Not sure if I have much to really write about today. For some reason everything seems to be going really slow. It’s now been about 5 -6 weeks since I went out drinking or even just plain drinking! Not exactly a style I exercise too often, and in part it’s boring as hell!!
Last Friday was a tough one, the day was winding down, and as I looked around the office all I could think about was breaking loose from this prison cell and getting coconut crazy on some delicious refreshing beverages. I decided a six pack would be required as a minimum to help eradicate this sense of tediousness. So with this in mind I rushed home, and set forth planning the evening’s entertainment. I figured since I don’t have any mates to drink with I might as well try my luck with some fishing.
Okay seeing as I plan on living off the land during my previously plotted escapades across the world, (yes world, the term country is so confining) it’s mighty important I can actually catch fish one would think. Unless of course I trip on some luck and find Jesus, who’ll miraculously turn water into wine and five loafs of bread and two fish into a feast. What a champ he would be on a road trip! Back on track though, so with a firm plan for the evening I got myself prepared with all my fishing instrumentation, even some new stuff. I pack my gear and head off to catch the evening low tide feeling pretty confident I’ll land a whooper!
On the way I slip into the bottle-o, some fancy beers tonight I think, as I peruse the selection. “Six James Squire Amber Ales, Thanks mate”. A strong definitive bitter flavour for fishing I expertly decide. So I pay the good fellow and head off down to my fishing spot. Seeing as I’m not local here; my fishing spots are just a guess at best, as is my technique! This could possibly be my down fall I later discover! First task, scale a few hundred meters of a slippery rock wall, while precariously balancing my precious six pack of gold. Once this is achieved, time to setup and enjoy the evening.
A strong aroma drifts out from underneath the bottle cap as I pry it open with the back of the fishing knife. The flavours linger around my mouth long after the cool refreshing liquid has been swallowed. A strong sense of pepper’s and cloves can be tasted. It’s simply divine, I conclude as I tongue the nozzle of the first empty bottle!
An hour or so passes, and I’m still only half way though my second bottle. It’s a mixture of pure delight savouring the flavour crossed with a certain fear that at any moment I’m likely to slip off the greasy surface of the rock on which I stand and drop hideously into murky waters below. Which I’ll briefly point out takes up much of my beer drinking concentration. With hardly a bite, ten thousand Sandfly welts and a general uneasiness from resting on this rock I hastily decide to move. It’s 11pm by this stage so I’m sufficiently ready to call it a night.
On the way home I feel a bit let down by my efforts, not only on a fishing front, but also with my plans for a beer drinking extravaganza. I’m starting to feel like an old man! So in a last minute decision I speed past my apartment, and make my way down to the fisherman’s wharf. Located down the hill from where I live, which is the local pen for trolling boats, wholesale fish markets and an industrial shipping yard.
When I make it to the end, I can see some other desperate fellows still dangling good faith at the end of a nylon line. With a beer in hand I hop out of my rig to investigate if these fellow chumps have had as much luck as I have. As it would turn out the first bloke I approach is swaying more then a worm in a half empty bottle of tequila. I get chatting and before long I’ve traded one of my precious ales with my new friend. In exchange he helps me out with my set up and shares some of his live bait. Top guy I think..
The night really didn’t take much of a turn, fishing wise, despite not getting home until 7am the next day I was still empty handed! It didn’t seem to matter all that much though, because by my fourth and unfortunately last bottle I was already feeling the constraints of the daily grind lifting off my shoulders. And as the night grew on, Random drunk guy, his mate and I chatted on about all the expired adventures of the past. Then of the trips to come, comparing notes, life experiences and challenges which every bloke must face when chasing the ultimate dream…….
Man I can’t wait to go fishing again!
Last Friday was a tough one, the day was winding down, and as I looked around the office all I could think about was breaking loose from this prison cell and getting coconut crazy on some delicious refreshing beverages. I decided a six pack would be required as a minimum to help eradicate this sense of tediousness. So with this in mind I rushed home, and set forth planning the evening’s entertainment. I figured since I don’t have any mates to drink with I might as well try my luck with some fishing.
Okay seeing as I plan on living off the land during my previously plotted escapades across the world, (yes world, the term country is so confining) it’s mighty important I can actually catch fish one would think. Unless of course I trip on some luck and find Jesus, who’ll miraculously turn water into wine and five loafs of bread and two fish into a feast. What a champ he would be on a road trip! Back on track though, so with a firm plan for the evening I got myself prepared with all my fishing instrumentation, even some new stuff. I pack my gear and head off to catch the evening low tide feeling pretty confident I’ll land a whooper!
On the way I slip into the bottle-o, some fancy beers tonight I think, as I peruse the selection. “Six James Squire Amber Ales, Thanks mate”. A strong definitive bitter flavour for fishing I expertly decide. So I pay the good fellow and head off down to my fishing spot. Seeing as I’m not local here; my fishing spots are just a guess at best, as is my technique! This could possibly be my down fall I later discover! First task, scale a few hundred meters of a slippery rock wall, while precariously balancing my precious six pack of gold. Once this is achieved, time to setup and enjoy the evening.
A strong aroma drifts out from underneath the bottle cap as I pry it open with the back of the fishing knife. The flavours linger around my mouth long after the cool refreshing liquid has been swallowed. A strong sense of pepper’s and cloves can be tasted. It’s simply divine, I conclude as I tongue the nozzle of the first empty bottle!
An hour or so passes, and I’m still only half way though my second bottle. It’s a mixture of pure delight savouring the flavour crossed with a certain fear that at any moment I’m likely to slip off the greasy surface of the rock on which I stand and drop hideously into murky waters below. Which I’ll briefly point out takes up much of my beer drinking concentration. With hardly a bite, ten thousand Sandfly welts and a general uneasiness from resting on this rock I hastily decide to move. It’s 11pm by this stage so I’m sufficiently ready to call it a night.
On the way home I feel a bit let down by my efforts, not only on a fishing front, but also with my plans for a beer drinking extravaganza. I’m starting to feel like an old man! So in a last minute decision I speed past my apartment, and make my way down to the fisherman’s wharf. Located down the hill from where I live, which is the local pen for trolling boats, wholesale fish markets and an industrial shipping yard.
When I make it to the end, I can see some other desperate fellows still dangling good faith at the end of a nylon line. With a beer in hand I hop out of my rig to investigate if these fellow chumps have had as much luck as I have. As it would turn out the first bloke I approach is swaying more then a worm in a half empty bottle of tequila. I get chatting and before long I’ve traded one of my precious ales with my new friend. In exchange he helps me out with my set up and shares some of his live bait. Top guy I think..The night really didn’t take much of a turn, fishing wise, despite not getting home until 7am the next day I was still empty handed! It didn’t seem to matter all that much though, because by my fourth and unfortunately last bottle I was already feeling the constraints of the daily grind lifting off my shoulders. And as the night grew on, Random drunk guy, his mate and I chatted on about all the expired adventures of the past. Then of the trips to come, comparing notes, life experiences and challenges which every bloke must face when chasing the ultimate dream…….
Man I can’t wait to go fishing again!
1 comment:
fishing is cool. I never catch anything, but there's a certain peace to it. It's very zen, although not altogether fish friendly - unless you're Rex Hunt...but he's not too human friendly...
And then I go and eat fish and chips.
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