I pulled the esky forwards as my father struggled with the fishing line, feet planted at a practised distance to withstand the ocean’s swells.
‘Big one!’ he laughed, flashing me with a toothy grin. ‘It’s got to be a snapper!’
‘A tuna, maybe!’ I chuckled with him. He frowned and shook his head slightly.
‘Nah, I reckon it’s a snapper,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve been doing this a while now, son,’ he said, surprisingly solemn all of a sudden. ‘You get a feel for such things.’
‘That’s such a lie,’ I snorted, clinging to the railing as a big wave rolled beneath us. ‘You can’t feel what kind of fish it is!’
‘I can so!’
‘Well, then,’ I said. ‘I’ve got these lovely new stainless steel snapper racks here – show me a snapper on them when you pull that fish up and I’ll be impressed.’
‘That’s my reward, is it?’ my father guffawed. ‘For fifty years of fishing experience? The admiration of my son?’
‘What do you want then?’
‘Something more tangible would be nice,’ he said. ‘Tell you what – I need a new boat catch.’
‘You want me to buy you a new boat catch?’ I asked, mild outrage tinging my voice. ‘For a fish?!’
‘You’re the one that’s convinced I’m wrong!’
‘I just don’t think you’re definitely right!’
‘Then you’ll buy me a boat catch!’
I glared at him for a moment, as he began to slowly wind in the line, eyebrow raised in challenge.
‘And what do I get?’ I asked him. ‘If you’re wrong?’
‘You can have the fish,’ he shrugged.
‘That’s it?’
‘Proving your father wrong should never be profitable.’
‘But if you prove your son wrong…’
‘He should organise a new boat catch installation, near Melbourne,’ my father nodded. ‘Preferably next weekend, when I’m not planning on going out on the water.’
Suddenly, his line twitched in his hand, jerking violently and slapping out at the water – then promptly broke off his line.
‘Well,’ I said, after a moment of staring at the ocean. ‘That was anticlimactic.’