Both are fed by streams with gravel beds which are ideal for breeding.’
‘Interesting,’ said Richo. ‘But what’s the hook? What’s the marketing edge? Why would anyone buy and build on our land in preference, say, to Highland Waters?’
‘Bigger, stronger fish,’ said Gregan. ‘Potentially world-record fish. Done right, I reckon our lake could attract fly fishermen from all over the world. In fact, that’s what I’m counting on.’
‘If these lakes have world-record trout in them, why haven’t they already been developed?’
‘They haven’t got world-record fish in them,’ said Gregan smugly.‘Not yet, they haven’t, but they will have.’
‘Go on.’
‘Tell me, Richo, what do you know about triploids?’
‘I’ve heard of them, of course, even caught a few, but I haven’t a clue what they are.’
‘I’ve made some enquiries,’ said Gregan.‘Triploid rainbows are trout with an extra set of chromosomes. Normal trout are diploids, which is to say they have two sets of chromosomes, one from each parent. Trout eggs also have two sets of chromosomes from their mother, which means that they have to “cast off” a set to accommodate their dad’s chromosomes when they’re fertilised. If you treat newly fertilised trout eggs to block the “casting off” of a set of chromosomes, you end up with triploids. Because tripoids are sterile, they don’t lose the energy normal trout put into breeding and so maintain their condition and growth rate. They grow bigger and stronger faster.’
‘Okay,’ said Richo. ‘But I still don’t see our advantage. Triploids already exist in other lakes.’
‘True,’ said Gregan. ‘But if trout can be manipulated to become triploids, who’s to say that’s where manipulation ends? I’ve spoken to people in universities and made contacts on the net. Theoretically, there is no reason why growth genes can’t also be manipulated to make trout grow even faster, and no reason why the triggers that limit growth can’t be delayed or disabled.’
‘You’re talking genetic engineering.’
‘That’s what I’m doing.’
‘Forget it, Gregan. It took teams of scientists working with the latest, fastest computers years to identify the human genome. It would take just as long to identify a trout’s.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is the good part,’ said Gregan. ‘The web turned up this guy in Sydney, a bloke called Everton Sweet. He’s a genetic engineer with a thing about fish. He’s way-out weird and as boring as flat beer, but he thinks he can give us what we want for half a mill.’
‘Five hundred thousand dollars?’
‘Yeah. What do you reckon?’
‘My car cost more than that.’
‘The first thing we have to do is make sure Everton can deliver and squeeze some kind of time frame out of him,’ said Gregan. They’d finished lunch and were lingering over a fifty-year-old Para port. ‘Once that’s in the bag, we can approach the two guys who’ve optioned the eighteen-hectare pr
operty.’
‘What two guys?’ said Richo.
‘Two guides,’ said Gregan. ‘Brothers. The Hydro released the land and they optioned it with a view to building a fishing lodge, thereby guaranteeing themselves a steady stream of clients. They’re pushovers, literally babes in the wood. They’re grossly under-capitalised and haven’t a clue about marketing. When they read our proposal they’ll think they’ve died and gone to heaven. We’ll get the property for a song.’
‘So it all comes down to a mad scientist with a thing about fish?’
‘Yes, but we have to be careful,’ said Gregan. ‘It’s not a big jump from genetically modified fish to Frankenstein fish. If word ever gets out about what we’re doing we could be in trouble. Fly fishermen are nature freaks and won’t be happy. They could boycott us and deny us world records.’
‘Bloody tree huggers,’ said Richo.
‘How big do you want these trout to grow?’ asked Everton Sweet.
‘Thirty kilos would just about double the current world record,’ said Gregan.‘But forty kilos has a nicer ring to it.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Everton. ‘But have you thought about how you’ll support a colony of forty-kilo trout in one small lake?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Gregan.
‘Have you any idea how much a forty-kilo trout would need to eat?’
‘No,’ said Gregan.
‘Can you imagine how many insects a forty-kilo trout would need to eat in a day, how many galaxia, how many scud, how many tadpoles, how many frogs, how many dragonfly larvae?’
‘No,’ said Gregan.
‘Can you imagine how much food a colony of forty-kilo trout would consume? Can you imagine how quickly they’d clean out the lake’s entire food source? Nature isn’t stupid, you know. There’s a pretty good reason why trout only grow so big.’
‘Thirty kilos is sounding pretty good,’ said Gregan.
‘Twenty-five kilos sounds even better,’ said Everton. ‘Your fish will be magnificent. We just have to make sure they’re not too magnificent.’
Gregan did some quick calculating. Twenty-five kilos was roughly fifty-three pounds, more than enough to break every world record and get rich American pulses racing.
‘Can you make twenty-five-kilo trout?’
‘Brown, rainbow or brook?’
‘Rainbow.’
‘Hmmm . . .’ said the man who could make broccoli taste like chocolate and pork taste like beef. ‘Genetic engineering isn’t rocket science. Oh no, it’s much more complicated than that. Yes, I can do it but it’s going to take time.’
‘How much time?’ said Gregan.
‘A year,’ said Everton.‘So long as nothing happens to me in the meantime, ha-ha.’
‘I’ve got the land,’ said Gregan. ‘And the guides have begun stocking the lake with triploid fingerlings.’
‘Why triploids?’ asked Richo.‘Why bother?’
‘Assuming we get our GM trout in twelve months, it could still take them three or four years to reach record size. The triploids will reach a good size in two.’
‘Can’t we just wait?’
‘Out of the question,’ said Gregan. ‘We’ve got to get the business up and running. The bank will only release money in stages and they’ll want to see some evidence of the project working along the way.’
‘Okay. What do you want me to do?’
‘Dress up the proposal and get going with the marketing and advertising. Have you come up with a name yet?’
