Funny cattle that Noosa mob
  |  First Published: March 2009

Ok, so I was up a bit early and the little nephew Finny and I were wandering along Hastings Street about 5am. Now in any other street in Queensland I reckon I wouldn’t have been getting funny stares from other latte sipping passers-by, but like I said: The girls wanted to go to Noosa, so Stuffer and I go to Noosa.

Now, I’m not sure why we were getting the once over. Well, OK, I did have my old single piece Silstar rod and Abu reel hanging off the back of the stroller, but what the? Haven’t these people ever seen fishing gear before, hey?

Things got strange then right. Why? Well you have to understand that there are a lot of bike riding types in that part of the world. And I’m not talking about the old ten speeds that weigh about the same as an HK Kingswood. No, these things are made out of the same thing T2 is. Or is that T3? I can never remember. Anyway, these people ride around in very tight pants and they go very quickly, and very quietly. There should be a law against them.

Now I tried to explain that to the nice man who told me to leave the area, but he wouldn’t listen. I kept saying these new bikes need some sort of siren so you know they’re coming. His point was I shouldn’t be chucking a Hollowbelly across Hastings Street. Got stroppy, too. Didn’t even want to know about Fin needing to learn how to avoid over runs at an early age. Duh!

“How can you expect me to demonstrate out there,” I asked, pointing to the beach. “It’s blowing fifteen knots already. The kid won’t know what the hell I’m talking about. And that stroller won’t protect him once he gets some distance up. He won’t end up with a birds nest, he’ll have the whole bloody aviary.”

But old mate wouldn’t listen. Like I said, Noosa people. One good thing about the place though, is they make their light poles strong and smooth. I would have been annoyed if that braid had rubbed off on the post before it pulled old mate and his bike to a sudden stop. Those Hollowbellies aren’t cheap ya’ know.

But I had to leave the street. Old mate on the bike wouldn’t stop yelling. I wanted to tell him to drink a can of cement and… you know, but the cop siren was getting louder and I could tell it was starting to hurt Finny's ears so we headed back to the motel.

Luckily, there was a pool there, even though it wasn’t really big. I still say though that it was big enough for me AND those German tourists. If the old bloke hadn’t suddenly moved…

Anyway, that’s Noosa for you. Soft. It’s not as if I hadn’t squashed the barbs on the hook. It came out easy. Well, easier than some other ones I’ve seen. Geez. I told him to drink a can of cement and… anyway, he couldn’t understand me. I think it was probably lucky I couldn’t understand him either.

Next time I take Finny anywhere, it’ll be to somewhere where they know what fishing is all about. Wonder if they have coffee shops and boutiques at Turkey Beach?

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