On the Beach: The Fishing Fraternity

(Here are two extracts from my social satire, Strandveld Private Investigators. All the characters and incidents are purely fictional.)

Sedrick was a lazy bum, and to substantiate her opinion of him she had supplied whole bucketfuls of detail about his reprehensible behaviour and disgusting habits.

For one thing, he preferred to lie in bed all morning reading, rather than get up and help with chores around the farmhouse. And he wasn’t interested in looking for a job, even though his bank balance had a gaping hole in it and was sinking fast. She also disapproved of his newfound pals in Gansbaai who had initiated him into the low-life angling fraternity. He now liked nothing more than to go off at sunset with his rod sticking out the passenger window in the hope of landing a big Cob or Steenbras. These fishing expeditions always ended up in one of the pubs, and he would come home after midnight and get into bed reeking of brandy fumes and rotten bait and want to have ... Or, more likely, fall into a drunken stupor, open his mouth wide, and immediately start that bloody snoring again, like he was sawing up a log in slow motion. 

They shouldered their fishing gear and trudged over the dune to the beach and began the ritual with sinkers, swivels hooks and bait. Then, standing knee deep in the surf, they steadied themselves, raised their rods high over their shoulders, and swung the weighted lines in an arc overhead and watched for the splash beyond the back breaker.

This is better than sitting in a parking garage,” said Monty.

“And infinitely superior to sitting at an office desk,” agreed Sedrick.

To their surprise, they caught nothing with that first cast. And nothing with the second and third casts, either.

“The water is too clear,” said Monty. “Galjoen prefer it churned up and murky.”

“That’s what I once told Avril,” said Sedrick. “You know what she said? “She said that fishing makes you even more stupid than you might have been before you started fishing. She said that the reason why Galjoen don’t bite when the water is clear is because that’s when they can see what they are eating. She said that fish are a lot smarter than what the average a#$hole with a fishing rod thinks. You know what else she said about us fishermen?”

“No,” said Monty. “And I don’t want to know. That woman is full of sh#t.”

“She said that we act like we are tough macho types who brave the elements to put food on the table, but we’re just a bunch of pathetic wankers who can’t handle the responsibility of being a real man.”

“And I suppose a real man is some pu#%y-whipped nerd who stays at home and takes orders from his wife?” 

“We’re also a menace to the environment,” Sedrick went on. “We drive over the nests of breeding sea birds, we abandon miles and miles of fishing line that eventually snares sharks, seals penguins and other birds, and we are steadily wiping out the last of the fish stocks.”

“And what about our smoking and drinking?” asked Monty.

“Oh yes,” said Sedrick. “Most of us are overweight slobs who stand on the beach polluting the air with our filthy cigarette smoke, and we can never go fishing without our six pack or bottle of brandy. And … “Hey, something’s taking a nibble. Wow!”

When he felt the third tug, Sedrick pulled back hard and the line went taut, his rod was bending, and he knew he had hooked something that wasn’t a piece of kelp or, God forbid, a rocky crevice.

Click here to read Strandveld Private Investigators.