I am not a natural fisherman. In fact I’m not even an unnatural one. I remember as a boy going with my dad to fish. He loved it. He knew where to go. The right tide times. Which spots were ”going off.” He seemed to even enjoy re-baiting hooks every 5 minutes when his offspring tried reeled in with every semi twitch of the line. I’m sure he only feigned frustration. I remember discovering Saunders beach in NQ and catching whiting at low tide. It must have been easy fishing as even I snared one.
My sister was the real fisherman. She would implore dad to drag her off to fish. I remember fishing off the beach near Bowen and her catching the only fish of the day. Reeling it in we discovered it only got caught because its gills had tangled in the line. Only she could catch fish like that.
Now time has drifted by like the tides my dad would look out for. The time for fishing together is rare. A few years ago he fired up the “tinny” and we fished for cod off Windermere. A throwaway line such as “we should do that again..” finishes the odd conversation we have about fishing. “Yeah, that would be good.”....
Three years ago I discovered what my dad knew 30 odd years ago. I discovered what my sister thrived on. Fishing is not always about the fish. The companionship I have discovered is almost breathtaking. The art of learning what I assumed my dad just knew grew addictively. The time of research and discovery of “deep dark secrets” instill a new found joy. The mateship of being on the water and even sometimes catching something was like nothing I had never experienced.
There is something about fly fishing I don’t understand. At first it was the attraction of the technique. The rhythm of loops tossed back and forth by a mate was captivating. My first attempt, well, not so. But boy I wanted to get it right. I still do. My first introduction to Polaroid sunglasses opened a new world to me. And then there’s that moment of your fly being sipped down by a trout. Sure it was tiny. I know I had little to do with catching it. But by the end of the day it wasn’t the only thing hooked.
I’m preparing to go on my third bushwalk. As a poor fisherman, I make a poorer walker. “Why walk when you have a car?” But my previous expeditions into the Tassie wilderness continue to draw me there. More on that another day.
While not a natural fisherman, I am a natural loner. My tendency is to shy away from others. Learning to fish and to fish well puts me in an uneasy place. I can’t do it alone. And after three years of doing it with others, why would I want to try solo? I’d miss the advice, banter and competition, the insight of someone who had fished a long time before me. I’d miss out on some the quality sledges directed at and from me. And I’d miss those days that I think my dad and I would have enjoyed together. Spending quality time, with quality people doing a quality thing, fishing.
