Creative Writing About Fishing

“You smell that mate? That’s the smell of a wonderful day of fishing”. I took a whiff of the early morning breeze expecting to smell fish or anything that was related to fishing. But I simply couldn’t. All I could smell was the overpowering stench of burnt breakfast and the salt flowing in on the morning coastal draft. My eyes stung from the sea salt that filled my lungs with each deep breath that I drew. My nose was icy, as usual, no circulation at the tip. Pulling the navy woollen fishing beanie over my ears, I paused to listen to the wind whipping and rustling the eucalyptus leaves of the gum trees that stood proudly alongside the back fence of our property. Our weatherboard homestead towered over the eucalypt trees, the crisp white timber palings sitting starkly against the crisp blue Autumn sky. Nothing beats a Tasmanian autumn morning, I thought to myself closing my eyes turning towards the luminous rising sun.

“Jack! Are you listening to me?” My father snapped his fingers

I’m sure it just needs some time”, Dad said with confidence. He tried it again and surprisingly, it let out a vicious roar. “See, I told you. Nothing to worry about.”

As we navigated the boat through the rocky outcrops, I looked over my shoulder admiring our stunning town, as it grew smaller in the distance. The dinghy motor roared and echoed between the low sandstone cliffs for a few seconds as we sped off into the open water of the bay. The tide was heading out and a nor’westerly was picking up. Suddenly, right in front of my eyes the sky began to change colour. It went from a luminous golden yellow to tar black.

“It looks like the weather’s turning,” my dad started to say, but his sentence was whipped away by a gust of wind. Without warning, a gush of water came thundering into the boat. I took a deep breath, braced myself against the stiff breeze and tried to hold on to the side of the boat, gasping from the shock of the wave and the icy