gone fishing

On Saturday I got to experience one of D-town’s favourite pastimes– fishing. I had always thought fishing was in a category of activity I called theoretical fun. These are activities that sound fun but after a while the fun wears out, such as trivia nights, ten-pin bowling, book readings and high school reunions.

After a twelve day stint of work, a group of students collected me at 530 am(!). These boys were the real deal.  They looked the part and talked the talk. We were even listening to a radio show about fishing.  On CD.  During our two hour drive we hit a magpie goose. Don’t worry, I didn’t know what they were either. It was sitting in the middle of the road and didn’t move in time. It fractured our windshield but not our spirit. The rest of the ride I kept replaying the scene in my mind except imagining the bird going right through the windscreen and landing on the back seat with me. Would. Not. Cope.  

I had an excellent day at Shady Camp, shared with fantastic company and surrounded by never-ending mangroves and sky. We spent nine hours on a three metre tinny in unrelenting heat. It provided plenty of thinking time to think about:

1.     Barramundi psychology and sexuality. I heard plenty of fishing theory including a fisherman’s superstition about bananas scaring the fish away and about the ideal spots to cast your lines.  I learned that all barramundi are born genderless and then grow into becoming either male or female. The girls grow bigger and longer than the blokes. I then began to imagine if humans were like that. Would explain a lot.

2.     The anniversary of the Darwin bombings and the paucity of Australian history that featured in my education

3.     Being defriended on facebook by people who initially befriended you

4.     Julia and Kevin and the lack of leadership we have come to accept as the mainstay in all realms of society.

5.     How delicious a magpie goose pie would taste.

6.     My crocodile defence strategy of making sure my arms are in the air when you are passing a potentially threatening crocodile spot. That way your arms are free to smash the croc in the eyes once they have clamped down on your torso.  Similar strategy for sharks me thinks. Except for the walking part.

7.     Our patients, their stories and what their hospital experience must be like.

8.     The hilariousness being retold at a very close friend's hen’s night whilst listening to the wind blow.

I managed by some whim of ethereal luck, to be the first to catch a barramundi. I wanted to name him but couldn’t think of a name there and then. It wasn’t regulation length so we had to return him to the water. Not before the motherfucker spiked my thumb. It seems nature has a sense of humour too.

I also learned to drive a boat. At one point we were spinning the wrong way and the guys were telling me to flick into reverse and “gun it”.  I did so obediently. We ended up wedged on the bank of the river. Oops. They said there had been a problem with the gears. Obviously.

Unfortunately we only caught one regulation fish the whole day. The boys blame the bananas but I certainly didn’t care. On the way home we stopped at a pub that had a pen outside with a crocodile in it. Standard. We named the salty (the local term for saltwater crocodiles) Brutus. We filleted the fish and fed the skeleton to Brutus who seized it mid air and devoured it in seconds. Rest assure, I had my arms in the air the whole time…

Ps for those wondering, the barra was cooked on the barbie and tasted delicious.