It seems that my life has taken a full circle and I am back where I was five years ago. And that's actually pretty neat.

Currently I am in Noosa spending my days fishing, beaching and working really hard. As ever.

Babe-magnet.

I also have a babe-magnet. And I'm not talking car here although I have one of those too, but that could hardly be called a babe-magnet; rust bucket is a much more apt description. No, I'm actually talking boat here. You know it amazes me, all you have to do is mention the fact that you have a boat and women lust after you. I'm thinking of buying one of those dick-head caps with Skipper written on it, just to emphasise the fact.

Anyway it's not a yacht exactly. More a tinnie, so perhaps the hat wouldn't wash. It's really interesting the fun you can have with a tinnie. It's only about 12 ft long, but coupled with the 9.9 outboard it really flies.

And am I dangerous! Strange thing here in Australia you actually need a licence to drive boats. Ridiculous. I can't tell you what is involved, apart from parting with money (of course), because I haven't got one. And not only do you need a licence but you also need to pay a yearly tax. Ridiculous. Almost as bad as Thailand.

It's quite funny really; I have a long and interesting history with boats. I have one particularly vivid recollection of fishing Lake Dunstan with a friend in one. He however has an inflatable.

Lake Dunstan is a pretty fascinating place. Or it was when I was there. They had just damned the river and created this new lake. And of course it fished it's socks off. They always do these new lakes. But this was particularly special since the growth rates were staggering.

Frog's legs

Introduced 10 inch fish put on two and a quarter pounds. In four months. In the winter. Existing fish ate frogs legs and got fat. And I spent quite a while bumming about this lake in my own way.

Anyway on this particularly fateful day we took the rubber duckie out for a spot of harling. Harling is trolling flies under power. There is not great skill involved. There is some of course, but that is mainly a commitment on the part of the engine driver to stay awake. Mostly you just put your feet up and lounge about the boat trying to look cool. Sometimes you just stare into the water looking for fish. Sometimes you just stare into the water. It really is quite dull.

But not this time. At some point while we were searching the shallows and trying to keep our flies from connecting with the bottom, there was an almighty bang and the boat immediately stopped, and fractionally later we leapt into the bow of the boat and stared at the sky, trying to work out what fateful calamity had befallen us this time.

It was worse than even I imagined. And I have a vivid imagination.

We in our concentrated fishing efforts, had somehow managed to drive into a submerged barbed wire fence. The damage report was not good. We had ripped holes in both air pockets and in the hull. We were similtaneously loosing air and gaining water. Fast.

Hitch or die

There were two options available to us. The first was to get out of the boat there and then and make the long hitch round to the otherside of the lake and pick up the car (the sensible option). The other was to risk certain drowning and attempt to cross the lake by constantly pumping air in one valve and then the other, whilst bailing water as fast as possible. Only lunatics would attempt such an impossible journey.

Half way across we realised that we were in trouble when it dawned on us that we had considerably more water in the boat than air. I had visions of us going down like a rock and sitting on the lake bottom looking at each other and possibly inventing underwater flyfishing (Oh how smoothly all these newsletter string together...)

However through a great deal of luck (and skill of course) we made it to the other side.

Anyway my boat isn't like that at all. Indeed hitting barbed wire fences is all in a days work for it. A tougher boat you couldn't find anywhere, which is just as well really.

Triathlon update

I am in serious training mode now as the Noosa triathlon is only about six weeks away. In fact this very day I went for a four hour run. That's the sort of tough training schedule that I impose on myself. No matter that I got lost in the State Forest and that I was expecting a much shorter run. This sort of thing can happen in the Triathlon and you have to be ready for it.

And I'm swimming too. Seen quite a few fish while doing this. But no sharks. Yet.

I have also arranged for my bike to be sent out to me. Last year I did it on some old womens bike and felt to be at a serious disadvantage. This year however I will have my special tri-bike so that I can carve up the field. In the same shipment I have also arranged for my wetsuit to be sent to me.

Now this is interesting because you don't need to wear a wetsuit since the water is really warm. However we wear them for speed. In communications with the sender it appears that both of my wetsuits are being sent over.

This came as a surprise as I actually only have one. So my guess is that the other is a set of waders. Maybe even both are. Now that would be cool; to race in waders.

But shit, hang-on. Wouldn't they fill with water and drown me, or more embarrassing; with air and float me around feet first? Those killer waders are a bitch.

New article on site this month.

Exploding the Killer Wader Myth. The smoothest flowing newsletters around.

To fishing!

Yes it is true. I have been fishing. Catching mullet, but no bitch-trevally. If I never see another trevally again I won't be disappointed. Which is just as well since their very existence is currently in question.

One thing I have noticed however is my casting isn't particularly sexy at the moment. Which is probably why I'm not catching those bitch-trevally. And because this is so obviously unacceptable I am practicing my casting. Hard.

And if you want to know how then you should be a newsletter subscriber. Follow this to find out what you get.

Website developments

Believe it or not there is frantic behind-the-scenes activity going on as I write. Soon you won't know what's hit you. The suspense is frightening...

Tackle sales.

Now look here. My chosen lifestyle of flyfishing and women chasing costs me money. And because I have no intention of actually working for a living this means that you have to support me in this noble quest. So this month I want each and every one of you to make a concentrated effort and buy something from this site.

Thanks.

- Postscript -

Irony

You know how writing is supposed to work; you have a beginning, a middle and an end. And somehow the end should fit to the beginning. That's cool writing. Well this time it's going to happen, because no sooner had I written about how wonderful owning a motorboat is and some bugger pinches the outboard.

Here's a fact for you; motorboats excite women, rowing boats do not.

'Hey how would you like to come out in my boat... you row, I'll fish'.

But I have a description... he's about 6 ft with a tattoo on his back, drives a Holden with a massively oversized camper on top, with a blue bike tied on the side, two children (10yr old girl and 2 year old unknown) and a small dog. And he's still in the area. If you see him let me know as I'm really keen to introduce myself.

The question now is just how big an outboard can I fit on the back of a 3.4m tinnie? 15hp? 20? I'll let you know!