As I now stand on Pelican Jetty, as the current rushes from the channel and the light drains from the pink sky, I watch my own children with their hand held lines, legs dangling over the worn boards. It's at this point that I came to the heart of the matter; I've never left this place- never left my childhood. Although I'm much older and have been so much more happier in my life- I've never really left this place.
I was never disappointed by this scene. It made you want to jump out of your seat, tear off your life jacket, and grab a rod. The vast blue flatness of the ocean showed no signs of activity yet beneath its veil was the bustling movement of marine life equivalent to three cities. The boat came to a stop. Silence. Only the clapping of the boat against the water could be heard. Leaping from my seat, I snatched up my rod and tied a massive red hook that glinted in the morning sun, ready to capture its next victim. My hand reached into the bait bucket, fumbling around to get a grip on whatever slimy creature laid inside, and pulled out the fattest sardine we had. Unsheathing the fillet knife, the forming rust on the extremely sharp blade glimmered dully. Slice the head right off. Slip the blade underneath the tail. Along the spine. A majestic fillet ready to be tossed into the dirty depths. After baiting the hook, I cast the line out, the reel shrieking as the line drained from it. My line went pretty far but never even close to how far my father's went. The wrists of an angler were hardened by years of casting, imbedded with flicking techniques that my young, soft arms have yet to master. As I stood next to my father, I felt secure, knowing that he would always bail me out of sticky situations and support me as I learned to fish. The silence between my father and I would seem unusual and awkward to anyone who was watching but to me it had a homely feel. The silence where we, without a word, trusted each other and enjoyed our time together.
Soon a black veil covered the setting sun as I stared out into the unreachable waters. I still long to feel the rocking of the waves that my legs haven't felt in years yet I knew that I would never be able to return with my father. Never to hold a rod by his side again. Peering into the distance, I see the glistening waves of the off-coast sea. Home was so far away yet it pulled my heart in towards it. Towards the schools of fish. Towards where I could be a fisherman's son again.
This was it. The place where I could escape from the big smoke: the noisy cars, the shouting crowds and the choking fumes. The sea had none of that, only the sweet silence and familiar salty smell. My soul belonged here and not in the chains of the contemporary world where I spent my days dealing with all types of commotion that made me want to tear my hair out.
''Dad! Look what I caught!'' my daughter grabs at my sleeve and held up proudly a small sardine at the end of her line. Her huge toothy grin reminded me when I too caught my first fish. Too often we think that we need to be successful in life- big car, big house, big bucks to get us through life comfortably. As I sit here now, I see that this is comfort.
This was my childhood. We fished for hours at a time, until our arms could barely hold the weight of our rods. I now look at my own son and daughter as they peer into the water and caress the lines for any inklings of movement, jiggling their feet up and down like loaded springs ready for action. Not a word out of them. Their eyes were glued onto their rods. I smiled and took a seat down next to them, all of us silently watching the tide falling.
''Dad do we have to go?'' I look towards the Norfolk pines that line the street and the smooth belly of the water that edges the cove as the trawlers set off to sea and reply
''No. We can stay as long as you like''.
