the young men and the sea

Even though the day was still and sea calm. The kayak, our single sit-on kayak, was rolling to the point of capsizing as the fish we’d just landed thrashed about amongst our bare feet. My face had turned from that of smiles to sheer panic as the half metre Kahawai bouncing between our legs, let rip its fishy fury at being plucked from Poseidon’s palace. Adding to matters, the hook had now come free and waved around drawing my attention away from balancing the kayak, causing a near upturn. I wasn’t prepared for this, its size or its fight.

Historically, my best fishing in the past is when I’ve managed to pull in a clump of seaweed or half eaten bait. To actually land a real fish is for me, to break with a life long tradition of not landing real fish.

The multi-tool I carry around on my belt is only for show. I mean, I’ve never had to actually draw the thing out from its sheath. Trying to open the blade took much longer than expected as I tried to fathom out which way the handle folded.

Sitting between myself and tonight’s meal was our oldest son Dylan. He had remained calm during the whole experience and it was at this point I realised he wasn’t freaking out like me. Simply taking it all in. So after a few deep breaths, and in my calmest possible captains voice ( I was pulling rank on this vessel) I ordered Dylan to place his foot on fishy whilst I readied the leatherman…
Back towards shore and the smiles had returned. Any feelings of fear had rolled off the kayak like drops of sea water over the bow. We felt like real fishermen.

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