Wednesday, September 18, 2013

A mullet fest goes asking

I can hear Sandpatch booming tonight. The tides must be swelling with the moon.
On a low tide note, here are some waning portraits of the harbour this week. Stormboy and I, driving home, both said at once: 'Stop! Stop. Let's stop!"

Pelicans just love this low tide. They've been hanging out in the shallows like magpies in cafes, like shearers at a B&S. I just knew those mullet were laying up in the corner but I'm not a fisherwoman anymore and so all I could do was take these photographs ...


  1. Big hint: exposed weed, warm storm front = mullet in the corner. Sarah composts into an unpoetic and impotent heap.

  2. Yeah but Stormboy's only picking up the good stuff..

  3. Once a fisherwoman, always a fisherwoman, I think. The sea is obviously still in your veins.

    1. I just realised that I have made that old quote, "Old fishermen never die, they just smell like they have."

  4. C'mon Sarah Toa - you could have gone out there and wrestled some of those mullet with your bare hands!!