Fishermen are the antithesis of a "car enthusiast". They are tranquil, reticent, meditative. Photo / Alan Gibson
Fishermen are the antithesis of a "car enthusiast". They are tranquil, reticent, meditative. Photo / Alan Gibson
COMMENT
Picture a beach at sunset. A jetty over the water. Make it realistic, add the sounds and the smells and the people.
Did you picture a fisherman, or fishermen on the jetty? Maybe, maybe not - it doesn't matter either way, because the point remains that fishermen are littlemore than scenery. Are they human, or are they decorations added by local council? Who knows.
Fishermen are the antithesis of a "car enthusiast". They are tranquil, reticent, meditative. They are the monks of the beach. They add value and completeness to the scene by their presence, by their chosen sport, which is more accurately an intermittently productive form of loafing.
Unless you yourself happen to be a fisherman, your eyes will slide past them on a lake shore or a beach or a jetty without even noticing them, simply observing them subconsciously as part of the landscape.
At least that was what I've always done, until last week, when I consciously sat and watched a fisherman sitting in the sun, on his chilly bin, casting off and winding in with the soothing repetition of deep breathing. The water wobbled securely in place without moving an inch, the rod sang and clicked and fizzed joyously.
And so I thought, "yeah, I'd like to do that". Off I went to the fishing store.
I said to the man, "I'd like to buy everything I need to go fishing please". He said "what are you fishing for?" and I replied "fish, hopefully".
"Where are these fish going to be?" he enquired. "In the water, I have on good account," I replied.
"What will you be doing with these fish you catch?" he mused. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves," I replied.
I left an hour and a half later with everything I needed to catch a fish, except for the knowledge and skill, which is of course what is needed most of all. I sought to fill that void with the wisdom of the wholly knowledgeable comrade YouTube, to teach me to tie knots and cast off.
I was going to be doing catch and release, or as Mitch Hedburg once put it: "when you don't want to eat the fish, just make it late for something". I decided the release part would be focused on when and if we came to it, although admittedly I was already afraid of the possibility I could come face to face with a limbless, slimy animal from another dimension of our planet.
Knowledge and skill is, of course, what is needed most of all. Photo / Alan Gibson
I went down to the water that afternoon and fumbled with knots. I had made my first mistake already; it was getting dark and hard to see. I didn't even know if fish swam at night or if they slept. I was reassured by the lone other fisherman on the sandbank still standing there with his rod, although he had a headlamp on; another error I had made.
I went to cast off into the dim light for the first time. I flung the rod forward and the lure went with it only momentarily before being caught and whipped back towards me.
I flinched and curled down, spun around in a full circle with my nose pointed into my chest, trying to dodge the spiked lure that was chasing after the rod in my own hands — a dog running away from its tail. Recovering composure, I looked around. My cover of darkness was now appreciated.
There's not much more to tell. Momentarily I became one of those silhouettes on the horizon, complementing the tranquillity and peace with my gradually more refined casting technique. I still had no idea what I was doing, or how fast to reel the wiggly thing in, or anything else, but I knew enough to at least blend into the scenery as every other fisherman does.
I was hardly ever likely to, nor aiming to, hence why I didn't know what I was trying to catch, or where, or what I would do with it.
What I was trying to catch was a moment of introspection in the outdoors, a reason to stand and watch the water and sit with my own thoughts, reflecting on myself. I certainly caught that.
It was that serenity which has given me the equanimity to be the sole columnist in New Zealand this week to not write about Israel Folau. Now I mention it though, if there's anyone who needs to go fishing, it's that guy.
