Population 35-ish
A group of homestead guests came back from fishing the cliffs yesterday in a very raucous mood. Fishing the cliffs is a very foolhardy thing to do. Huge waves crash into the sharp rocks and standing on the rocks there is no quick escape and no quick rescue if something goes wrong. But you get 10 blokes together, away from their wives, and hand them an esky full of beers, well, what do you expect is going to happen.
I heard from the much repeated and embellished story that was drunkenly told over dinner, that a huge wave had come and knocked one of the fishermen off the rock and back towards the cliff. They had seen him tumble 10 meters backwards and he had been submerged long enough for his fellow fishermen to think he might be dead. Just when they were silently writing his obituary in their heads, he pops back to his feet, fishing reel still in hand. His mates yell, “get off the rocks!!!” and other choice expletives. His reply was “No! I’ve got a fish!!!” which he then proceeding to reel in.
He had a good sized laceration to his buttocks and his fishing jacket had been torn to threads, but he was otherwise in good health.
This is surely the genesis of a classic fishing story that will be retold and exaggerated for the next 30 years.
No comments:
Post a Comment