My mobile pinged. A message: “I am at Torrens Island fishing”. My brother, knew I would head that way if I was out and about – I was. Buzzing through The Port I headed toward the island looking forward to spending a couple of hours with him, he is a fishing tragic, has always been. Considering our Dad was a professional fisher before he married Mum, it’s not too unexpected I suppose.
I was heading over the bridge when he passed me, lights flashing, two extra faces smiling, hands waving; I was surprised and happy to see my niece and great nephew in the front seat too. I turned and followed them to a favourite fishing place of ours. Not far from where the fishing trawlers were docked and getting ready for the night, at Semaphore near dusk you can often see them going out into the darkness. Surprise, everyone called as they piled out of the van, hugs and hello’s followed.
Fishing rods came out of the van, the back door opened and bait on a plastic lid was cut into strips. It was half an hour till high tide so the fish were biting, well nibbling; quite a lot of bait was being used. I set myself up putting bait on hooks so the lines could go back in the water faster. No mucking around while fish were for the taking. My nephew has turned into a great fisher (he is nine) and was the first to bring up a little shitty, back he went, not an eating fish for us.
I had to laugh, my brother did the same thing Dad used to do: get us all set up, lines in the water and he would move further down to a spot he had his eye on. Brother casually moved to a spot about four meters from us and threw out. Within a couple of minutes two good size Tommy’s were on the ground by him. My niece and nephew were getting nibbles and losing bait, I was busy cutting up squid wondering when these two realised down the other end fish were being caught. Suddenly, the cry went out, look, Poppy is catching fish. So, just like it happened many years ago to his father, my brother was surrounded by fishing lines, plop, plop. I had to smile, how the wheel of life goes around.
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My brother and nephews hooks disappeared, we were treated to a quick hook replacement, he explained, the line is shredded; a puffer with his sharp teeth took both the bait and the hook.
After a half an hour after the tide turned and the fish were off the bite, seven Tommy’s sat in the plastic bucket (with a small amount of sea water). Earlier my brother had told my nephew, just quietly put the fish into the bucket, we don’t want everyone here catching our fish. Nephew came to put one of his fish in the bucket and said with a smile on his face, to the fish; don’t make too much noise flipping and flapping we don’t want everyone to know we have you in the bucket. He is such a joy. So the end count was one fish for niece, three for nephew and the rest for the guru. We decided to have tea at the Largs Kiosk, brother had calamari, niece had a seafood basket, I had flathead and nephew had chicken nuggets, yes I know, you can’t fathom kids.
We went in our different directions, the last I saw of them they were all laughing, singing Bohemian Rhapsody, as they disappeared into the night.
My trip home was a joy; I slowly drove the entire length of the road that runs by the sea, with the window open enjoying the mild night, until I got to Bower Road. Then smiling, I went happily home. Unexpected simple pleasures are the best pleasures on earth.
When was the last time you went fishing? What activities do you like to do with your grandchildren? Share with us below.