The suns rays blitzed our reddening bodies: leaving us with glowing arms and foreheads. The rods, each cast out, were quivering with the strong undercurrent dragging our weights across the dusty, craggy sea floor. Rarely, a large splash would echo throughout McLeod’s Bay: a 40lb Kingfish snapping at a garfish, guilty of being in the Kingfish’ territory. The lifeless pilchard which hung on my black magic hook attracted the gleaming red body of the Snapper. Suddenly, the line cracked into action, my rod giving a sudden jolt of life. I battled with the fish. For every time I would reel, it would take the same line back out. I twisted the tension, so as the line would not slip, and slowly began to reel in. I brought the gleaming fish to the surface. Blood was crashing throughout my system; my heart was smashing against my rib cage; my knees were trembling-
The fish made a sudden dart for the rock pools which silently watched beneath our pier. I saw the flashing body head into a dark underwater cave, my line tighter than ever. Suddenly, my dream shattered. The line softened- the tension gone. I pulled my rod up slowly reeling in. Blood rushing to my head. The hook and weight was gone. My heart sank. My first bite in 5 hours.
