I caught nothing but I loved it. Here’s why.
Fishing. A hobbie that costs money, takes time, and often leaves you walking home empty handed. So, why do we do it?
Following a recent fishing trip, I reflected on this, and the conclusion was surprising, even for me…
Last week, I had a few hours spare so dusted off the rods and reels to head out with a friend of mine who I often fish with. It had been a few months since we donned the fishing shirts, but the routine and preparation is muscle memory for us after 20 years of doing it.
We hadn’t fished this spot in around five months, and were eager to see how it was going in the cooler months. Such is the case with all fishing trips, we started wondering what the session would bring, where we would go, and how late we were happy to stay out – much like two kids in kindergarten planning to ask their mother if they could have a sleep over at their mates. The anticipation was high.
Boat in the water, car parked, lifejackets on – we were away. Its 6pm and we plan to stay out for four to five hours.
While not experts, we have fished enough over the years to have confidence in our ability. We have high end gear, use expensive lures, and spend money and time on watching and learning from people who have come before us. The reality is, we expect to catch at least a handful of fish every time we go.
Two hours in, nothing. Not even a touch. By this time, we would usually expect to see small bait schools flickering in the lights, tailor and salmon bullying herring and mullet off the top, and the odd flathead hit the deck. We don’t expect a world record, but after two hours of fishing we do expect to be greeted with some key indicators there is life in the area.
Three hours in, nothing. In fact, the last hour has not even had as much as a ripple on the surface. The wind was still, boat traffic was minimal, and any sense of ‘life’ in the area was nowhere to be seen. We are starting to consider changing tact. Tying on smaller lures, moving a few kilometres up the river, or switching over to live baits if we could find any. We’re not giving in. We stick with it.
Four hours in, still nothing. In 240 minutes of constantly casting, prospecting, and moving around to new places, we haven’t even come close to catching a fish.
Now let’s be clear on something. This isn’t a group chatting away, drinking beer and watching the footy while casting a line. This is two blokes in complete concentration casting three times a minute. The crisp winter air starts to take its toll, and the smell of a homecooked meal just a few hundred metres away lures us back to the boat ramp.
Now, at this point you are probably thinking the mood is low, the conversation is minimal and the two little kids from kindergarten are acting like their mother said no to the sleepover. But that wasn’t the case – and this is why I love fishing.
The 30 minutes boat ride home was littered with me and my buddy speculating what could possibly be behind the lack of activity? Was it the barometric pressure? Was it the temperature? Was it the effect of the recent floods? Was it the sudden drop in water clarity?
A situation that in any other sport would have been put down to ‘bad luck’, merely had us excited at the realisation that there was more for us to understand about this sport we have been doing since we were five years old.
With the definition of ‘stupid’ being something about ‘repetition with the same results’, we felt far from it. If anything, it was another challenge for us to overcome – how do we go about catching fish in this space spot next time?
As I got in the car, dropped off my buddy and headed for bed – I knew why I love this sport. I love that every time I fail, I spend the next week problem solving about how I can win.
It is a competition that never ends.
Why do you like fishing?
Jonathon Bleakley