The best meal. Ever.

Two wide-brimmed hats and a dog march down a bush track to the beach.

We are armed with an esky full of hand lines, offcuts of some very tender steak, a stinking bag of squid and 100 various sized hooks and sinkers. This is serious business now. It is no longer a matter of fun in the sun, it is dinner. Our stocks of everything but meat are running down fast so we need to master this thing so we don’t get scurvy or some such olden days disease.

Up to now, we have not had much luck off the reef. Our hooks are constantly snagging so we spend much of our time tugging a stubborn line as we clamour back and forward across the rocks. Today will be different – Adam has an idea. Today we rig the sinker below the hook.

It is a winner. How those fish love our surf and turf! Adam pulls in a blue bone, probably only a teenager, but bigger than previous catches. Then a bream, then another bream… still small, but we’re hungry.

In the absence of other dogs, Pearl has made friends with a baby bluebone who is keeping fresh in a rock pool. She gently pads after him on his predictable course around the pool, while he slides sideways through the shallow parts, and entertains himself by shooting between her legs. After ten minutes it’s not funny for us anymore, but the new friends carry on until the inevitable.

While Adam is gathering dinner, I am practicing rigging knots. I am determined not to rely on him to sort my shit out for me anymore. It’s boring for him and is not befitting of my inner warrior.

Armed and dangerous, I stumble over the rocks to where they fall over into the lapping tide. I can see all the way to the reef at the bottom. It is beautiful. More than fishing, I want to leap into that ocean. I don’t though, because we have a far more pressing challenge at hand… so I fish. I am going to catch Pearl some more friends.

The new rig arrangement proves problematic for my casting. The sinker is slamming into the rocks on the throw and ending in a tangle at my feet. It’s making me look stupid. Adam thinks so too, so he demonstrates some trouble free casting methods. I am quick and cranky to explain that I do not usually have a problem casting, that this is a direct consequence of the new rig. And it’s true! I’m usually a good chucker.

‘I’m a good chucker!’ as I throw the line, along with the hand reel, into the ocean.

A big silence while neither of us can believe it. We watch the yellow reel float free on the water. Then we laugh a bit, but not as much as we should.

‘Oh! For fuck’s sake! If you didn’t distract me with your instructions…’

Adam doesn’t justify that with a response, then quietly takes off all his clothes and jumps into the ocean to retrieve my mistake.

A naked man looks funny clamouring up the side of a rocky reef. I laugh hard at that. Adam not so much.

We decide that we are done. I break up the game of tag in the rockpool and scoop Pearl’s friend into the esky with my hands. I cut my hands on the fins, just like Adam said I would.

On this night, we dine on a whole bream each, with spicy rice and our last zucchini.

Every mouthful is filled with the rich flavours of our hunting and gathering – labour, hilarity, humiliation, anticipation, determination, and a big lot of abandon.

It was fucking delicious.