There are times when something happens to make you realise that our brothers living over the other side of the Norwestern Motorway really are a different breed. It’s not just the matt black Holdens, FMBs and Mullet haircuts. Those are the mere outward manifestations of a deeply ingrained culture.
This is the story of one of those occasions.
The creation of a great device that I came to call the Westiebeast Smoker.
A group of my mates had been toiling away on this device for some months in a builder’s factory out the back of Henderson. They wanted the ultimate fish smoker. It had to be big, it had to be mean, it had to be mounted on a trailer for some reason (portability was judged to be important).
They had been working on it for a long time; mostly because their “working bees” had generally turned into sessions to see if they could drink Auckland dry of “Woodies” a foul kind of premixed bourbon and coke.
We were invited to see the great unveiling and experience the first firing up of this machine but when we arrived it was clear that things had not progressed quite as far as they’d like.
At first I wondered if the WBS was a westie version of the Trojan horse that had been designed to park outside the North Shore nurses home, but a greater and more noble purpose was soon unveiled.
We were given a tour of the machine with an explanation into where each part had come from. It could have made a movie script “One night on the Blag.”
(Best line of the night “what if the cops ask us what we’re looking for?” “Mate we don’t even know what we’re looking for so we’ll be sweet.”)
The basis of the WBS was a trailer – donated in parts by a business contact of my Panelbeaterwestie mate. It just needed welding together. No problem for someone used to cutting and shutting written off V8s.
On top of the trailer they had mounted a huge commercial clothes dryer – the thing had to be 2.5m high and about 1 metre deep. The massive drum and heating works had been removed and replaced with enough shelves to hold most of New Zealand’s fishing quota for the next 5 years.
They’re still trying to work out how to make a 2m diameter stainless drum into the hell berley pot but fitting a hiab crane onto a 6m trailer boat to deploy the thing is proving tricky. It sits in the corner mocking them and driving them crazy during their Thursday night “strategising sessions.”
The smoke production unit on the WBS was a 44 gallon drum mounted on its side and cut horizontally with a duct into the dryer air intake. There was enough room on the other side of the trailer to build a bin for storing wood.
But as we wandered around in awe of this achievement, the westies were all over the thing, hammering, drilling holes, welding, pop riveting and bashing at it with hammers. No one was allowed near the Woodie supply until it was done, which probably accounts for the rapid progress on this one occasion.
Loud crashing sounds from the corner signaled that “preparation” of the wood for the inaugural firing was taking place. In fact Bouncerwestie was laying into a pile of pallets with an axe, causing Builderwestie put his face in his hands and moan “those pallets cost me $30 each.”
The destruction of the pallets raised a cloud of incredibly noxious fumes so I retired outside and it wasn’t before long that the WBS was wheeled out in all its glory. It sure was impressive. It was huge. It did not look particularly aerodynamic.
“Bags I not be the one to tow that down the other side of the Brynderwin hills in a 35 knot nor-easter,” chuckled Siqnwriterwestie.
The wood was piled into the drum and the standard barbecue starter of explosive accelerant applied. Panelbeaterwestie then stood back with a firework, lit it and aimed it at the petrol soaked wood resulting in the obligatory woosh and flames.
Clouds of absolutely toxic fumes belched from the drum into the night sky.
“Whatever was in that drum before, it wasn’t organic,” someone remarked through lung-seared chokes.
Soon the fire was roaring, the smoke billowing and it was judged the right time to shut the lid of the 44 gallon drum to force the smoke into the dryer. This merely had the effect of extinguishing the blaze in about 2 minutes with no smoke actually making the transition into the dryer.
Heads were scratched. So were balls, in the inimitable westie way of deep thinking.
“More holes – we need more holes” was the call. The drills came out, and fortunately for we spectators, so did more accelerant. Having run out of fireworks, a newspaper dipped in the accelerant was employed to re-light the fire.
It’s like watching a train wreck, this sort of thing, and results were the predictable “whooomph” as belching flame dispatched several sets of westie eyebrows into the night air.
Despite the liberal application of the drill and a bit of 4x2 propping open the lid of the 44 gallon drum, the smoke refused to travel into the smoke chamber, so standing around and head scratching continued while the toxic fumes from the drum caused the world’s oceans to rise another few inches.
It was about that time the smell of rubber filled the air, particles gently simmering off the burning rubber of the trailer’s tyres. There was plenty of heat and smoke – it was just a matter of convincing it to go to the right places.
Panelbeaterwestie immediately flashed up the tin snips and pop riveter to fashion a couple of heat shields from a large piece of tin that, suspiciously, looked like it had been an advertising hoarding.
Thus ended the initial trial run (aka the burning off of toxic former inhabitants of our now-food grade device). The Woodies were dispatched as the head and ball scratching continued.
I am pleased to report that a few weeks later we had an afternoon smoke up with kingfish, snapper, kahawai and trevally. The WBS – now christened “Sharon” performed admirably.
The 44 gallon drum had been fitted with a barebecue hotplate and grill so sausages and steaks were also cooked while we waited for the fish. Excellent.
Why “Sharon” you may ask?
