A FISH dinner is one of life's pleasures.
Why we can fondly recall enjoying many fine repasts featuring snapper, bream and other species at the high quality Taree eatery, Fish, Fish Fish in days gone by.
In saying that, we're happy for others to catch fish. For we don't particularly like fishing, or angling or whatever you'd like to call the pastime. To be honest, we'd rather have root canal therapy than go fishing.
Tedious. Bone jarringly boring. Akin to watching St George play in the NRL. They're the most apt descriptions we can come up to describe our dislike for fishing.
However, we enjoy our Thursday morning conversions with the Times long-term fishing correspondent Ian Pereira when he phones through his weekly column.
We're always fascinated with the updates on what's been caught in the estuary, on the beaches or outside, whether it be snapper, bream, mulloway, whiting, leather jackets or our favourite, bar cod.Mick McDonald
We're always fascinated with the updates on what's been caught in the estuary, on the beaches or outside, whether it be snapper, bream, mulloway, whiting, leather jackets or our favourite, bar cod. (We like anything with a bar in it). We always get excited in the lead up to the annual mullet run in the Manning. As an aside, why is it known as a mullet run? Shouldn't it be a mullet swim?
We did catch a fish once. In our teens we went outside off Old Bar with a crew skippered by our great mentor, Joe 'Spud' Cordner. The weather was sensational and the morning was only ruined by the fact that we had to fish.
To the amazement of all on board, we hooked a hapless snapper and managed to boat the unfortunate creature.
"That fish just commited suicide,'' Ian 'Spook' Everingham quipped as we hauled in the catch.
Spook was always a master of the one-liner.
The reason for this rather lengthy introduction is to recall an interminable conversation we were trapped in the middle of last week. Needless to say, it concerned fishing. Needless to say, we took no part. However, those involved were animated as they argued the merits of plastics, braid, bait, knots, tides, secret locations and barometric pressure. For reasons we can't fathom, Coopernook Pub was mentioned several times.
Anglers, we noted, are very secretive about their secret locations.
"Give us a hint,'' we heard on more than one occasion.
That was always met with a firm rebuttal.
"You go find your own spot,'' was a usual reply with a couple of expletives added for colour.
It was informative, in that we discovered that a 'tinnie' is a kind of boat.
They were still banging on about plastics and live bait (which sounds a bit cruel) when we adjourned to the sanctuary of the bar. Here we opined authoritatively (we thought) on the Roosters' chances of winning another premiership this year. It was a far more interesting subject.
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