“Want to go fishing tomorrow?” Roland asked.
“Of course!” I answered and turned to Chris, “Would you like to go fishing Darling?”
Now I knew that Chris isn’t much of a fisherman (an understatement) but I thought he might enjoy the sea, sand and boats down at the spit at Southport.
“Yes, alright,” he said with a smile to hide his thoughts about his sunburnt shoulders and being uncomfortable in the sun again.
“We don’t have to, not if you don’t want to, considering that you don’t like fishing,” I gave him every opportunity to decline.
“No, I do like fishing and I love it down the Gold Coast, besides, I know that you want to go,” Chris insisted.
“You can wear a tee shirt if you go swimming…” I suggested.
We chose a beautiful spot under the shade of a tree; I thought it smelt a bit doggy and Chris agreed after he’d taken matters in hand (using a plastic bag he located on the beach!). Our friend Roland had set to work putting out the rods straight away. Chris thought he’d sit on the trunk of a fallen tree but found that it was occupied already by a thriving ant colony. He sat on a towel in the half-shade and tried to look happy. A frogman appeared in a wet-suit and oxygen tank, and entered the water about twenty metres along the beach from us.
Our fisherman friend had some extremely good luck and caught a fine bream within ten minutes of casting out; sadly, the fish slipped out of his hand onto the sand, and because the tide was in, the lucky fat fish made it back into the water with ease while we looked on bemused. Now I usually have better luck fishing than Roland so I was quite envious that he had made a catch so soon (even though he lost it even more quickly). I changed my bait from squid to a prawn immediately (which meant that from then on I had to replace my bait every minute or so – prawns don’t stay on very well).
“What are those strange bubbles just out there?” Roly asked.
“Where?” I squinted (no glasses on).
“Just a few yards out, there – see?” he pointed.
And while he pointed, the top of frogman’s head showed above the water.
“It’s only the frogman,” I said needlessly and added, “He can’t be a very confident diver.”
“Maybe he lost his Rolex watch there yesterday,” Chris suggested.
“Or his wallet,” Roly offered another alternative.
The frogman dived a few inches deeper into the three feet of water ten feet out.
Whilst I continued to lose prawns the lucky fisherman caught another fish, a flathead this time.
“Is he edible?” I inquired.
“They taste great,” said Roland grappling with the ugly brown fish with a flat head and spiky fins.
He put him in the bucket I had filled with seawater and the flathead jumped out and made a dash for it on the sand. On this occasion we were more prepared for desperate fish antics and we surrounded him.
“Chris, would you fetch the bigger bucket from the ute please?” asked Roland.
Once the fish was ensconced and the lid put on, the bucket proved to be a most comfortable alternative seat to the towel which Chris had occupied previously.
Perhaps an hour or more later the frogman, who had remained within the same proximity during the whole period, walked boldly out of the sea. He carried a net.
“Did you catch anything?” I called out (wondering about the watch or the wallet).
“Just the one,” he seemed rather pleased with all his effort in that one spot.
Carrying his quarry, the delighted frogman frogmarched off the beach and returned minutes later, presumably with a new oxygen supply, to resume his hunt in the same area that had hitherto been so fruitful.
“Here, you can have a go,” I offered Chris the use of my rod (we had only two between the three of us).
After several false starts Chris eventually sent his line into the water in front of him – only about ten metres, but that was an improvement (he found the release mechanism at last!). Half an hour later Chris very kindly gave up the rod to me, he seemed to understand that my need was greater than his…
Tired of replacing prawns to no avail, I returned to squid as the bait of choice (Roland had caught his flathead with the same – unbeknownst to me he had made the change himself – fisherman can be quite crafty at times!). Would you believe it? I landed a beautiful sliver bream. It had such a pretty mouth that, honestly, a part of me was glad that it was only five inches long and needed to be freed to grow to an appropriate size. I hope it lives long and prospers.
And what of the flathead? Did we have him for dinner tonight? Well…no, nobody could fancy fish. Roland is having steak and Chris has made a cauliflower cheese dish for us…
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