In the beginning...
It's early afternoon in the summer holidays as the teenager paddles the borrowed kayak out through the low surf then angles towards the northern end of the beach. About 200 metres offshore he can see the rocky bottom six metres below. This is where his friend—the owner of the kayak—had success that morning. He baits the handline with pieces of squid and lowers it over the side. As he watches, he can see the small, white, baits wafting in the current. This is not like the river near his home where, if you stand in knee-deep water you can't see your feet.
After a few minutes, shapes emerge from the rocks as leatherjackets come to inspect the baits. As one is hooked and pulled to the surface, half-a-dozen of its companions follow until they find themselves uncomfortably close to the surface, and return to the shelter of their rocks.
The boy wishes he had a kayak of his own.
Fast forward 30 years—to many of them spent behind a desk pushing pieces of paper. It hasn't been long since the man moved to Brisbane from the colder southern states and he is enjoying the warmer water as he wades the sand flats. He casts his lure to the edge of the drop-off and lets it settle before giving it a twitch to begin its retrieve.
He looks around:
- at the snags on the other side of the drain, to muddy to
cross without sinking above your knees;
- at the sand flats the other side of the channel, knowing
the tide is rising and the channel will be to deep to wade
back;
- and at the mangrove covered islands 200 metres away,
wondering what's on the other side.
He thinks to himself "It's about bloody time I got that kayak!"