SAFA Skysailor Magazine

52 SKY SAILOR June-July-August | WINTER 2025 The fisherman reversed the tinnie into the channel, scraping the side on the weed encrusted rocks and yelled, “Go!” Throwing his glider clear, he leapt from the boat and crawled onto the slippery surface. “Thanks mate!” He yelled, as the boat picked its way back out. The bow rose and fell with a thud and a lobster trap toppled from the back, a rope and yellow buoy still attached. “Ah, you’re back!” Exclaimed the old man, limping barefoot across the sand. “Looks like lobster for dinner,“ he said, as he waded out to retrieve the bounty attached to the buoy bobbing amongst the waves. “Give us a hand mate,“ he called as he dragged the trap through the waist-deep surf. They wrestled the awkward trap onto the beach and counted their treasure, “Six of ‘em and they’re beauties! What a feast, help me take ‘em up to the shack.“ The ramshackle cabin is built of corru- gated iron and pine packing cases, still marked ‘THIS SIDE UP’ in faded black four- inch lettering. “We towed those crates in by boat after the tanker ran aground in ‘89, all strung together through the surf. It took us a week to get ‘em up ‘ere,“ relayed the old man. “Anyway my name’s Merv and this is me dog Sandy. “ “Gidday, I’m Andy.” The inside is one room, two single hessian bunks, blackened kettle atop a port-a-gas stove, steam thermalling from the spout. Small, but adequate kitchen. No electricity. Worn linoleum covered the creaking, gaping timber floor, underlined with ancient newspapers. A wooden table and two chairs fill the centre of the cabin, a gas lamp dangled from the rafters on a twisted wire coathanger. Axe marks still visible in the graying overhead beams. Merv threw the lobsters into an old blackened drum, half-filled with sea water, perched it over a few rocks and began Coastal Jockey – not a bad rider!