Sea life

We pulled over to camp outside of Cassock, despite multiple signs stating the contrary. Lloyd put teh bait trap out just past the rocks covered with oysters in the shallow sea and brought me back a small hermit crab. He told me that the aboriginals eat them, so as the sun set and the fire reduced to cooking-perfect coals, I collected hermit crabs. As I write, the pot next to me is tinkling with them, scrambling over one another to get out.

I stand knee deep in the bath water Indian Ocean, wearing nothing but my welcome to Australia present from Lloyd, a great big outback hat with an eagle feather I found stuck in at a jaunty angle. I toss the line out, a guppy on my hook, and focus on the reel, ignoring the urge to yank each time the ocean swells tug gently at the line. Within seconds, the age old nbattle of man vs wild or, in this case, woman vs Australia commences. After a violent pull, instinct kicks in, detailed instuctions fly out the windon, and I'm pulling the catch in hand over hand, completely wrong like an overexcited child, whooping and hollering. No, its not an old old boot or a rusty tin can, but a symbol of iconic Australia, a reef shark, with my hook-mine!- plunged through its lip. Back at camp, after the mandatory photo shoot with my treasure, we inspect. Rough skin, sharp teeth, slitty yellow eyes and smooth feathery gills. I gut it, clean it, saute it in garlic and butter over our camp fire and we eat it with out fingers. One of my life goals, to catch, gut and cook a fish, with bonus points for it being executed in Australia, with a reef shark, and completely naked. Check.