Category: Big Fish

  • Arnold the Giant Murray Cod, Swan Hill, Vic

    Arnold the Giant Murray Cod, Swan Hill, Victoria, Australia

    Measuring 15 metres from trout pout to caudal fin, Arnold is o-fish-ially the largest Murray Cod around – and after appearing in the cult classic, Eight Ball, he’s also Australia’s biggest movie star.

    Sorry, Chris Hemsworth, your melon-heavy muscles don’t quite match up to this four-tonne flounder!

    Eight Ball revolves around an oddball named Russel (the devilishly handsome Paul Stevn), who runs into Charlie (the ever-charismatic Matthew Fargher), an architect designing an enormous fish sculpture (a babyfaced Arnold in his breakthrough role) for Swan Hill. The two bond over the game of eight ball and their shared love for novelty architecture.

    But the story’s just an excuse to show off the great big grouper. The performances in Eight Ball are mesmerising, the script punchy, but the film comes alive when Arnold’s on screen. He’s treated with the reverence he deserves, and the scenes of Arnold being built are as informative as they are heart-wrenching.

    In reality, The Giant Murray Cod was made out of steel and timber in Melbourne in 1991, then hauled off to Speewa, just outside of Swan Hill, for the filming. Criminy, a fish this large must’ve taken up 90 per cent of the budget!

    I was, of course, briefly considered for the pivotal role of Dougie. Sadly, I lost out to the little fat kid from Hey Dad! when the producers realised it would be impossible for me to focus on the script if there was a immense freshwater fish nearby.

    Director Ray Argall did, however, name the character of Eric Biggs in my honour. Thanks, babe!

    In a just world, Eight Ball would’ve made a billion dollars and spawned an extended cinematic universe revolving around our beautiful Big Things. Instead, Arnold the Giant Murray Cod – darling of the silver screen – settled into a quiet life in rural Victoria

    A Star is Spawned

    After the hoopla surrounding Eight Ball died down, the good people of Swan Hill had just one question for the producers: “Pretty please, can we keep that big ol’ murray cod?”

    Anything to stick it to their rivals down the creek in Tocumwal, who are very proud of their very own Big Murray Cod!

    With Eight Ball 2: The Cods Must Be Crazy looking unlikely, the studio donated Arnie to the town. To make sure he could survive Swan Hill’s harsh weather, the charming chaps at Grizzly Engineering slathered Arnold in fibreglass and gave him a spiffy new paintjob. Then it was time for the big fella to find his forever home in this endearing river town.

    The original plan was to plonk him in the middle of a roundabout at the entrance to Swan Hill, but the authorities – quite rightly – thought it would cause car accidents. I mean, really, who could possibly remember to give way to the right when there’s a great big guppy sitting there in all his glory?

    Arnold was, instead, shunted off to a less salubrious spot – next to the carp-ark at the local train station. Golly gosh, that would make that barra-Monday morning commute a little more palatable!

    Arnold is lovingly maintained, and there are a couple of benches to sit on whilst you bask in his briny glory. I must, however, take umbrage with his placement within the park. He’s squeezed in between a couple of parking lots that are usually quite full, meaning it can be quite difficult to fully enjoy Arnie’s magnificence.

    To make up for this bitter disappointment, the Tourist Information Centre up the road does sell scale replicas of Arnold. The Giant Murray Cod is also the featured fish on the Royal Australian Mint’s collection of commemorative Big Things coins.

    Honestly, what more could you fish for!

    Hey Arnold!

    With his movie star good looks and bad boy swagger, Arnold the Giant Murray Cod brings a touch of class to Swan Hill. He also attracters ‘haterz’, fuelled by jealousy for his acting success and popularity with the ladies.

    Enter Gordon Shumway, my business partner in Land of the Bigs and the former star of hit TV show, ALF.

    He had a bad attitude as soon as we stepped out of the Bigsmobile. Swaggering around the fish wearing his Gucci sunglasses and matching chambray tunic, it was clear that Gordon felt threatened by Arnold’s star power.

    “What numbers did Eight Ball do, bro?” Gordon snorted. “Yeah, Project: ALF did $850 mil, more on Blu-Ray.”

    Knowing that Project: ALF had been an unmitigated disaster that led to Gordon being blackballed from Hollywood, I could only roll my eyes. Stoic as ever, Arnold gazed impassively at the passing traffic.

    “Big guy,” Gordon rasped, jabbing a furry finger at the fish’s soft underbelly, “you’re not the first Arnold I’ve run out of town, and you won’t be the last.”
    “Gordon, stop lying,” I sighed. “You’ve never even met Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
    “Arnold Schwarzenegger? No, I Mean Arnold Finklestein from the pickleball club. That shmuck had the chutzpah to knock over my bowl of matzah ball soup!”

    Even a gentle giant fish has his limits. Arnold scooped up Gordon and, in a moment of madness, tried to swallow him whole.
    “Not again!” Gordon wept. “I’ve just washed the smell of trout out of my hair!”
    Springing into action, I plucked the little alien from the cod’s jaws, bundled him into the Bigsmobile, and screeched out of Swan Hill.

    “Gordon, buddy,” I said tenderly as I navigated the sweeping roads. “I know it must be difficult to deal with your waning celebrity, but…”
    “Just forget about it,” he shrugged. “Let’s go get some babka with Sly and Jean-Claude.”
    “You mean Sly Horowitz and Jean-Claude Kablinski, from the pickleball club?”
    “No, Sly Stallone and Jean-Claude Van Damme from Hollywood’s A-list. They’re in negotiations to play us in Land of the Bigs: The Movie. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Arnie!”

  • The Big Trout, Oberon, NSW

    The Big Trout, Oberon, New South Wales, Australia

    Want to enjoy a scrumptious Chinese dinner whilst admiring an enormous fish? Then head to the charming haven of Oberon, New South Wales, where you can have a photo with The Big Trout as you wipe succulent sweet ‘n’ sour sauce from your chin.

    The scaly scamp, with his flabbergasted expression, lives in front of the Oberon Rainbow Chinese Restaurant and the adjoining Big Trout Motor Inn. He arrived in 1989, a few months after the hotel opened, and has become a beloved symbol of the village, which is famous for fly fishing.

    Why anyone would want to fish for flies, I don’t know – teehee!

