I got invited by a mate to go game fishing the other day but my standard reply is always, “No thanks, I don’t do anything where I can’t go home when I want to,” which I always thought was because I am careful with the company I keep more than anything else.
Probably because I am happy being by myself is more accurate. Well that was what I always thought, but maybe there is more to it after reading this week that since COVID, fishing is far more popular.
That made me think about growing up at my Nanna’s house in Anzac Ave Maroochydore every weekend and every holiday.
Dad had his boat tied up near what is now Broadsea Ave, but in those days boats were just tied to trees along the bank.
When they started building the rock wall, Dad’s boat headed up river and eventually ended up halfway up the Cod Hole, but there was easy access for many years, so I was always fishing.
The negative was bream season, when Dad would come home with 50 or 60 bream that I had to bloody scale if he managed to get hold of me before I leapt the back fence to get away.
Scaling them was one thing, then I had to eat them for the next week or so. But just the other day I was reading about fishing, and I remembered why I don’t like boats or fishing.
Dad and I were down the river mouth, I was about 11. I had already eaten lunch and with no fish biting, was bored out of my head. Dad was just happy sitting there with a line in, but not overly happy with my whinging.
I started playing with his favourite knife and tapping it on the gunnel, until he told me to be careful with it.
I said: “Like this?”, pretending to throw it overboard. Only problem was, it hit the side of the boat and over it went.
I can remember two things, how clear the water was as it sunk to the bottom and Dad’s reaction.
That’s why I don’t like boats or fishing and why I am a fairly good swimmer.
