Many have asked me what happened to the heap of fish I caught during our recent deep sea fishing expedition. I will answer that question now.
It wasn’t really a heap of fish. I made that part up. Creative liberty. Besides who would want to see a movie about my adventures at sea, starring Chris Hemsworth, if I didn’t catch a fish or six. Maybe even seven.
Wife, the same person whom I love more than life itself, the mother of my children and the woman who supports me in almost anything, made it abundantly clear that she does not want any fish in her house. Technically it’s our house but I have been married long enough to know that if I disobey this direct instruction, I would need to find another place to rest my weary head. The fish and I. At least for a while.
Especially considering the fish still had eyes and all their guts. Deckhand boy, who still didn’t think it necessary to cover his torso, also didn’t have the energy in his muscular body to clean all the fish we caught. This proves he’s not a superhero after all. In his defense, it would have taken another three hours to complete the task and we were tired of the sea. And watching him flex.
So I offered my share of the spoils to a friend with the promise of a dinner invitation. We were anxious to shower and get out of the sun. Some of us already looked like lobsters. Deckhand boy said the fish would be fine, as long as we placed them in a freezer overnight.
The hotel was kind enough to accommodate our request. What we didn’t know was that the freezer turned out be a cooler…
The next morning the fish had an odour. Like seashells left out in the sun. Or a sweaty aunt. Or a fart festering under the duvet. (Another reason why the Wife loves me.) We were a little bit concerned. We filled the coolers with ice, something we probably should have done the night before. A perfect example of having 20:20 hindsight vision.
I was sitting in the back as we commenced the four hours journey home. Every so often my nostrils caught a very suspicious smell.
I urged them to stop halfway. As we checked our treasure chests, we almost fainted from the odour bellowing from the coolers. The sequel would be a horror and aptly called “Old man and the sea: Revenge of the fish”.
We made a couple of petrol attendants very happy by providing them with dinner. Hopefully we didn’t kill them. So far so good, there is nothing in the newspapers…
We have nothing to show for our twelve hours at sea. Except aching muscles, severe sunburn, photos and a shitload of great memories. All culminating in posts for my blog. (And this is the last one, I promise.)
So there you have it, another rookie mistake.