    The Trout may not be as large, famous or – let’s face it – handsome as that other Big Trout in Adaminaby, but he radiates with a folksy charm that could warm up the coldest Oberon morning.

    The Big Trout was refurb-fished in 2012, with the motel’s owners casting a wide net to find the right man for the job. That turned out to be local artist Mark Taylor, who not only tackled the task of repainting the fish, but also added the gorgeous mural behind him.

    Thankfully, The Big Trout is in good hands (which is ironic because, being a fish, he doesn’t have any). The motel and restaurant were sold a few years ago, with Chandra and Pav Ratnam taking over the fish-ility in 2020.

    They’ve splashed the cash renovating the hotel’s rooms, so you can spend all night peering out the window at their wet wunderkind, with all the comfort of clean bedsheets and reverse cycle air-conditioning.

    Chan and Pav, your spacious and well-appointed rooms really are the catch of the day!

    A Big Fish In A Small Pond (but it’s empty, so you can get up close and perch-onal for a photo)

    My chum, Gordon, is hooked on fly fishing, so it didn’t take much to convince him to head to Oberon with me. After spending the day with our rods in our hands we were famished, so we splashed off to the Rainbow Chinese for the deep-fried duck with plum sauce and a side of hot chips.

    No seafood for me – I didn’t want to upset the big guy out the front!

    The restaurant is is popular with the locals, so there was a long (fishing) line out the door, but it was definitely worth the bait. Fresh and juicy lamb, pork and chicken, with just the right amount of Oriental tang, tantalise the tastebuds.

    Unfortunately, things soon took a distasteful turn – and I’m not talking about the Szechuan beef, which was magnificent.

    Wanting to show off to his angling buddies, Gordon took to drinking like a fish. Inebriated on rice wine, he stumbled out of the restaurant and started breakdancing beneath the bosom of The Big Trout. Our finned friend, unaccustomed to such boorish behaviour, must’ve mistaken Gordon for a chubby little mealworm, and tried to eat him.

    Trouty, I’ve shared a car with Gordon after he’s had a Chinese feast – so trust me, you don’t want to do that!

    Showing nerves of steel, I grabbed the nearest Ugly Stik and rescued Gordon from the oversized mackerel’s jaws. A cacophony of cheers from the other diners, however, soon gave way to judgemental jeers at the small alien’s vulgar exploits.

    Fortunately, he passed out shortly after I took him back to our room, and I was able to finish my meal and go back to gawping at the big, concrete fish.

    Here is my handle, here is my trout

    When he woke up in our conservatively-priced twin cabana the next morning, Gordon was feeling a bit green about the gills.

    “I’m so embarrassed, I just want to get out of here,” he mumbled, putting on a pair of dark sunglasses. As I smuggled him out of there, Gordon barely even acknowledged The Big Trout. I know it’s a bad hangover when he can’t even be bothered worshipping an overside roadside attraction.

    Reversing the Bigsmobile out of the driveway, a hairy landed upon mine.
    “Don’t forgot my Mongolian lamb with a side of dim sims before we leave,” Gordon grumbled, jabbing a finger at the restaurant. I grinned at him and took off my seatbelt.
    “And some spring rolls?” I asked.
    “Of course, Bigs, and the special fried rice,” he chortled, before giving The Big Trout a cheeky wink. “Oberon out!”

  • The Big Fish, Belfast, Northern Ireland

    The Big Fish, Belfast, Northern Ireland

    Holy mackerel, look at the size of that fish! Installed upon the steps of Donegall Quay one warm afternoon in 1999, The Big Fish, with her supple lips and bedroom eyes, has been many a Belfastian lad’s first kiss.

    It’s not uncommon to see a line of teens – and the odd curious tourist – waiting patiently for a memorable encounter with The Fish. You might call it a right of bass-age.

    Located on the confluence of the River Farset and the River Lagan, The Big Fish symbolises the reinvigoration of the city’s waterways. There was, not surprisingly, a heated de-bait when she was announced (and not just from the local lasses, who feared they’d be upstaged).

    This splendid example of urban kitsch was created by the delightfully droll John Kindness – and a more appropriately-named gentleman you could never hope to meet. Drawing on a lifetime of experience, he imbued the Fish with a mixture of pathos and buffoonery that’s just so very Irish.

    “A lot of artists have a fear of not being taken seriously, so they take themselves far too seriously,” John cooed. “Black humour is something I think Belfast people can’t help: finding some element of mirth in almost every situation.”

    Oh John, it’s enough to make you twist and trout!

    Each of the fish’s scales serves as a love letter to a moment in Belfast’s history. The industrial revolution. Aslan the Great Lion. George Best’s astonishing drinking exploits. The Ulster Museum provided reference images, and the area’s more artistic kiddies painted them on the side of the creature. I’ve been assured a scale celebrating Land of the Bigs’ visit will be added any day now.

    There’s even a time capsule hidden betwixt the fish‘s plump belly. I’d pike to be there when they finally open it!

    Know Your Sole

    Also known as the Salmon of Knowledge, this giant guppie was inspired by a famous Irish legend. As the tale goes, a regular, old salmon guzzled nine magical pints of Guinness and gained all the knowledge in the world.

    Don’t we all?

    Word subsequently spread across the emerald hills that the first person to eat the fish’s flesh would gain all of the knowledge. As a result, some guy – I imagine he looked a bit like beloved Broughshane-bred character actor, and long-time Land of the Bigs reader, James Nesbitt – heard about it and spent seven years hunting down the Salmon of Knowledge.

    When he finally caught the scaly critter, he handed him to Finn McCool – yes, that Finn McCool – and asked him to batter the fish.

    Fortunately, this was in Northern Ireland, where battery is the national pastime – teehee!

    Rather than do as he was told, Finn gobbled down the fish with a wedge of lemon, gained a millennia’s wisdom and insight, and went on to run the most profitable vape shop in Strabane. Or something like that.

    Inspired by the tale, I joined the line of excited Irishmen preening before the perch. My heart thudding in my chest, I stepped up to The Big Fish, whispered a few sweet nothings in her ear, and leaned in for my first smooch.

    How was it? Well, that’s between me, The Big Fish, and Dugald who was in the line behind me. Needless to say, I may not have gained the universe’s wisdom, but I did get an invigorating case of botulism.

