To catch a fish

“To catch a fish, you must first go fishing.”

That profound statement has a hell of a lot more to it than you might think! Those of us who are married with children will immediately identify with it in at least one way. Even someone with a job will know the frustration of driving to work on a lovely day as the other half heads out with the boat in tow (jealous or what?).

I’m unlucky enough to be saddled with both problems, and what's worse, I can see the water from where I work most days.

I thought getting married would be a good idea, as I would have someone to hold the fort while I went fishing – NOT!

I quickly found that women are a lot like cars: they cost you heaps to run, break down only when you don’t need them to, and they always look better in magazines than in real life.

Just kidding! Although it’s funny how at least my car takes me fishing, and when I give it a tune up it goes better. Not the wife – and the car doesn’t have kids all over the place, either (at least it hasn’t so far)!

I shouldn't talk like that really, because to be honest, my wife does heaps around the place — and she lets me keep my bait in the freezer, as well!

Even if the wife lets you go fishing, it’s a waste of time planning ahead. I could live in the Sahara Desert and it would hose down and blow a gale on my proposed fishing date. Somebody up there has a weird sense of humour.

Spur-of-the-moment trips are often the best, as you catch everyone off guard, including yourself if you aren't careful. It’s a real bugger to get all the way out to the beach only to remember the bait’s still in the freezer. Or even worse, to take out what you were sure was a pack of bait that somehow turns into a pack of stewed fruit on the way out.

Even if you do get the bait part right, chances are that on reaching the beach – if the car hasn’t broken down on the way – your rod tip will be broken, or the handle has fallen off your reel. Or else you’ll find you’ve have left your tackle box at home propping up the corner of the shed, or sitting on the porch along with your lunch.

If you are lucky enough to dodge these hazards, boaties have a few extra things to remember, like putting the bungs in, checking the battery, taking the boat keys, filling the fuel tank (add oil as well), and hooking the boat up to the car properly. Otherwise, Murphy and his silly laws will jump at the opportunity to stuff-up your day.

I purposely left out ‘check the weather’ as we all know it will be hosing down and blowing a gale by the time we hit the beach, no matter what the clever chaps at the Met Office say. So pack your lifejackets.

I work on the presumption that if anything can go wrong, it will, so be prepared.

We aren’t fishing yet though. If you do make it to the water, chances are you will slip on the ramp or on the rocks and injure yourself. When you fall it’s bound to be your rod you land on, smashing the guides, plus six inches off the tip, and at the same time kicking your mate in the arse on the way through so that he drops your tackle box and lunch in the tide.

But who cares? At least you are out there.

You limp out to your favourite fishing spot dragging what’s left of your gear, only to find ten blokes with six rods each fishing there already. Or it’s about now that you discover your tide chart was last year’s model, or something, and that the tide is just about opposite to what you want. So even if you get to that magical never-fail spot, you quickly discover the magical qualities disappear on the opposite tide. And naturally, if you are trying to launch a boat, you find it a little harder with no bloody water.

I can remember one fine summer’s day taking my boss out for a quick day-fish. Not only was the tide out, but it was a very low tide, and we pushed that damned boat for about a bloody mile trying to get the water deep enough to start the outboard (thanks Murphy). My boss was very good about it, really, and didn't complain too much at all. Mind you, shortly after that episode he bought a big launch and made constant remarks about how he always has plenty of water at the marina. Nice one! I suppose I won’t ever live that one down (not that I deserve to).
If you haven’t spat the dummy by this stage and gone home, chances are you will actually get to drop a line over (probably literally). I’m not sure how stewed fruit goes as bait (let alone how you get it on a hook), but you may be able to talk your mate into lending you a pillie or something. Of course your knife would be somewhere else, so you would have to borrow one of those as well.

If you are like me you will have tackle stored all over the place (stuck in seats, carpet, canopy, swanny, hat, pants, etc.), so finding a hook shouldn’t be too hard even without your tackle box. But be careful with jigs as they have a nasty habit of leaping out of the water and attaching themselves quickly to your mate’s nostril, and we don’t want to upset him any more today.

Then, as you settle down for a nice relaxing fish, all you get is a rest (or the anchor rope) while your mate pulls in one fish after another.

So there we are: howling wind and pouring rain, broken rod (and no handle on your reel), tide out, stewed fruit for bait, twisted ankle, bruised bum, cross mate, no lunch, and no tackle. But we say we enjoy it, and battle on only to return home fish-less to an irate wife who has promised fish to all the neighbours and their relations.

But what the hell, tomorrow might just go a bit better – you never know.