THE LOVE OF A FISHERMAN
I caught sight of his hat, but only fleetingly as he was on the move to find the perfect spot. I followed patiently, hoping this ‘perfect spot’ was somewhere close by as the hike over the ocean washed rocks was beginning to wear thin…for me-but the journey no matter how rough, was clearly, not a bother for my fisherman.
I stop, and re-evaluate my position.
There he is, standing one hundred metres away, bare foot, holding the brand new rod he’s been so excited to try out, appearing to be content with his carefully chosen fishing spot…or not? He moved on, once again.
It’s funny, we can’t converse, yet he’s in my sight, so I feel like things are ok.
I followed him here, to this new place we hadn’t explored before. The idea, was that I could take photos and he could fish, but he took off in the excitement and yelled back at me-
“I’ll be on the rocks somewhere”
I simply replied
…but I followed him.
I struggled to keep up. He was a good 5 minutes ahead of me, it was hot, and the rocks were sharp, their edges poking into my rubber thongs. Gosh if I hadv’e known, I would have worn decent shoes-on second thoughts, how boring. I have much more fun when I don’t plan. When I just end up somewhere and attempt to negotiate my way through whatever presents itself.
The sand was course and scratched the delicate suburban skin in between my toes. A few little white waves dumped sand on me as they washed over my feet in an attempt to make it to shore, just as they had done, over and over for a million or more years. They did not care about my precious feet.
My mind drifted back to the sign on the beach.
‘Achtung!’ -Beware of the crocodiles, stay well away from the waters edge.’
Well I clearly read THAT sign, as I was currently IN the water, but only for a moment. I read somewhere crocs have to watch you for a while first, make sure you’re not going to move, and then plan their attack. Right? The water was nice, and somehow didn’t seem the place for a crocodile.
Quickly, I leapt onto the next rock ledge escaping the breaking waves and apparent reptilian danger, and once again scanned the foreshore for my fisherman.
He was over thereeeeeeeeeeeee.
I caught him peering in my direction, and immediately took the opportunity to send a message. Unfortunately, my little human self kicked in and I threw my hands in the air as if to say-
“Well are you ever going to stop so I can catch up or are we walking to Tasmania?”
He gestured back-
“Well I’m fine, what’s YOUR problem?”
My heart smiled for a second, one hundred and fifty percent subconsciously, but I caught the thought mid-flight and realised-He was being him, and I was being me, how blissfully normal.
The unrelenting wind was not my friend. I had a new hat on which was determined to fly away, hence one hand was occupied dealing with IT, and the other was flat out just trying to balance on the cliff face. I was also beginning to wonder how long my rubber thongs would hold out on the rocky surface, fully expecting to feel a knife like jab into the underside of my foot at any second, but sometimes our $5-00 little gems never die. An expensive pair wouldv’e snapped instantly, guaranteed.
Content my fisherman wasn’t going anywhere for a while, I decided to stay put and focused on finding shelter from the elements.
Two large rocks a little climb away, filled that job description nicely. They provided a little patch of shade and a small wind break. I threw my towel down as floor covering and sat, and took in the sea air whilst waiting for him.
Not a bad spot, if it were’nt for the ants who rapidly invaded my territory, the heat, the wind, the danger of reptilian attack, and the inability to reach my fisherman, that stood on the rocks, bare foot, with his fishing shirt and his hat, only 100 metres away, thinking of nothing other than whether or not the fish were biting.