  • Paco el Sharko, Zicatela, México

    Paco el Sharko, Zicatela, oaxaca, México

    Just when you thought it was safe to go back for another mango and jalapeño margarita, along swims a Big who’ll leave your JAWS hanging wide open in horror. Please put your pectoral fins together to welcome Paco el Sharko – and this time, it’s personal!

    Serving as an ostentatious anomaly betwixt the swaying palms and braying hawkers of Puerto Escondido’s beachside entertainment precinct, Paco resonates with an ethereal bombasticity that captivates and repulses in equal measure.

    Brash, garish and wonderfully vulgar, this must-sea shark’s head is the centrepiece of a gaudy art installation by Zicatela’s world-famous beach. You’ll find pink flamingos, a marlin, and even a strapping young man in a boat. There’s even a wonderfully kitschy concrete wave a few minutes walk away that’s totally tubular, dude!

    The massive marine mouth is framed, not drowned out, by these other attractions. He’s tacky in all the right ways – and that’s the tooth!

    As the entryway to the Dorada Bar ‘n’ Gill, Paco seduces unsuspecting visitors with his bad boy mystique and promise of cheap food and drinks. The menu is sure to mako you smile, and won’t take a bite out of your budget. All of this is lovingly served by the best-looking busboys in town (hola, Ramón!).

    Trust me, after an evening spent swilling two-for-one cocktails you’ll be wishing you were only eaten by a shark!

    Even if we’re just dancing in the Shark

    Paco looks wonderful during the day, but is truly some-fin to behold under the cover of sharkness. The resturant really comes to life after the sun goes down, and a full moon over an illuminated fish’s head is enough to flake all your dreams come true.

    After a big day of signing autographs for my legion of loco latin limpiezas (that means admirers, for you gringos!) I retired to the balcony with a table for one and drinks for two. It’s a hard life, travelling the world in search of the Bigs!

    I’m not one to drop names but, as I languidly nibbled on a pollo and chorizo tlayunda I did send a text message to my good friend – and self-confessed Biggie – Amy Shark. The ARIA-award-winning popstar was surprised when I told her I’d met one of her family members in México and then delighted when, after waiting an appropriate length of time to set up the joke, I sent her a photo of Paco. That’s the sort of thing you can do when you rub shoulders with beloved celebrities – but I’m not one to brag.

    Oh, how I laughed as I ladelled spoonfuls of deliciously rich molcajete into my gaping maw which, by the end of the night, was hanging as wide open as Paco’s.

    Eek, after all that food I think I’m gonna need a bigger pair of trousers!

  • The Big Octopus, Surfers Paradise, QLD

    Ring-O, The Big Octopus, Surfers Paradise, Queensland, Australia

    Believe it or not! The Gold Coast is home to the largest octopus in the whole dang world! Ladies and jellyfish, please welcome Ring-O, starr of the glitter strip!

    The nine-metre-wide Big Octopus wiggled into Cavill Avenue, Surfers Paradise, in Octo-ber 2020, making a home for himself above the popular Ripley’s Believe It Or Not! odditorium. He was cephala-produced by local company Pico-Play, and I ink their work deserves a ten-tacle out of ten!

    It took 40 dedicated staff members more than four months to build the two-tonne tyrant. Ring-O was made from fabricated steel to help him ward off the harsh Queensland sun. Maybe they should’ve added a Big Bottle of Sunscreen to help him out!

    Unlike the deadly blue-ringed octopuses he’s modelled after, this handsome chap will only kill you with cuteness. Yes, Ring-O is a tenta-cool dude and doesn’t have a bad bone in his body…. or any bones at all, actually!

    Just look at him with his surfboard, ready to hit the waves and hang ten… or eight, in his case!

    Watch out! He’s armed and fabulous!

    Whilst his namesake, pop desperado Ringo Starr, may play the drums, this rock-topus prefers the guitar – the Big Guitar up the street, that is. Not surprisingly, this eight-legged legend is also mates with Bigfoot, who lives a short walk up the road (and an even shorter walk for Bigfoot, as his feet are so big!).

    And like many new Gold Coasters, the Big Octopus has family in Victoria. In Ring-O’s case, it’s the quirky Big Octopus in Lakes Entrance. I bet these octopods just eight being apart!

    Adults and squids alike enjoy taking a cheeky cephy with this marvellous mollusc. I’m a sucker for a photo op, so asked one of the famous Meter Maids to snap a photo of me with the slimy sweetheart. I tried to Act Naturally with Ring-O but was, of course, completely overcome by lust.

    “You octopi my every thought, will you cala-marry me?” I squirted, but Ring-O remained silent, forever waving his arms in the air. He may have three hearts but, sadly, none of them will ever beat for me.

    We’re o-fishi-ially over, Ring-O :'(

  • Digital Orca, Vancouver, BC

    Digital Orca, Vancouver, British Columbia

    There’s a killer on the loose at the Vancouver waterfront, but nobody’s blubbering about it!

    Looking like he’s jumped out of a 1980s video game and into your heart, Digital Orca was created by the dashing Douglas Coupland and made a splash when fin-stalled in 2009. Flanked by the pristine waters of Vancouver Harbour and framed by the majestic North Shore Mountains, there are few more captivatingly unique Big Things.

    This extra-orca-nary example of urban art strikes a delicate balance between surrealism and hyperrealism. He’s at once an echo from pre-colonial times, and glimpse into an uncertain future. Shunning the sensual curves normally associated with waterborne mammals, this blocky brute proves it’s hip to be square.

    The art world has long been fascinated by whales, with the wood-and steel Nala in Hervey Bay and the quirky Moby Big in Port Stephens. I think the three of them should get together and start a podcast! 

    Best of all, admission is free, Willy!

    Electronic Light Orca-stra

    Digital Orca is a playful chap who seems to be having a whale of a time, but Coupland – author of emotionally-taxing novels Shampoo Planet and All Families Are Psychotic – sees more in this whale.

    “The Digital Orca sculpture breaks down a three-dimensional Orca whale into cubic pixels – making a familiar symbol of the West Coast become something unexpected and new,” Dougie ranted. “This use of natural imagery modified by technology bridges the past to the future.

    “It speaks to the people and activities that created Vancouver’s thriving harbour culture, while addressing the massive changes reshaping the BC economy. The sculpture’s metal construction and lighting components evoke the daily moods of the harbour and the diversity of those who work there.”

    I’m not sure things are as black and white as that, Dougie!

