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“Where are you going?” Teddy asked, breaking in our conversation,
between Bulldog, ‘Newy’ and myself and noticed with his observation,
that the words of Phillip Island had been mentioned by us three,
so he gathered that we’re fishing, and so made this kind of plea.

“If you’re fishing from the surf you had better watch the undertow.
You’ll need heavy sinkers ‘neath the bridge ‘cause of the tidal flow.
Of course there is the jetty but that’s where the toads all tend to flock.
But youse make sure you’re careful if you think of fishing off a rock”.

Teddy pondered with his silence before he rectified that note.
As first he mentioned briefly “Of course you could fish from a boat”.
But his mind was still concerning for danger and initial shocks,
that involves rock fishing and especially from flat rocks.

Disregarding caution to Ted’s briefing of dangers ‘round the shore,
as none of us had seen them though we’d been fishing there before.
Now he’d put the idea in our heads ‘bout fishing from a rocky ledge,
where I could throw some ‘bike wheels’ in for crays close to the edge.

Of course our trekking led us where, we could fish flat rocks with ease.
And waves were gently rolling in from the restless southern seas.
‘Newys’ baited up and thrown his line, and too Bulldog's are applied.
I’ve laced my nets with mutton flaps and thrown them across the side.

The other two were angling fine although the parrot fish went back,
but they had a couple of decent sweep and one trevally in the sack
while I was battling with the ‘rips’ and needing thirty foot of rope
to reach the bottom of the rocks, and live with dreaming ‘crayfish hope’.

Because, you see the swirl and twist of water’s crashing ebb and flow,
was tangling up my length of rope and snagged my ‘bike wheel’ down below,
so this flat rock gave advantage when I stood closer to the edge
and tried maneuvers with the rope, to yield the net snagged on a ledge.

Suddenly the ocean mood changed from a calm and placid state.
A trough had formed close to the edge as the water did abate.
There in front of me a wall had formed of water pushing to the shore,
and caught me completely ‘on the hop’ - the cray net didn’t matter anymore.

I ran past ‘Newy’ with his rod who stood his ground and faced the sea.
The big wave hurtled over him as it continued chasing me.
I reckon I ran twenty yards before the water passed around knee high.
My crayfish net went scooting past - and now I know Ted’s reason why!
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