Fishing is not an activity it is an experience.
A magpie coming at you at
thirty kilometers’ an hour is a frightening sight, the beak so big the profile
a guided bomb, wings a motion blur. But it is the deadly silent intent that is
the most disturbing element, the silence is overwhelming and intensifies the
menace and intent, you know this guided missile has nothing in its eye except
you. Sitting in my tinny in the middle of Lake Eppalock with nothing but a
fishing rod between me and the incoming missile makes a vulnerable fear creep
up the spine and explode into the head like the mushroom cloud over Hiroshima.
The bird keeps a unerring three feet of air between himself and the water all
the way from the time he has launched himself from the big gum on the far shore
to his approach to you. I grab the fishing rod pointing it directly at him he
relentlessly silently presses his attack to within three or four feet, at the
last moment pulling up with a flurry of wings menacing claws, screaming beak
and a hellish intent. All I feel is the cold trickle of sweat down my back.
Fishing is not an activity it
is an experience. Wanting to test some new rigs and try as couple of ideas I take
myself, tinny and Bogie for a cruise on lake Eppalock way too early in the
season to catch anything but too nice of a day to stay at home when there is
fishing tackle to be tested and a mad world to get away from.
That Magpie swooped me at
least a dozen times and each time it was like as above pulling up his attack at
the last moment, he was magnificent. I really admired his courage and intent.
That day was a bird day but then it was the start of spring when the birds here
are at the zenith of their mating, nesting and territorial exuberance.
Plovers were chasing off and
being swooped by corrwongs on a plain of a distant shore as they tried to stake
out a ground territory. Lorikeets eyed me cautiously from the hollow of a dead
gum under which, I had tied up to on a steep rocky shore. Their trips to and fro
carrying
dried twigs and leaf matter making a mockery of my inactivity. The
wedge tail high in the sky souring on effortless wings made me feel insignificant.
Ah…. some people have told me fishing is so
boring! They do not get it…
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