    An orca-ward situation with Baxter the Wonderdog

    Digital Orca has become a favourite spot for social media influencers to take digital photos, none more so than Baxter the Wonderdog.

    This handsome havapoo has gained a legion of admirers by mimicking Digital Orca’s playful posture. He’s considered royalty in Canada, enjoying a celebrity status comparable to my own in Australia.

    Upon discovering the world’s foremost expert on Big Things was in their midst, the Vancouver Tourism Board organised a promotional photography session with myself, Baxter and Digital Orca. What seemed like a dream come true soon became a nightmare, however. Baxter’s exuberant prancing and luscious fur captured the imagination of the gathered crowd, who were soon whipped into a frenzy.

    My own rhythmic thrusts were largely ignored, as the crowd trampled over me to get closer to Baxter. Everything was ‘Baxter this’ and ‘Baxter that’ and ‘You won’t believe what Baxter just did!’ My advertised lecture on the cultural significance of Digital Orca and his influence over the concept of the digital nomad’ was forgotten. The key to the city I’d been promised tossed into a bin.

    Even the sumptuous Japanese-and-Mexican fusion feast that had been laid out for lunch was dumped in a cheap plastic bowl and fed to Baxter who, I suspect, failed to recognise the cultural significance of of what he was eating. I left in tears as Digital Orca and Baxter the Wonderdog posed before the world’s media.

    Sadly, this wasn’t the first time I’ve been upstaged by a dog, nor, I fear, shall it be the last.

  • The Big Marlin, Iluka, NSW

    The Big Marlin, Iluka, New South Wales, Australia

    The old man’s hands belied their age as he nimbly manoeuvred the thawing prawn onto the hook; in through the head and out through the belly, as always. I feigned disgust, of course, but the process fascinated me.

    “Next time, Bigs, you’ll be baiting your own hook,” he said in his usual brusk tone, then handed over the rod and reel. Our eyes and smiles caught for a fleeting moment, then I sent the bait sailing into the tepid ocean. A plonk, a ripple, then nothing but the sound of water lapping against the dock.

    A geriatric and a pre-pubescent, two beings at opposite ends of troubled lives, sitting peacefully at the edge of the world, waiting for a fish.

    The vagrant was the only one who understood me. Counsellors pretended to care, the other boys in my high security mental health facility sometimes offered a warped corruption of companionship. But this pitiful creature with unruly hair and a beard like a banksia bush was the only one who really got me.

    A loner like me, the hobo rarely talked about his wretched past, but he didn’t need to. The pain was projected across his rugged face; the nights spent under bridges echoed in his words; the loss of humanity and respect reflected in the lamentable way he walked.

    Who knows, maybe I was the only one who actually got him.

    All life folds back into the sea

    “You know,” I said, shattering the silence, “they say there’s a fish the size of a car out at Manilla. He has a top hat and everything! Maybe we could run away and see him together.”

    “Hey muscles, you’re scaring the fish away,” snapped the vagabond, feigning annoyance once again. I smiled to myself, content in my knowledge that it was simply his way of showing affection. Exhibiting love and admiration can feel like chewing razor blades for people like us.

    “We can’t catch fish every day,” I whispered glumly, wanting to lay a reassuring hand upon his shoulder but knowing that would likely trigger one of his infamous ‘freak outs’. “Maybe you’ll catch the eye of a pretty lady on the way home.”

    “Squirt, I don’t have a home. I live in a bed made of milk crates behind Clint’s Crazy Bargains. Now make yourself useful and go get me a box of wine. And none of that fancy stuff. Last time you got me a rosé and – whilst, yes, it was delightfully fruity with an earthy, somewhat nutty aftertaste – the other tramps beat me quite severely because of it.”

    My heart raced as I waited for the moment when he handed over a few disheveled notes and I would have a rare instant of human contact as our hands met.

    That moment never came so, with a hollow heart, I set off to find a pocket to pick on my way to the bottle shop. I would’ve done anything for that street urchin.

    The August sun hung low by the time I returned with a five-litre box of Sunnyvale. Mist was clawing at the dock. In the distance, a lone seagull cried. The drifter was nowhere to be seen.

    The past seems realer than the present to me now

    Sitting cross-legged on the weathered dock with only the treasured box of wine for company, I waited for my friend to return. The languid sun sunk solemnly beneath the waves, and a pale crescent moon took its place.

    The night scraped its icy fingers across my bare legs, but I didn’t leave my post. My friend, I knew, would return. If not for the wine, then for our zesty conversation and abundance of mutual respect.

    But he never did. Over the following months I would regularly wait for him by the water, dreaming of the moment when we would be reunited. My visions were so vivid that I could smell the prawns on his calloused fingers, and feel his whiskers upon my chin.

    In time I was sent to another part of the state to run out my days in another care facility. As they drove me away I stared out the window through a sheet of tears, seeing only the abandoned dock.

    Someday soon, my sins will all be forgiven

    To this day, I can’t walk past a bait shop without breaking down as memories of my friend wash over me. Well, except for when I went to Iluka Bait & Tackle, because there’s a massive marlin out the front and it’s absolutely fantastic!

    The festive fish is, apparently, based on an actual marlin caught by one of the locals two or three decades ago. He’s since become a beloved icon of the beachside village of Iluka. When I arrived the bait shop was empty, with nary a tackle box or garish lime-and-orange fishing shirt to be found.

    Feelings of abandonment wrapped their frozen tendrils around my throat but, thankfully, the owner Ross Deakin wandered over to assure me that the shop had simply relocated down the street.

    “But what will happen to the Big Marlin?” I asked, my top lip trembling 

    “Bigs, I’ll take it home and put it up in the living room before it goes in the bin. I might get in trouble with the missus, but it’d be worth it!”

    “Keep your family close, Ross,” I implored the owner, as he backed away cautiously. “You never know when you’ll lose them. One minute you’ll be violently robbing a pensioner to pay for a few litres of barely-drinkable plonk, the next…”

    “Bigs, I really need to get going.”

    “Ross, wait,” squealed, allowing a single tear to roll down my cheek. “You haven’t, by chance, seen a world-weary traveller, have you? An unshaven mess of a man, wrapped head to toe in rags of the poorest quality, bathed in the odour of prawns, vulgar white wine and desperation.”

    “Bigs, take another look at the Big Marlin. You might find what you’re looking for.”

