The nerves were running high, here I was a good five minutes in, talking to this cool hot girl, trying to crack jokes and spin yarns.
She is telling me about her interest in the outdoors and adventures. Then things descend into the dreaded weather chat. Knowing I would be kicking myself if I didn’t try, I summon up the courage “looks like this weekend is going to be really nice out on the water, do you want to come out fishing with me?”
She hesitates, as if she is trying to think of some excuse, but not this time, it’s my lucky day and she says “yeah, I’m keen, Saturday?’
I am doing back-flips in my mind and I stop myself from punching the air. I give her a smile and calmly reply “cool, let’s do it”. After the excitement of getting her number dies down, I am back to being an anxious mess.
What have I done? My boat is no 7 metre stabicraft, in fact it is a 4 metre rubber ducky , and now the weather isn’t looking too great. I spend the next couple of days running scenarios in my head of engine failure, choppy seas and no fish to go in the bin. Why couldn’t I be like a normal bloke and ask if she wanted to go for a coffee ? or take the dog for a walk?
Saturday rolls around, the glassy seas and blue skies have become a thing of the working week and now it is looking a bit rolly and grey overhead. I find a bit of comfort telling myself she probably won’t show up anyway. I will just go on my own and see if there are any snapper left in the bay and maybe send her a picture of my catch.
Okay, wow, there she is waiting for me as I pull up to the meeting spot. This chick is cool, she is driving a 4X4 and sporting a grin like an excited fisherman,
We load up and I manage to back the trailer down the ramp in one go. The 40 HP motor spits in to life, things are looking up.
“Where are we heading?” she asks, “Spot X but don’t tell anyone okay”, the jokes are working and I start to relax. The benefits of a small boat in the autumn are becoming apparent, as she fires me another smile and finds the seat next to me and shuffles closer. We boost out into the bay until it seems fishy enough.
The assortment of fancy snacks seems to be my saving grace as 30 minutes of bobbing about without a bite stretch on.
The chat moves on to how nice it is to just get out on the water and how lucky we are. “We will give it another 10 minutes aye?” the backup plan of exploring a nearby secluded beach enters my thoughts.
Then, it happens, she gets a bite and I can tell this isn’t just a nibble, when her fishing rod starts to bend over. Relief and excitement flood in as she battles to get line on the reel. I am fairly confident that she is onto a decent snapper but it does tend to get pretty sharky around here at this time of the year so I just keep my cool.
Whatever it is, it isn’t easily joining us on our little date, taking line off the reel in bursts, and she is half laughing and half grimacing.
I stop myself from starting to give fishing instructions and let he keep battling and reeling in the fish.
I grab the net, peer into the deep and yes, you bloody ripper, the familiar white and red colour flashes below.
The heart rate spikes as I fumble with the landing, and we finally manage to haul aboard “the biggest fish I have ever caught” . I dispatch the catch and suggest that we will have to share it for dinner.
Now we need a photo as well, “for my tinder profile she jokes?” no, I say “for the cover of the fishing paper”.
