Fishing

My shiny new fishing rod has been gathering dust, lying in two pieces under my bed since I got it in Feb.  But a man-weekend of braaing, fishing and farting in Port Alfred promised an opportunity to get it wet.

Jay organised a barge for Saturday and we set out, for what looked like a week judging by our supplies, down the Kowie River.

Like other skillful hobbies, people in the know make it look easy, and noobs make it look impossible.  I, fulfilling the role of the latter, quickly pulled a lead in the 'Kraaines' award race.  Defn: When your neatly rolled fishing line erupts into a ball of unimagineably intertwined mess.

But fishing is everything I dreamt it would be.  Which isn't much... infact, its largely standing on a boat, or a shore.  Second only to floating on your back in the river.  Verified.

I was pleasantly surprised that I'm not that squeamish.  Everything else about fishing is quite pleasant, but baiting your hook with a variety of dismembered sea creatures pretty much makes up for it.