    We contemplate eternity beneath the vast indifference of heaven

    As my new friend Ross sauntered off to deal with other business, I cast my gaze one more upon the gilled wonder. His elongated beak and resplendent fins demanded attention, but there was something more.

    Within the sheen of his bulbous belly I saw the haunted eyes and unkempt appearance of the man I had been seeking for so many years. I had, without realising it, become the hobo. My seemingly endless search was over.

    After bidding adieu to the marvellous Big Marlin, I dragged my bones away to sit once more by Australia’s rugged east coast, look out upon the brine, and ponder the meaning of it all beneath a weary canopy of eternal stars.

  • The Big Marlin, Kahuku, Hawai’i

    The Big Marlin, Kahuku, Hawaii, United States of America

    Ohh Marlin
    My Marlin you’re so fine
    Ohhhh-hhh-hhh

    Don’t know if words can say
    But Marlin I want to play
    With you in the endless turquoise sea
    But it isn’t meant to be
    ‘Cos you’re a work of wooden art
    And in the ocean you will fall apart

    Oh Marlin’
    I dream about you often my pretty Marlin’
    (Marlin’ you’re so fine)
    I love the way you lure tourists into Ohana Island Creations
    Where they can buy wooden crustaceans

    I feel like half a man
    Next to you, because you’re so grand
    Your pointy beak thing is really rad
    Sexiest fish I ever had
    Gonna love you every single night
    Until your owners hide you outta sight

    Oh Marlin
    I dream about you often my pretty Marlin
    (Marlin you’re so fine)
    I love the way you’ve been painted purple and blue
    If I ever marry a sea creature it will be you

    Woah oh oh oh
    Every night Marlin
    Gonna love you every single night, as you wish
    What’s the difference between a marlin and a swordfish?

    Oh Marlin
    I dream about you often my pretty Marlin
    (Marlin you’re so fine)
    I love the feel of your wooden fins
    A kiss from you makes me forget all my sins

    Oh!

    Thanks to pop stalwarts The Beach Boys for inspiring this article with their ditty Darlin’.

  • The Big Trout, Adaminaby, NSW

    The Big Trout, Adaminaby, New South WalesPhoto of a handsome man, an alien, and a giant fish

    Anglers love trawling the crystal clear waters of Adaminaby, a charming poplar-lined village nestled high in the Snowy Mountains. But it’s snow laughing matter when I say the main attraction is the Big Trout which, at 10 metres and 2.5 tonnes, is o-fish-ally the largest aquatic, craniate, gill-bearing animal in the tunaverse!

    Living on prime eel estate in the i-gill-ic Lions Park in the centre of town, the Big Trout is reely easy to find, although you may have to bait in line for a photo as he’s so popular with his legion of fins. The quality of the craftsmanship is astonishing, with a plethora of details, so you won’t want to throw this one back!

    You might call me main-stream for making this joke, but this tremendous Trout will take you hook, line and Big Thing-ker!

    The fintastic fishtory of this troutstanding landmark

    Leigh Stewart, a much-loved real estate agent and self-confessed Big Thing tragic, decided to build a massive fish during 1969’s summer of love, after a particularly successful afternoon on the lake. After taking a few years to mullet over, the cashed-up Snowy Mountains Authority were dorsal-ivating at the thought of funding Leigh’s dream.

    With the money in the tank, Leigh had his niece knock up a rough sketch of the Big-to-be, which was apparently quite splendid for a five-year-old. He raced the doodles over to his mate Andy Momnici, a popular and handsome artist from Budapest, who was more than happy to tackle the project.

    Working closely with the crayon-and-finger-paint blueprints, the Hungarian grabbed one of his more imprefish catches and froze it in an appropriate pose. He then cleared space at the Adaminaby Bowling Club and began the arduous task of sketching out a full-sized design that he cod work off.

    Andy, a slave to perfection much like myself, didn’t sleep until he was finished, working seven days a week. Except on the second and fourth barra-Mondays of the month, when the CWA held their meetings and he had to get out, lest Ethel get all up in his gill again.

    After an interminable hunt for a shed of the requisite proportions, Andy started the daunting task of building the Big Trout from steel, mesh and fibreglass. Wanting the fish’s scales to look as au-fin-tic as possible, he wrapped an extra layer of mesh around his plump rump, zapped it with an extra layer of fibreglass, then ripped it off to leave a pattern almost indistinguishable from the real deal.

    He’s more realistic than Manilla’s Big Fish, at least.

    Honestly, I caught an elderly gentleman trying to squeeze a slice of lemon onto the Trout’s tail and get stuck in with a knife and fork. After explaining the cultural and economical significance of the Big Trout to the kindly geezer, he told me off for ruining his lunch and kicked over a garbage bin on his way back to his car. There’s no pleasing some people.

    I don’t know him from Adam

    As we blazed out of Adaminaby astride my custom-built e-trike, the verdant hills melting around us, my travel partner/friendly neighbourhood alien Gordon Shumway squeezed me just a little bit tighter and leant in close.

    “You know, that Adam was a pretty cool dude,” he yelled, as I expertly manoeuvred through a particularly tight corner.
    “Adam?” I asked. “I don’t recall meeting an Adam.”

    “Yeah, the tall dude with the shiny pink-and-silver suit. Had a trout pout that would make a mackerel jealous, so maybe he had collagen injections. Anyway, I don’t want to cast aspersions. Ha! I kill me! Adam Inaby I think his name was.”
    “You mean the Big Trout?” I asked in astonishment. “His name is Adam Inaby?”

    “Do you need your herring checked? That’s what I said,” Gordon sneered. “Anyway, Bigs, let’s stop for tuna quesadillas on the way home. I know a place in Cooma that will blow your socks off.”

    And that, dear readers, is how the Big Trout became known as Adam Inaby.

  • The Big Fish Head, Khancoban, NSW

    The Big Fish Head, Khancoban, New South WalesImmature man swinging from a giant fish's head

    “Gimme Fish Head” by The Stingray-diators

    Gimme fish head baby
    Gimme fish head like you did just last night
    Ah, ah, ah!

    Even when Khancoban‘s a hundred degrees
    There you are smiling at me amongst the trees
    You stink in the sun, but are still fun
    With no body, you must be dead, are you dead?
    But I don’t care, I love you, Big Fish Head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head

    You have a swing beneath the bones of your back
    You let me hang there as I gobbled a snack
    You whisper sweet things, gimme greetings
    You are my bed, you are my bed
    But best of all, I love you, Big Fish Head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head

    So… Ah say you’ll never be crabbay
    Be lovely like the nearby Yabbay
    ’Cause I’ll come back to play another day!

