DAY 121: Going fishing

30 Dec

A DRIVER’S licence might be an elusive beast, but it turns out any chump can secure a fishing licence, so I do.

After buying a $6, 48-hour one from Lorne’s information centre, I hire a rod and bait, and listen intently to the complicated instructions from the chap, which go along the lines of “fner fner fner fner fner, fner fner fner, fner fner fner fner fner and be careful of the hooks.”

Luckily, fishing turns out to be a lot less hi-tech than expected, and Clare and I manage to just stick the bait, hooks and line together with guesswork and a lot of unhooking of hooks from fingers.

The actual fishing commences on Lorne pier, with a latte in one hand, handbag in the other, and rod balanced awkwardly between the knees. Every time the tide pulls the line taut, I reel it in and people flock over at all the excitement.

“You’re drawing a crowd and that’s not what you want,” mutters Clare as I reel in my sardine.

But it’s hard not to just keep taking a little look… Ye gods! There’s a bloody massive upside down crab the size of a dinner plate stuck to the end of my line, and it’s not looking happy. “I can’t get it up!” I yell to the pier (fishing is a fount of innuendo), and the crab smartens up and lets go before we can get any photographic evidence.

A nearby pro tips me off: “You need to come here at six in the morning, there’s nothing around these times. There’s a big calamari down here, but that’s about it.”

The thought of pulling up a big calamari: maximum squealage.

Keeper? Yep. Hooked.

A little number somebody left at the end of the pier.

%d bloggers like this: