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Relax! Go(ne) Fishing January 10, 2008

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Through the evermore busying weekdays and in this case a Thursday, we found ourselves on a charter cruise by appointment of Special K’s friend Em and her father, Sam. With excitement from all – my previous motion sickness proved inconsequential – we boarded the charter boat and were welcomed to the crew. Naturally, it takes some time to ‘hunt’ for the right location to drop anchor and lines, so that time was well spent socialising with some of the other hopeful fisherman.

One such individual, Patrick, told me of his adventures on a P&O cruise to Vanuatu. By my understanding it was little different from other events Rovers experience; sun, sex, sixpack and some not so desirable substances. And the dodgy things that take place aboard an incarcerating vessel; certainly, an enjoyable experience for the young, dumb and full of come.

The engine powered down as we reached a spot inhabited by Schnapper, Gummy Sharks and Garfish in some nineteen metre depth. The early morning sun rose above the smog and clouds and as such the temperature rapidly climbed to the anticipated 42°C day.

Baiting our hooks with pilchards and squid, and casting close to the vessel, it really was a waiting game – hit and miss. Though within minutes of luring the imaginary fish (there is obviously no clear way to ascertain whether a fish is anywhere near your line, except from taking a nibble), we all spun around to the experienced fisherman at the back who hauled a large Schnapper from the water. That was to be his routine for the rest of the day.

The heat was at its zenith when the Schnapper bites plateaued; it was the Flathead that were numerous for the remainder of the day. Special K caught one 26cm and about six undersized little suckers, I only caught two small ones (all undersized fish are returned to the bay). The heat was getting to me when I sat on the front of the boat applying more sunscreen. I was impressed with the charter’s amenities and care for their customers. The BBQ on board was a nice touch as with the unlimited hot chocolates.

I’m probably not the best fisherman as I like to cast and recast often. In other words I’m impatient. This was probably the reason why I only chanced upon two small fish, because I couldn’t wait long enough to catch something larger.

Em caught a nice Schnapper not one hour into the trip and even though we moved twice and drifted once, we received no other great catches. The elderly gentleman up the back was generous enough to distribute the six Schnappers around the crew, so that everybody had one. Even Patrick offered us his Schnapper. It was a taste of old Australian generosity I’d thought extinct and were so glad to be proven wrong. One of our skippers recounted some of his experiences on the trip back. He went scuba diving in the bay and was describing the affect of momentary disorientation on the Z axis. His views on the bay, in terms of dredging concerned me however. He believed that dredging would disrupt the toxic matter from the mouth of the Yarra and kill off the starfish infestation and devastation of the Bay life. It could serve no good purpose to the fishing industry, nor any other myriad of water sports and recreation. Dredging will destroy the bay. These thoughts needn’t escape my lips, I thought. I did not want to walk the plank and be consumed by a Bronze Whaler.

We thanked our hosts and ‘crew’ members when we reached the Mornington dock and proceeded to leave the vessel.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw a sweeping black shadow looming in the crystal clear dock water, it was ‘Hoover’ – a tame Stingray. Each time the crew of the charter return from a trip, they feed Hoover at the dock. It swims up to the surface and takes food from the skippers hand. I could’ve watched it for hours, but we needed to get back home and take care of some Ebay orders.

The rest of the day entailed rehydration and relaxation.

Near catastrophe at Pirate Bay January 1, 2008

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piratebay_crop.jpg

Let’s just say it was hot! Yesterday it reached 42°C (108°F) and it seemed that Pirate Bay was the worst beach to set our tent upon for a New Years Eve celebration. But what made this adventure a potential threat? Let me fill in the blanks.

Firstly, the cumbersome gear we loaded our bodies with and trudged through loose sand to fulfill some idealistic vision of how New Years Eve ’should’ be celebrated. By the time we’d walked along the pestilent pathway, we sought nothing more than the ocean itself, yet we were still so far from it. Simply the weight of what we carried to the beach, was not something to be done in sweltering heat and each step taunted us. From the low cliff, I angrily threw the gear down to the sand and feeling faint, climbed down to go set up the tent. The ability to look out for our puppy – being so very much smaller, could be carried out or drown in the undertow – made the experience even less enjoyable; he was as exhausted as we were. Furthermore, we were lamenting the 2.5Litre water supply we brought, not enough for two people in such conditions and with Zappy to consider, that water dispersed quickly.

Feeling possibly the worst of us all, Special K had to exorcise some demons behind the dunes and as I carried the entire collection of crap to an unshaded spot on very hot sand, I could not simply stand it any longer; I needed to find shade and located a small cutting in the crumbling sandstone cliff. Though I noticed the spider webs strung out and hanging like vines between the crags, I pushed it out of my mind, what mattered was survival. Zappy lay at my feet, breathless, while I took some water and shared it with our puppy. Special K returned exhausted, teary and wanting very much for the idea to remain of a perfect champagne NYE. After more water, I threw myself out into the heat and set up the tent with help from Special K. It really was pointless, the tent was hotter than the beach itself and all it accomplished was to sap our strength even further. Zappy was entertained as long as he didn’t go anywhere near the water; the tide frightened him. We were just happy to have some cold water around our legs, but it would not suffice. It became a moment of choice – dehydration and fainting with possible death thrown in or load up, get back to the car and go rejoin civilisation. We opted for the latter.