‘Yeah,’ said Richo.‘Wuthering Heights.’
‘What?’ said Gregan.
‘Wuthering Heights. You said it was near Bronte Park, right?’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Bronte? Wuthering Heights? No? Ah, forget it. Of course I’ve got a name.’ Richo drew in a deep breath. Naming was often the trickiest part of a marketing program and often the most critical. ‘You know I don’t like names for the sake of names or logos for the sake of logos.’
‘I’ve heard this speech before,’ said Gregan.
‘A name should reflect what it represents,’ said Richo doggedly.
‘So what is it?’
‘Big Trout Lake,’ said Richo.
‘On the money,’ said Gregan.
‘Home of Big Trout Lodge.’
‘How do you do it?’ said Gregan admiringly. ‘We could have a giant fibreglass trout over the entrance.’
‘Don’t push it,’ said Richo.
Gregan was back on his home turf, metaphorically speaking, wheeling, dealing and selling his dream. He flew his architect and surveyors down to Big Trout Lake so that his plans could begin to take on substance. He needed substance to show the banks.
‘I want something classical,’ he told his architect.
‘Classical?’ said the architect.
‘Classic North American.’
‘Classic? North American?’
‘Yeah, you know, classic north shore Lake Tahoe. Think Incline Village. Think money, dark timber, big fireplaces, big rooms, stuffed trout and deer heads, high ceilings and steeply pitched roofs.’
‘Good choice,’ said the architect. ‘Sort of Heidi meets William Randolph Hearst.’
‘I want Big Trout Lodge to be top dollar. I want Huka Lodge in New Zealand to feel like a weekender in Woop Woop by comparison. Give me twenty bedrooms with ensuites and jacuzzis. Big dining room, coffee shop, tackle shop, souvenir shop and newsagent/pharmacy store. Oh, and a boutique for wives. Better have a games room with snooker table and fly-tying facilities, gym and heated indoor pool. Maybe a sauna too. And lots of views, okay?’
‘Easy,’ said the architect.‘How many floors?’
‘No more than four,’ said Gregan.‘And I want the lodge to be the hub of the wheel. Know what I mean?’
‘Sure.’
‘And do me indicative drawings of eight private lodges, all Incline Village style. Put them on big blocks. If people want to buy into Big Trout Lake it’s going to cost them. They’re going to have to spend at least seven hundred and fifty grand on building their lodge or they can go elsewhere. I don’t want riffraff. Only rich people deserve the world’s biggest trout and they don’t come cheap.’
Gregan turned to the surveyor.
‘I need the whole property surveyed, lake and all. I want an accurate model made. I want models of Big Trout Lodge and the private lodges. I want people with no imagination at all to be able to look at this and see exactly what they’re getting for their bank’s millions. Okay?’
‘No worries,’ said the surveyor.
‘You’ve got six months,’ said Gregan.
‘Need twelve,’ said the architect.
‘Nine it is,’ said Gregan.
Next Gregan met with the two fishing guides, Dan and Dave. He was paying them not to fish Big Trout Lake and to make sure nobody else did either. But there were exceptions.
‘I’m bringing two guys from the bank down next week. I want you to take them out on the lake and I want both of them to catch a big trout. We do have some big trout here?’
‘Sure do,’ said Dan.‘Big browns.’
‘But do you know where to find them?’
‘Sure do,’ said Dave. He gave Dan a knowing look.
‘Guaranteed?’
‘Sure thing,’ said Dan. He returned Dave’s knowing look. They stood there grinning like a couple of idiots.
‘What am I missing?’ said Gregan.
‘Fishing guides have always got to know where to find fish,’ said Dave.‘So good ones take precautions.’
‘What precautions?’
‘Phosphates,’ said Dan and grinned.
‘Phosphates?’ said Gregan.
‘You know,’ said Dave.
‘No, I don’t,’ said Gregan.
‘It’s simple,’ said Dan. ‘We put phosphates down in certain parts of the lake so the weed grows thick there. Where the weed grows we get scud.’
‘Lots of scud,’ said Dave
.
‘And where you get lots of scud, you get lots of trout,’ said Dan.
It was Gregan’s turn to grin. The brothers were men after his own heart.
‘So you know where to take my guys from the bank?’
‘Sure do,’ said Dan.
‘And you guarantee they’ll each catch a big fish?’
‘Sure do,’ said Dave.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Gregan. His voice turned cold.‘I like you boys and, you know what, I’d sure hate to lose you.’
One of the things Gregan had always prided himself on was his ability to keep his projects on schedule.
‘Banks want certainty,’ he liked to say.‘Projects that run on schedule translate to repayments being made on schedule.’
Nine months into the project he had his model of Big Trout Lake and completed plans for Big Trout Lodge. His bankers were impressed. Gregan was back in business and his business had always been good.
Three months later, bulldozers and earthmovers began clearing the site for Big Trout Lodge and laying the foundations. Gregan’s bankers were thrilled. Clearly the master had lost none of his touch.
About the same time as the first celery-tops toppled over, Gregan called in on Everton Sweet to see when he could take delivery of his genetically modified rainbow trout fingerlings. He’d rung the scientist every three months to check on progress and Everton had given him no cause for concern. In fact, Everton had impressed him with his enthusiasm and obvious delight at the way the project was going.
‘Hi,’ said Gregan as he was ushered into Everton’s office. ‘How are my fish doing?’
‘They’re doing very well,’ said Everton. ‘They will be magnificent fish.’
‘Great. Are they ready for release?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Everton.
‘What do you mean?’ said Gregan.‘You said it would only take a year and the year’s up.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Everton. ‘I did say that. A year, unless . . . unless something happened to me in the meantime.’