Well, the ability to fire up the barbecue hotplate and the smoker simultaneously means that the machine, like all good westie girls, now goes at both ends.
Or so my mates say.
This is the story of one of those occasions.
The creation of a great device that I came to call the Westiebeast Smoker.
A group of my mates had been toiling away on this device for some months in a builder’s factory out the back of Henderson. They wanted the ultimate fish smoker. It had to be big, it had to be mean, it had to be mounted on a trailer for some reason (portability was judged to be important).
They had been working on it for a long time; mostly because their “working bees” had generally turned into sessions to see if they could drink Auckland dry of “Woodies” a foul kind of premixed bourbon and coke.
We were invited to see the great unveiling and experience the first firing up of this machine but when we arrived it was clear that things had not progressed quite as far as they’d like.
At first I wondered if the WBS was a westie version of the Trojan horse that had been designed to park outside the North Shore nurses home, but a greater and more noble purpose was soon unveiled.
We were given a tour of the machine with an explanation into where each part had come from. It could have made a movie script “One night on the Blag.”
(Best line of the night “what if the cops ask us what we’re looking for?” “Mate we don’t even know what we’re looking for so we’ll be sweet.”)
The basis of the WBS was a trailer – donated in parts by a business contact of my Panelbeaterwestie mate. It just needed welding together. No problem for someone used to cutting and shutting written off V8s.
On top of the trailer they had mounted a huge commercial clothes dryer – the thing had to be 2.5m high and about 1 metre deep. The massive drum and heating works had been removed and replaced with enough shelves to hold most of New Zealand’s fishing quota for the next 5 years.
They’re still trying to work out how to make a 2m diameter stainless drum into the hell berley pot but fitting a hiab crane onto a 6m trailer boat to deploy the thing is proving tricky. It sits in the corner mocking them and driving them crazy during their Thursday night “strategising sessions.”
The smoke production unit on the WBS was a 44 gallon drum mounted on its side and cut horizontally with a duct into the dryer air intake. There was enough room on the other side of the trailer to build a bin for storing wood.
But as we wandered around in awe of this achievement, the westies were all over the thing, hammering, drilling holes, welding, pop riveting and bashing at it with hammers. No one was allowed near the Woodie supply until it was done, which probably accounts for the rapid progress on this one occasion.
Loud crashing sounds from the corner signaled that “preparation” of the wood for the inaugural firing was taking place. In fact Bouncerwestie was laying into a pile of pallets with an axe, causing Builderwestie put his face in his hands and moan “those pallets cost me $30 each.”
The destruction of the pallets raised a cloud of incredibly noxious fumes so I retired outside and it wasn’t before long that the WBS was wheeled out in all its glory. It sure was impressive. It was huge. It did not look particularly aerodynamic.
“Bags I not be the one to tow that down the other side of the Brynderwin hills in a 35 knot nor-easter,” chuckled Siqnwriterwestie.
The wood was piled into the drum and the standard barbecue starter of explosive accelerant applied. Panelbeaterwestie then stood back with a firework, lit it and aimed it at the petrol soaked wood resulting in the obligatory woosh and flames.
Clouds of absolutely toxic fumes belched from the drum into the night sky.
“Whatever was in that drum before, it wasn’t organic,” someone remarked through lung-seared chokes.
Soon the fire was roaring, the smoke billowing and it was judged the right time to shut the lid of the 44 gallon drum to force the smoke into the dryer. This merely had the effect of extinguishing the blaze in about 2 minutes with no smoke actually making the transition into the dryer.
Heads were scratched. So were balls, in the inimitable westie way of deep thinking.
“More holes – we need more holes” was the call. The drills came out, and fortunately for we spectators, so did more accelerant. Having run out of fireworks, a newspaper dipped in the accelerant was employed to re-light the fire.
It’s like watching a train wreck, this sort of thing, and results were the predictable “whooomph” as belching flame dispatched several sets of westie eyebrows into the night air.
Despite the liberal application of the drill and a bit of 4x2 propping open the lid of the 44 gallon drum, the smoke refused to travel into the smoke chamber, so standing around and head scratching continued while the toxic fumes from the drum caused the world’s oceans to rise another few inches.
It was about that time the smell of rubber filled the air, particles gently simmering off the burning rubber of the trailer’s tyres. There was plenty of heat and smoke – it was just a matter of convincing it to go to the right places.
Panelbeaterwestie immediately flashed up the tin snips and pop riveter to fashion a couple of heat shields from a large piece of tin that, suspiciously, looked like it had been an advertising hoarding.
Thus ended the initial trial run (aka the burning off of toxic former inhabitants of our now-food grade device). The Woodies were dispatched as the head and ball scratching continued.
I am pleased to report that a few weeks later we had an afternoon smoke up with kingfish, snapper, kahawai and trevally. The WBS – now christened “Sharon” performed admirably.
The 44 gallon drum had been fitted with a barebecue hotplate and grill so sausages and steaks were also cooked while we waited for the fish. Excellent.
Why “Sharon” you may ask?
Well, the ability to fire up the barbecue hotplate and the smoker simultaneously means that the machine, like all good westie girls, now goes at both ends.
Or so my mates say.