Though even in such potentially dangerous conditions, evidentially our love for each other proved the selflessness of our characters, i.e. we put our partner before ourselves. ‘I want you to have a mouthful’ my dear lady said, after I’d argued the point. This beautiful interchange made us even more determined to get back and kiss with full lips.

Foolish, over weighed and under prepared, the path back was more painful than the trip down. Zappy was panting and stopping every few metres for a rest and I carried him when I could. I kept a watchful eye on Special K, who looked extremely weak, I was no better. Over the dunes, two surfies walked past, the first bloke passed without comment though obviously noticing our status; the second asked if our puppy was alright. I told him we’d run out of water. A helping hand these days is hard to find, so we were taken aback when he gave us some water and carried half our stuff to the car park. I had no intention to resist, his help restored our faith in human decency. We thanked him expressively and wished him a prosperous New Year. He patted me on the shoulder and said ‘find a tap and drink until you’re okay to drive. Happy New Year.’ It will be now, I thought.

We spent a good half an hour refilling and resting. A teary eyed Special K said ‘I’m so glad you were with me, I don’t know what I’d do without you!’ I likened Special K to a sandcastle; visually strong, but crumblingly soft and mushy under pressure. The fact is, we are both unfit, unhealthy and unready for such an idea as ludicrous as what we had undertaken. All I wanted was to find a milk bar and fill up again and I voiced this concern to Special K ‘the best thing for us now is isotonic and water.’ We headed off, back toward Rye and came across a general store on the corner of the round-a-bout. Buying two bottles of Gatorade and a small sampling of sandwiches – they were snapped up in seconds. Following the snack, I had a strange feeling of disorientation…I am never disorientated. I always have a ‘feeling’ which direction north is situated and thus, which direction back to Melbourne. When I turned left at the T intersection ahead, I was expecting to see the bay on my left, not the right. It was not merely a shock, I felt like we were in a different part of Australia.

The heat by now was passing, a cool change looked to strike. But the fact was it was getting late, toward sunset. Every beach along Mornington Peninsula was packed. Every car park full. We parked beside the road, past Rosebud East and had a late lunch along a beach path, under some shade. Zappy was glad of the salmon flesh and basil dip and anyone that looked to walk nearby our vicinity and threaten his pack’s feeding got a little Zappy yappy bark and grumble. ‘Rrrrrr Rrrrrr Yip!’

Special K was rehydrated and feeling well, I felt better after some food and agreed to swim in the bay. We left our belongings atop a fort-like digging, some kids had obviously made. I thought it’d be funny, Zappy could protect the fort. Initially I left him sitting on our beach mat, next to the heavy backpack and he sat there guarding the ‘home’ as Special K and I submerged ourselves. I was thankful for wearing the rashie as it cooled me quicker when the wind blew and I suggested Special K should get one also. As the evening approached, nothing looked more appealing than going home and resting. Lying on the floor, watching the Melbourne fireworks on TV (it really was average compared to Sydney’s extravaganza. Let me elucidate, fireworks are usually only good to see in person, we were watching and saying ‘Oh my god, this is incredible’. Compare that to the shitty and ditsy songs from my home town). We felt extremely tested and worn – so much so, that New Years Eve passed without much inclination to celebrate, though we need not worry about next year, it will be incredible!

heat exchanger December 1, 2007

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The stifling humidity was the driving force behind our decision to hit the bay with snorkels in hand. I was tired anyway, from lack of sleep the previous night and the impact of a stressful implant on Friday, not to mention feeling dehydrated. By the time we arrived at the southern-most beach of Canadian Bay, we wasted no time and dived under the luke-warm water.

A dancing array of sunlight laced the ribbed lungs of submerged sand, slowly the depths showed their true colours. Of particular interest were the large rocky areas, housing small schools of toad fish and some strange worm-like suckers. Venturing further this time, it was frightening. Normally I like to be submerged in water just over my head, today we reached depths three times my height; it was a big step. Simply the spaciousness below my feet and the unknown murky darkness beyond the wavering reefs, caused me to panic. Tash tried to gain my attention to a school of some hundred fish deep ahead and though I knew with more exposure this fear would disperse, I desired to swim breathless back to shore, with Tash in tow.

It was a small beach, no more than fifty metres across, but below the unseen surface lay much to see and we were happy to have seen something more than sea-cucumber eggs and banjo shark offspring as found at Frankston beach. In the shallows, I felt easier and waded out a little way; the water was becoming increasingly icy as dusk approached. Shivering underwater, we had to emerge into the blasting wind. It took the better half of an hour to bring life back into our frosty bodies.