    Even when Khancoban’s a hundred degrees
    Each time we meet you are so eager to please
    You whisper sweet things, ’cos you’re a Big Thing
    Let’s go to bed, let’s go to bed!
    Because my dear, I love you, Big Fish Head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head
    You’re a fish head
    The Big Fish Head

    Suck!

  • The Big Murray Cod, Tintaldra, Vic

    The Big Murray Cod, Tintaldra, Victoria

    Tintaldra is an indigenous word that roughly translates to ‘a young man by the water’. I’m not sure what the indigenous word for ‘a young man by the water, admiring a predatory perch of epic proportions, before retiring to the nearby historic hotel for a glass of economically-priced pinot noir and a portion of the famous fish and chips’, but it might be time to change the town’s name to that.

    The Big Murray Cod swam smugly into Tintaldra – population 60 – in 2019, as part of a big budget scheme to bring more Big Things to the region. Whilst notably smaller than the nearby Big Murray Cod in Tocumwal, this perky peixe has the benefit of rotating with the wind.

    He also actually lives in a body of water, unlike pretty much every other oversized sea creature in Australia. Not even the much larger, much more famous Giant Murray Cod in Swan Hill can boast that!

    Picturesque Tintaldra is the oldest settlement along the Murray, dating back to 1837. As one of the only crossings between Victoria and New South Wales, it gained a reputation as a wild border town. The party came to a cataclysmic halt in 1937, when bushfires burnt much of Tintaldra to the ground.

    Dark days lay ahead for the town. But eight decades later, hope returned to Tintaldra when this fairly large fish was fin-stalled. These days, it’s estimated that Big Cod-related tourism makes up around 98% of the village’s economy.

    Thank Cod You’re Here

    The well-appointed Clearwater Caravan Park rests peacefully by the banks of the mighty Murray, and is the perfect place to base yourself ahead of a few days of hardcore Big Thing watching. To help plan your dream holiday to Tintaldra, I’ve drawn up a rough itinerary.

    DAY 1
    6am: Arrive in Tintaldra, head straight to the southern bank of the Murray to admire the Big Cod.
    1pm: Drag yourself away from the Big Cod for a hearty feast of salmon and asparagus with a side of locally-sauced sauvignon blanc at the newly-renovated Tintaldra Hotel and an in-depth discussion with the barman about the Big Cod.
    2pm: Climb atop the Tintaldra Bridge in order to worship the Big Cod from a slightly greater altitude.
    5pm: Return to the Tintaldra Hotel for grilled barramundi, a bottle of rosé, and further debate with the barman regarding the Big Cod.
    6pm: Assuming COVID restrictions aren’t in place and you can actually cross the river without a policeman cracking your skull for trying to enter New South Wales, sequester yourself away to the northern bank of the Murra to admire the Big Cod in the waning twilight.
    DAY 2
    Pretty much the same as Day 1.
    DAY 3
    5am: Wake up early for a dawn swim with the Big Cod.
    5:30am: Be washed away by the fast-flowing Murray Riveriver, leaving your loved ones with no closure as to what ever happened to you. As your head plunges beneath the sanguine waves one final time, look back at the glorious Big Murray Cod, now no more than a speck in the distance, and think, "It was all worth it."

  • The Big Rainbow Trout, Harrietville, Vic

    The Big Rainbow Trout, Harrietville, Victoria

    Yibbida yibbida, this is fishing expert and notorious philanderer Rex Bardot, on the hunt for the Big Rainbow Trout! And look, there she is, out front of Mountain Fresh Trout & Salmon Farm. Trust me, folks, it doesn’t get any better than this!

    If she looks familiar, that’s because the Big Rainbow Trout was the star attraction of the 2006 Commonwealth Games Opening Ceremony in Melbourne (an event I was forcibly removed from after making inappropriate comments towards several female athletes and getting my lights punched out by the Belize women’s weightlifting squad).

    Representing Cyprus, the Big Rainbow Trout was one of 72 humongous fish that swam around the MCG, symbolising the countries of the Commonwealth. They swiftly splashed their way into the hearts of a generation, much as Matilda the Kangaroo had in 1982.

    I was kicked out of that ceremony for an act of depravity, too, but the less said about it the better. Yibbida yibbida!

    My good mate Ian Thorpe, who went on to win a dizzying seven gold medals at the event, later thanked the Big Rainbow Trout and her ilk for inspiring him to success. The various aquatic vertebrates have been scattered across the length and breadth of Victoria, so grab some lemon juice, a tub of tartar sauce and track ’em down. Yibbida yibbida!

    Rex Bardot’s Fishing Misadventures

    The Big Rainbow Trout was looking pretty bloody good when we caught up so, after offering a hearty ‘Yibbida yibbida’ and a tip of my cap, I leant in for a non-consensual smooch. What started as a peck soon became a wanton display of affection that even the French would be disgusted by.

    As things rapidly proceeded towards M-rated territory and I began to remove my fishing tunic, a farmhand with a broom trotted over and chased me from the property. My boundless enthusiasm for perversion could not, however, be abated, and I sequestered myself to Bright to explore the local Thai massage parlours.

    The good people of Harrietville banded together to run me out of town, and the hate-filled mob warned me in no uncertain terms that I was not to visit any of Australia’s many fshy Big Things ever again. Not the Big Clownfish, the Big Murray Cod or the ever-amorous Big Octopus.

    “Yibbida yibbida!” I cried. “What about the other Big Trout, in Adaminaby?”
    “Definitely not the other Big Trout, in Adaminaby!” they shouted, before poking me with their pitchforks.

    They’ll soon learn what countless innocent young ladies already have – that Rex Bardot doesn’t take no for an answer.

    Yibbida yibbida!

    Please note: This entry was written ‘in character’ as a spoof of troubled celebrity fisherman Rex Hunt. I did not – and never would – kiss one of our wondrous Big Things against his, her or their wishes. I have also never ventured inside a massage parlour, Thai or otherwise, as I’m not overly fond of human contact.

