Fishing Ross River

Sitting around, I, perhaps unfortunately to some, have time to reminisce.  I have been thinking about my early fishing experiences.  The trouble with fishing stories is they get a bad rap.  They have a reputation for exaggeration.  Nothing has changed.
Some of my most memorable experiences happened on the Ross River in Townsville.  Most folk have heard of the Ross River as in “Ross River Fever.”  The trouble with diseases, is they tend to assume the name of where they first occur.  Hence “Hong Kong Flu” and “Bird Flu.”  Though if one wants to talk all proper like it is “Averian Flu.”
The Ross River was a bit of a wild and desolate place in my youth.  Well it seemed that way to me.  Too bad so many people used it for fishing, picnics and having a good time.  Perhaps I should say there were parts of it that were wild and desolate.  How wild?  Well one of my brothers found a body there one time.
My friend had a boat and we were keen to get out and try our hand at fishing.  Some really big fish had been caught there.  We were sitting there minding our own business with nothing happening, when a school of bait fish headed our way.  They spent a lot of time airborne.  I may be wrong, but I am yet to see a fish jump for the sheer joy of it.  Generally fish jump because they are being chased by something.  These fish were in a hurry to go someplace.  I do not know where, but it was somewhere else.  They were not going to let a little thing like a row boat get in the way.  Quite a number of them actually jumped into the boat.  Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire.  It was great to not need to chase bait fish, when they came to us.  Fat lot of good it did us though.
My mates bro was determined to show us the boat would not sink.  While in the water he stood and straddled it and rocked it from side to side.  It did not sink but I was glad when he stopped.
I make a terrible criminal.  I had no idea you do not check other people’s crab pots.  If my goal had been to rob the pot, I would have done it in the dead of night rather than in broad daylight with people everywhere.  The owner came over in his boat and let me know in no uncertain terms what I did was just not done.
Another time we had been fishing in that boat without success.  Without success seems to be the one constant.  We pulled up in the boat at the place we had left, and my friend went to get something.  I decided to fish while he was gone.  I caught a beautiful Rock Cod.  We had had no success in the boat, but a few minutes fishing from the shore yielded what we had been after.  My friend was incredulous. I was a little excited to.  No actually I was a lot excited.
They were good times.  I’d talk about the times I have forgotten too, except I have forgotten them.