The king ragworm hurtled towards the grey horizon on its fastest, but ultimately last, journey on this planet. It followed the lead weight to the sea bed, to waft enticingly in the chill currents.
We stared, transfixed, at the rod tops, willing them to nod in staccato fashion, indicating a bite. The leaden sky oozed cold sheets of rain, which slid off of our hoods and ran into our eyes, so that we had to shake our heads like wet dogs to regain our vision.
After three hours, with numbed hands and only a 4" school bass to show for our efforts (it was returned alive, of course) we wrapped up the tackle and headed for home.
But as it weas the first time we'd shore-fished in over four years, we both agreed it had been great fun and a great end to a day which had seen England restored to well-earned glory in Australia. Saturday is for sport, I've decided.
# posted by Mr.D. @ 1:38 PM
Drinking and Driving (but clearly not simultaneously)