  • The Big Clownfish, Lakes Entrance, Vic

    The Big Clownfish, Lakes Entrance, Victoria

    Ladies and jellyfish, barras and gilas, pilchards of all ages. Please welcome the mystical, magical, great Big Clownfish! Bright and beautiful, this silly sausage is trapezy to find outside Lakes Caravilla Caravan Park, and you’ll feel like a bozo if you pass him by.

    He’s certainly hard to fish – I mean miss – because the tropical delight is right beside the main road into town. You might find this hard to swallow, but it’s even possible to clamber inside his stunning smile

    Yes, he’s handsome, but don’t tell the Clownfish that, because he’ll think you’re just fishing for compliments!

    This happy chappy was the clowning achievement of one George Holding, and served as the fish de résistance of the 1976 Moomba parade in Melbourne. The Clownfish then spent the next decade or so swimming up and down the picturesque boulevards of Lakes Entrance – also home to the Big Octopus – as the star attraction of various festivals and celebr-oceans.

    The Big Clownfish found his forever home in 1987, when then-owner of Lakes Caravilla, Darlene Freeman, aqua-red him from the local Chamber of Commerce. She then fin-stalled the cute clown out the front of her business to bring joy to the community, which was a nice jester.

    This clown ain’t big enough for the both of us. Oh wait, yes he is!

    I’ve struggled with acute coulrophobia since an unsavoury encounter with a Ronald McDonald impersonator during my formative years, so was gill-ty of feeling apprehensive as I climbed betwixt his insatiable lips.

    It was no laughing matter, however, when I discovered this Clown not only looks funny, he smells funny too. Sadly it seemed some joker had urinated within the cavernous bowels of this scaly scamp.

    After taking another dozen or so photos – most of which were super cute – I burst from the Clownfish’s maw like Jonah from the Whale, and proceeded straight to the local constabulary to report this fish-graceful offence.

    Honestly, a lengthy prison sentence is too good for any cretin who would befoul a Big Thing’s luscious mouth. Let the scallywag sleep with the fishes, I say – and not in the good way!

    Ultimately, I had a big top day out. Now, orange ya glad I told you about the Big Clownfish?

  • The Big Murray Cod, Tocumwal, NSW

    The Big Murray Cod, Tocumwal, New South Wales

    “Oh my cod, isn’t he big!”

    Visitors to the river village of Tocumwal have been exclaiming this for almost six decades, and this water-dwelling dreamboat has lived a life most of us would be en-fish-ious of.

    This bulky baby boomer’s story starts in the swingin’ 60s, when three of the more rebellious members of the local Chamber of Commerce decided the town needed something exciting to draw in tourists. They looked northward to Ploddy the Dinosaur, who was luring streams of Big-ficianados into Gosford, and a fish of epic proportions was soon on the carps… uh, sorry, make that the cards!

    Big Thing visionaries Kathryn Moore, Alice Johnson and Lorna Nash held dozens of dances and sizzled sufficient sausages to raise the £3000 required to build the aquatic amigo. He was designed by Melbourne’s Duralite Company, and made from fiberglass with a steel skeleton. His outer details – such as his suave scrap metal fins – were lovingly added by volunteers and admirers.

    The Big Murray Cod was o-fish-ially unveiled at a gala ceremony and quickly became a symbol of Berrigan Shire’s burgeoning counter-culture movement. His arrival ushered in a summer of love, with long-haired hippies, flower children, beatniks and other assorted delinquents rolling into Tocumwal to smack him right on the lips!

    You’re carping on and on… When will this fin-ish?

    The ’70s saw bell-bottom pants and safari suits find favour. But the Big Murray Cod wasn’t a slave to fashion and, aside from a few repaints, barely changed his look. Things took a grim turn in 1982, however, when the good people of Swan Hill, Victoria, erected a Giant Murray Cod of their own.

    Bigger and fishier than the Tocumwal version, it was feared he’d hog all the glory. But the original still reels in the tourists – and there’s no de-baiting that!

    Flannelette and a sullen attitude were the fish’s forte in the ’90s, and he was ahead of the tech curve by opening his own MySpace page in the 2000s. His family has since expanded to include Murray cods in St George and Tintaldra. The younger fish have grown up to be respected members of their communities, so obviously weren’t cod-dled as larvae.

    This Big has settled down in recent years and is content, like most his age, to spend his days reading Aldi catalogues and preventing younger Bigs – such as the nearby Big Strawberry – from owning real estate. After so many years and such wild adventures, there are still a gill-ion reason to visit him, and it feels like Woodstock whenever one spends time with this fish.

    It’s safe to say things are going swimmingly for the Big Murray Cod!

    Please note: the plaque beneath this fish erroneously identifies him as the second oldest of the Bigs, but this honour actually belongs to the Big Banana, with Ploddy being the OG Big. Upon discovering this sickening glitch, I raced straight to the mayor’s office and was assured that the plaque would be corrected as a matter of urgency. I’m sorry, but there are some fins that I just can’t let go!

  • The Big Barramundi, Wanguri, NT

    Wanguri schoolkids all know the three Rs – reading, ‘riting, and really big fish! They’re fortunate enough to have this behemoth barra swimming around the lovingly-maintained grounds of their a-cod-amy, providing lessons in largeness every little lunch. As you can see, she certainly makes the grade and has become a valuable member of the educ-ocean-al community!

    Of course, being located within the grounds of Wanguri Primary School (motto: ‘Hooked On Learning’), in Darwin’s northern suburbs, means she can only be admired by the general public through an imposing fence. Well, unless you’re willing to risk a large fine and a good chasing from the on-site security. But lose that sinking feeling, because she’s fairly close the the barra-cade and assures me she’s happy with her home, as it allows her to introduce a new generation to the wonder of the Bigs. What a class act!

    Just another manic ‘mundi

    The barramundi was chosen to honour the local indigenous Larrakia and Wangurri people, and the tile patterns were designed by a group of particularly artistic students. The terrifically talented Techy Masero – the Big Thing luminary behind Colin the Turtle and George the Croc – built her out of steel and cement in 2009, but was unable to complete the intricate tile work due to reasons that have been lost to time. Thankfully the locals banded together to complete this aquatic cutie, and the Big Barramundi was o-fish-ially unveiled in 2010.

    This Big Barramundi is a little snazzier than her cousin in Katherine, but smaller than other ‘mundis in Normanton and Daintree, Queensland. The mosaic artistry certainly deserves an A+, but this fish only gets a sea-plus when it comes to originality.

