Fishing Mates Brought To Eel
Newcastle Herald
Tuesday January 8, 2002
FRANK and Dave enjoyed a weekly round of golf together. One day, having lost several new golf balls, Frank turned to Dave.
`You know, Dave, we should take up fishing. It would have to be cheaper than this mug's game.' Dave nodded in agreement.
A few weeks passed then on their way home one day Frank said: `Let's stop at the fisherman's warehouse, there's no harm in looking.'
Well the salesman there didn't come down in the last shower. Before they could say `Bob's your uncle' he had sold them both a rod and reel, a tackle box and all the gear they could possibly need.
He threw in some special bait, just for good measure.
`Start off on the breakwall,' he advised. `Then when you get the hang of it, we can fit you out with a nice little runabout.'
Dave's wife looked on with horror as he unloaded his new gear.
`How much did all of that set us back?' she asked.
`Well, a fair bit, Shirl but think of it as an investment. You'll never have to buy fish again.'
Then he thrust a package into her hands.
`Just pop that in the freezer for me love.' Shirl looked at the package with distaste. `What is it?'
`It's chicken gut, love, really good bait.' Shirl was not impressed. `That's not going in my freezer!'
`It's just till tomorrow morning, I'm meeting Frank at Blacksmiths at six.'
The morning was dull and showery but Dave and Frank were not deterred. They found a spot on the breakwall and spread their gear around them. Carefully they baited their hooks and Dave, eager to start, had his first cast.
`Careful,' Frank ducked as Dave's hook and sinker whizzed past his right ear, caught his hat and sent it flying into the channel. It bobbed along for a while then sank out of sight.
`That was my best hat!' Dave laughed. `Sorry mate but if that was your best, I'd hate to see your worst! You'd better duck down again for a minute while I try again.'
The current kept sweeping their lines near the rocks of the breakwall and Dave and Frank become more and more annoyed as they became snagged and lost hook and sinker time after time. When they weren't snagged, their bait disappeared with great rapidity.
`There must be something down there,' Dave muttered, reeling his line in yet again.
`We've gone through nearly all the bait and there's nothing to show for it,' said Frank. `And dammit all, I think I'm snagged again!' He picked his way carefully over the rocks to the edge of the breakwall for a better look.
`Blimey!' He gasped in shock and stepped hastily backwards, knocking his tackle box flying, as an eel with a gaping mouth and flashing teeth appeared. It was very large, very angry, and very firmly attached to his line.
`We'll have to cut it off,' Dave said.
`You'll have to cut it off,' Frank roared. `My knife's gone into the drink.'
That eel led them a merry dance. Each time Dave approached, it bared its teeth and lunged furiously towards him.
Finally he cut the line as near as possible to the hook as he dared. The eel slithered towards him.
Dave's foot slipped and he fell with a splash into the channel.
Giving him a malevolent look, the eel slid over the rocks and into the water after him. Dave began to swim away furiously but was caught and swept along by the current.
Frank dropped his rod and began to pick his way carefully along the breakwall to Dave, who was now clinging onto the rocks several hundred metres farther down.
Finally, grabbing his friend by both hands he hauled him, with difficulty, out of the water. `Fair dinkum mate!' he exclaimed with relief. `I thought you were a goner!'
They looked at each other.
`I think I've had enough fishing for today,' Dave said, shivering as trickles of water dripped off his hair and down his nose. `Me too, perhaps golf isn't such a bad game after all.' Marion Gillespie is a Newcastle Herald reader, whose fishy tale is based on the very short fishing career of two friends.
© 2002 Newcastle Herald