Fishing to David & Pip was always a serious endeavor, something that Tom and I could never quite grasp. We never could quite give it the reverence that they thought it well deserved. Still, us infidels got an invite one morning to join the pilgrimage to that Mecca of fishing shrines – Whale Rock.
The first thing you discover is that the day starts early for these dedicated souls, and I know that because I was sure that the night hadn’t yet finished for me. Brother, if you are going to be part of this journey then stumbling around in the dark half asleep and trying to get dressed while having something to eat, is just part of this sacred experience.- some experience!.
Tom and I finally made it downstairs to where our brothers, yes brothers amen, were already going through the final stages of their leaving ritual. Something akin to hat, watch, wallet except that this was more like rod, reel, bait. Tom and I were both issued with our burden to bear (I think I got bait and Tom got tackle) and we headed off following those who must lead. As we stumbled our way to the rock, in that early light, we could certain
ly make out some recognizable words amongst those spoken between Pip & David, but most were not understood (popper, jewie, avery, gang hook, lure), so we just walked, head down in silence.
Now the one part of this trek that they had failed to tell us about was how you get across to Whale Rock. Standing there I could quite clearly see the two choices. A rope cable stretched tight between the two land masses or a very quick swim across that shark infested channel.
Pip wasted no time – he was up on the top of the rope and in no time, with a momentary jiggle of the pelvis, he was off, pulling himself along that rope with all the expertise of a circus hire wire act. Once safely across, the beautifully orchestrated system of gear transfer took place between him and David until all our tackle was on the other side.
David was next on the high wire. As I watched his skilled crossing I was beginning to understand the particular ‘rite of passage’ that they had set for us. Tom’s rather dazed sleepy look told me that he had not quite cottoned on to it as yet, so I nominated myself to the position of next to cross. The brothers amen, had left us to it. They were busy setting up their chattels of service.
So I climbed atop my initiation and immediately not only understood the challenge but I felt it as well. David yelled some advice about getting the tackle to the other side (I thought we had already done that) but as I began to move I realized he was not talking about the fishing tackle. As I inched my way across I began to question whether a swim with the sharks could possibly be as bad as this or why certain cricketing equipment does not form part of the essential fisherman’s gear. Still I finally completed my “rite of passage” through a combination of sheer determination and of course getting the tackle to the other side.