    Poor old Bigs was bullied mercilessly in my school years, not only by my fellow pupils but by some of the crueler members of the teaching faculty, so I rarely attended classes. However, if Principal Van Beek had been thoughtful enough to welcome a Big Thing into the grounds, I wouldn’t have missed a moment. Oh well, one can only dream of being part of a school of giant fish…

  • The Big Barramundi, Katherine, NT

    Want to tackle another Big? Then allow me to lure you towards the dusty outpost of Katherine, where there’s a fish so large you’ll be swimming in tears of pure joy when you encounter her!

    The Big Barra can be found perched pleasantly atop the Rod & Rifle Tackle World shop (open Mundi to Saturdi). At three metres long, she’s certainly some-fin special and still the talk of the town after several decades. Being so high up means she’s harder to take a photo with than fellow scaley scamps Murray the Cod or Manilla’s dapper Big Fish, but her exuberance more than makes up for this.

    The Big Barramundi is certainly worth baiting for. It’s almost as if she’s fishing for compliments. Oh, aren’t I trout-landish!

    Sadly, spending an afternoon with the old girl isn’t the magical experience you might expect. Katherine is a troubled town and this Big has been left floundering in a particularly rough neighbourhood. It’s not unusual to witness gill-egal activity whilst admiring the fish.

    As I was swanning around in my flamingo tunic, a procession of ne’er-do-wells swaggered past to abuse me. Few, if any, had an appreciation for the cultural significance of the watery wonder, and said so in no uncertain terms when I floated the topic.

    Honestly, some people don’t know how lucky they are to have an oversized fish to marvel at each and every day.

  • The Big Fish, Manilla, NSW

    The Big Fish, Manilla, New South Wales

    After herring rumours of a big fish in Manilla – the lovely country town half-an-hour from Tamworth’s Big Golden Guitar, not the capital of The Philippines – I was hooked on the idea of tracking it down. After taking some time to mullet over, I headed out there, and am happy to say that it reely was worth it. In fact, standing next to this fishface, with his delightful top hat and cane, we both felt a little underdressed!

    Details of when the Big Fish was constructed are a bit fin on the ground. Locals de-bait when he first swam into Manilla. All I know is that he’s an impressive seven metres tall, and goofy-looking enough to splash his way into anyone’s heart. Despite being the same species, he’s about as different from St George’s modern and artistic Murray the Cod, Tocumwal’s historic Cod, or Darwin’s whimsical Big Barramundi, as you can imagine.

    The giant groper stands proudly outside the Big Fish Roadhouse in the middle of town, which is sadly closed these days. We didn’t go hungry, though, because Manilla boasts a generous selection of restaurants, pubs and clubs, and we were feeling a little green around the gills after stuffing ourselves with delicious food at the Royal Hotel!

    Manilla’s also home to an historic Chinese cemetery, a delightful campground by the Namoi River, and one of the world’s most famous paragliding launches. All in all, it was a good excuse to get trout and about, and the day went swimmingly. I fish I had more time to spend with my new mate, but was very pleased with the happy snapper I took!

  • Murray the Cod, St George, QLD

    Murray the Cod, St George, Queensland, Australia

    Proving that one man’s trash is another man’s Big Thing, Murray the Cod was built completely out of rubbish – and the end result is a gill-a-minute experience! He truly is some-fin special and, whilst I’m not sure what weight he tips the scales at, he’s surely one of the biggest aquatic critters in the tuna-verse!

    Acclaimed sculptor Dion Cross spent more than 18 months designing and building Muzza out of discarded tools, old farming equipment and scrap metal, and the big fella was completed in 2019. If he looks swam-iliar, that’s because he might remind you of another scrap metal Big, Kurri Kurri’s Kookaburra.

    Murray’s one of the most chilled-out Bigs, and can be found relaxing by the banks of the peaceful Balonne River. St George is the inland fishing capital of Queensland, so this 2.5 metre-long bait-biter is certainly popular with the locals.

    Sure, there are bigger Murray cods around – like The Big Murray Cod in Tocumwal and The Giant Murray Cod in Swan Hill – but this catch of the day knows that bigger isn’t always batter!

    Don’t Murray, Be Happy!

    Whilst it’s worth making a trip out to St George just for Murray, this tranquil outback town offers plenty more to see and do. Queensland’s westernmost vineyard, the Riversands Winery, is a short walk up the road, and there’s also the famous Unique Egg museum. Yes, it’s all it’s cracked up to be! Located (or should that be yolk-ated?) in the main street, it’s home to dozens of intricately-carved emu eggs.

    Gosh, what would Stanley the Emu think?

    Although, to be perfectly honest, anything would be a letdown after spending a whimsical afternoon with a large fish made out of old bibs and bobs.

    Sorry to keep carping on about it, but Murray the Cod really is a delicious treat. My only question is, where are the Big Hot Chips?

  • The Big Sardine Can, Home Hill, QLD

    The Big Sardine Can, Home Hill, Queensland, Australia

    There’s something fishy going on in North Queensland, and it has to do with this titanic tin of sardines! The packet of pilchards rests peacefully in Lloyd Mann Park, and surely has the key to your heart!

    The box of smelly fish was created by Vass Engi­neering and sign writer Sam Scuderi, and peeled open to the public at a gala event in 2018. John Woods, president of Home Hill’s wildly successful Harvest Festival and the mastermind behind the sardines, told those in attendance that this Big symbolises the fact his festival is open for ideas.

    That certainly seems to be the case, because if you turn up at the right time of year you’ll see all sorts of oddball ornaments strewn around the park. I encountered a terrifying dragon in addition to a tyre dressed up as a frog. Hey guys, what are you putting in the sardines up there!

    Woods went on to explain that Home Hill once housed a sardine cannery. However, judging by the raucous laughter from the audience, he was just fishing for a laugh.

    The Big Sardine Can is an odd, yet well-realised and endearing roadside attraction that straddles the boundaries between Big Thing and work of art. It’s a brine alternative to the outlandish Big Fish and the more serious, thoughtful Big Barramundi, providing a different perspective on just what it means to be an enormous sea creature. Just make sure these salty fish don’t end up on a Big Pizza!

    Bigs in this region of Queensland are packed in like, well, sardines, with the Big Pumpkin, Big Watermelon and Big Snake all within a short drive – so you can see them all in a single scrumptious afternoon!