The fishing trip, and the body bag.

Bens blog.

Right, so Friday afternoon, dad comes home with grandad saying, "grandad is going out with a local fisherman, reef fishing then spending the night on a sand cay and returning Sunday - do you wanna go?" I think for a bit and think, 'nah, it'll be hot, and nasty out on the sand cay for the night, I better not' but then I think about grandad all alone except for a man he has never met, out at sea for two days...... Yeah I better go.

Saturday, 7:50 - I get up and pack my fishing gear ready for the crazy doom awaiting me, as dad patches up my hand with brown goop, then green goop (that stung like hell) and a nice big dressing to limit infection then he went into the store room and came out with two (what looked like, grey tarps) and said " here, you can in these, there body bags...."

Sooooo, I'm going out in a dingy, with a guy I've never met, staying the night, in a BODY BAG, on a blip of sand a 3rd the way to PNG.... Fun!

Skip a few minutes - now I'm standing on the jetty packing my snorkelling gear, cray-fish spear, fishing lines, pillows and my body bag into the 5ft boat and now we're ready to set sail! Or well... Motor...

It's now 10:00am, it is stinking hot, in glaring sun, with no shelter in the middle of the ocean fishing. Sweating bullets and not catching anything I pray to God for a little cloud cover to take the heat away. Be careful what you pray for! I got my cloud cover! But with it, brought rain, and storm, and wind. Wind = big seas, and the big seas = sea sickness. Now I've never been known to get sea sick but I had never felt so miserable!

3:00 - The fisherman, looks up and says to grandad "come on we better get him to some land" me pretending not to hear, but desperately hoping this means back to Darnley, is shocked and annoyed to find us now traveling northwards further. After about 5 minuets the old bloke points out a tiny speck of sand on the horizon.

We finally arrive at the classroom sized sand island and the fisherman, jumps off and orders me to do something with the anchor, as I try to fiddle with the ropes,I apparently do something wrong as he starts shouting abuse and nasty words my way. Finally we offload the sleeping gear as I lie down and try not to throw up, pull out the tarp, food, water and body bags and then old mate jumps back in the dingy! And says I'll be back later, I'm going fishing again..... There he goes, disappears off the horizon leaving grandad and I standing on a desert island wondering "what now?"

Ok, so this fishing trip isn't exactly enjoyable, it's starting to make grade 9 camp look like a holiday. Grandad and I have a look around at the little cay, littered with sand dollars, sea bird eggs, and turtle tracks that look like the single track of a 4X4. Grandad picks up some shells as I unfold my body bag, thinking "man, I hope these arn’t recycled" and slowly crawl inside it, grab my pillow and zip it back up again. I wonder if it's considered taboo sleeping in a body bag?

As it gets too hot in the afternoon sun I decide to climb back out of my body bag and have another look around, and I hear the tell tail sound of a 4stroke engine coming our way. Old mates back on dry land with a little mackerel, some coral trout and a trevaly in the cooler.

So, sandwiches for dinner and I climb back into my sorry excuse for a bed and hope to get a little sleep. But no.... Grandad and the fisherman stayed up all night talking about gold panning and cats getting eaten my dingos and other random things leaving me sleepless.

Sun up, so is everybody else. Old mate has gone back out fishing off the horizon while grandad and I wander aimlessly around in circles on the sand cay. When he finally returns, we pack up, load up, and start mackerel trolling. We got a few nice beasts and then it got boring as we put the troller lines away and got out the hand lines. I did manage to bring up a nice 5ft bronze wailer and to my horror the fisherman pulled out a lump of wood and started beating it repeatedly over the head until it stopped flipping, he then cut the line and let the dying shark float to the bottom. This happened a few more times with other sharks brought up, a couple of white tip reef sharks and heaps of black tips. It was painful watching this man bludgeon such a beautiful animal half to death just so it wouldn't take the fishing line again. Heaps more trout, lots of snapper (which were all thrown back for what ever reason possessed him to do it) and a few other random fish whose names were all muttered in creole.

Then finally the thing I'd been waiting to hear the the whole 48 hours was, "so ya ready to head back?" "YES!" I couldn't help myself, I just Blurted it out. I was so relieved to be back on Erub, or at least to be able to see Erub properly.

Back in the comforts of my island home, with a roast in the oven waiting for my girl to come on Facebook for my afternoon chat.

Finally out of the nightmare, and living the dream once again!

Yawo.