This weekend I will be channeling Santiago the old Cuban fisherman who battles the elements and nature to finally catch a decent fish, the elusive salmon.
When Ernest Hemingway wrote his story in 1951 he told the tale of a man against the wall in one last battle.
Romantic notions aside, I am without a doubt the worst fisherman to ever cast a line.
Typically I'm a last week, next week fisherman. "Geez mate, you're a bit,late, the moon was right next week, or mate you're too early the tides are better next week"
Or I will be the one standing at the end of Busso Jetty with everyone else dragging them hand over fist without so much as a nibble on my line.
My patience is short too. Cast, wait, wait, a bit longer, nope, bored now let's go.
This weekend will be different, that prized salmon will be mine.
All I need is one and you will hear me screaming from the tree tops.
My name will be heard whispered in bars from Augusta to Esperance, telling of the epic battle of man against monster.
Unless the moon is not in the seventh house and fish are running next weekend!
Wish me luck.