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Losing my religion
  |  First Published: November 2011



It’s a real worry when you lose the urge to go fishing. In fact, it can be downright frightening.

Take last month for example. I went to visit Manboobs for a fish. Late at night we threw out the cast net and filled up the live bait tank with good sized herring in about 10 minutes. Then we hunkered down in our favourite spot and baited up. In a couple of hours we picked up a decent jew, which wasn’t legal but still good fun, a Trevor, a good flattie and a couple of bream. Not too shabby.

In between times we discussed whether Dingo Bob had got the Wallabies on the right track, who to back in the NRL final when it was Kiwis (who would probably win the Rugby World Cup and so we didn’t want them to win everything) and Manly (how do you support Manly?) In most cases you can pick one team you want to win less than the other but in this case we were completely at a loss.

We also went over which NSW player would next be selected for the Australian cricket team, and whether he would have played A Grade cricket for more than two weeks.

So all in all, it was a pretty good night. Nothing much broke. It was cold without being Nun’s Elbow. Didn’t rain on us. Motor worked. Truck didn’t run out of fuel or break down. Trailer lights worked all the way home and back. Didn’t forget anything going or returning. No bust offs or snags.

OK, so the jew put a hook into my leg when he flopped around in the boat, through the skin and out again so it was really well tethered; but he flopped around a bit more and it pulled out. Can’t whinge about that.

Just an easy night’s fishing.

Next day, Boobs had something to do, ‘work’ I think he called it? Not sure what that is, but he said he had to go. I had the free use of the boat, a leave pass, two days and a night to fill in… and I went home early. I just didn’t feel like fishing. I sat up in the creek at a good flattie spot, got a couple of hits and had a few scavenger bream picking off the livies. Put the pots out to see if there were any muddies stupid enough to crawl in. Just a gentle day in the estuary.

But about mid afternoon, I just got bored. I worked out around 3pm that I could be home by 6 with the boat washed and gear put away. It seemed like a good idea. And that’s a worry.

To say I’m usually a keen fisho is like saying Kevin Rudd’s a bit of a geek. For most of my life, if I couldn’t find anywhere to fish I’d fill a bucket up with water from a tap and throw a line into that. But right now, I’m down on motivation.

It’s a pretty ordinary feeling, to tell you the truth. Is there something wrong with me? Sorry, I mean is there something ELSE wrong with me? Will I give up watching websites to see who caught what, where and when? And how? Will I stop ogling QFM ads, trading post, eBay and boatsales looking to find that 5m cabin boat being sold by an angry ex-wife? Will my gear go rusty? Will I not haunt tackle shops checking over the scab rack to see what’s being thrown out for half price? Is this permanent?

All these things are bouncing around in my head and stressing me out. Perhaps I need to see a doctor. Alternatively, I could wait for the next 30+ days, and play 18 holes of golf, or even better, play a day of subbies cricket. That should shake some sense into my head. At least I hope it does. Maybe I’m just getting old and I should just retire. Take up bowls. Or chess.

So keep your eyes on those eBay and trading post sites. There could be some cheap fishing gear up for sale soon. Some of it hasn’t even been broken yet. On the other hand, there might be some cheap golf clubs and cricket pads too. I just don’t know.

I have this sneaking suspicion though, that I’ll get through this. Just need to push through the pain. Maybe I could try doing some of that work stuff that Manboobs was talking about, so I could appreciate the fishing more. Worth a try, surely.

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