Fishing

When we go out in the kayak, we - no, not WE, Richard or The Boy - always take the fishing rod with us.  I deny all wish to take the rod as I like paddling my kayak, not twirling round in circles as we try to disentangle the hook from Seaweed, Rocks or Fingers.  (Richard, in trying to disentangle hooks from Seaweed and Rocks while UNDERWATER also then had to disentangle his FINGER from the hooks. Underwater.  The slightly panicked yanking of hook from said finger resulted in some impressive bruising. But I digress).

The rod has, however, been useful. It has caught garfish - the same fish, twice. It jumped back on the hook a dozen metres further down the channel. Masochistic fish, garfish.  The rod has caught pollock - grey, slightly fatty fish - better than no supper at all, but not much.  The rod has also caught rock. Wow, that was a big one. The boys were out in the kayak for 4 hours fighting this gigantic fish until eventually they realised that it was, indeed, truly and honestly ROCK.  So at one with the sea bed that there was no separating it.

The epic fight with Rock didn't put them off trying again. Success. A magnificent bass.  Promptly taken home, placed reverentially on the barbeque and eaten for supper.