Thirroul’s Tony Ryan tries deep-sea fishing on holiday
Bumping into people on the street and getting feedback from friends, it seems the readers of this fine publication seem to get enjoyment from my misfortune, especially when I am on holidays.
So I thought I would share bits of our last adventure.
We had decided to take a trip up the north coast to the lovely spot of Forster. The weather forecast said it was going to be sunny for the whole week but, as many of you know, we call ourselves ‘the drought breakers’ and, sure enough, days three, four and five were full of thunderstorms and rain.
How good a job is being a weather forecaster! You can get it wrong every day but still come in with no ramifications! I love it when they say it’s a 50% chance of rain. How can they go wrong?!
For Christmas, Santa gave me and my mate Dave a deep-sea fishing trip. Being prone to a bit of seasickness, I made the journey into town the day before to ensure I had sea-sick tablets.
The big day arrived and as we boarded the boat I thought to myself that seasickness tablets tend to work better if you don’t leave them in the caravan.
We set off. Convincing myself it would be mind over matter, I thought it was a good sign when, after three minutes, we saw a pod of dolphins.
But that is when the good times finished. To borrow a line from George Costanza, “The sea was angry that day, my friend”.
The 30-minute journey to the fishing point was not too bad, but when we stopped the “fun” really began. For the boat was bouncing around like an eight-year-old on red cordial.
The fishing started slowly and we only caught red cod – a spiky fish that requires delicate removal – and returned them to the ocean. Things were on the up as we caught a few snapper, but then the storm came in and the swell picked up.
By this time, the boat was experiencing more highs and lows than a Dragons supporter and thoughts of Gilligan’s Island were popping into my head, as I wondered if we were going to float into the abyss.
The stomach started to rumble and my mind told me I was going to be fine. But this is the same mind that convinced me to keep playing footy at 55 and that I could keep up with my son and his friends in a drinking game over Christmas.
The rain was heavy, wind and cold set in, and the constant bouncing of the boat made my body start shaking like Elvis at a live performance.
Finally the body overrode the mind and I had to quickly secure my rod and find a part of the boat that no one was using to expel the remnants of my lunch and probably my previous six meals. The New Year’s resolution of being “vomit free in ’23” lasted only five days.
After six hours at sea we turned for home; I slept for that part of the trip. Rain was pelting down when we arrived back at the dock and, with our 10 snapper in a garbage bag, we made the 500m dash to the car. I put the fish in the back and grabbed a towel. It was a bit damp and then realised it was the towel we had used to dry the dog after her ocean swim earlier in the day. So I was cold, wet and now I smelt like wet dog.
On the 7km journey home we had the heater cranked up and that night the family and a few neighbours at the caravan park feasted on the fruits of our labour. Which should have made it all worthwhile, but it kinda didn’t.
Because of the rain, all our car windows were wound up. The next day the heat returned, giving the remains of the fish smell a chance to fester.
Despite these little hiccups, it still is always good to get away with family and friends.
