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Fast food fishin’ at Noosa

I visited a mate in Noosa recently. No public transport from the local airport. So after forking out $85 in cab fare into town (can you believe the flight was cheaper??), the cabbie spots my fishing rod.

“You a fisho, mate?” he asks, peering over cheap sunglasses and chewing gum. “Best fishing? The river backer Hastings St. Don’t use bait but. Hot Chips.” Hot chips? Yeah, right I think, waving him away with a grimace.

Muslims need to pray everyday. Buddhists need to meditate everyday. I need to fish everyday. So after catching up with my chum, I head down to the river behind Hastings St (main drag) to trawl a dazzling array of soft plastics and hard-bodied lures through the spectacular waters of Noosa. Cast after cast…nuthun.

Feeling peckish, I return with a cheeseburger and hot chips. Wiping away a tomato sauce moustache, I remember my cabbie. I impale a fat chip on a long-shank hook and drop it into the water at my thongs. CRUNCH! My rod is transformed into a quivering arc. In less than ten minutes I have five fat curling bream at my feet. I shake my head in disbelief and peer into my tackle-box with distain. I think about all the money spent on high-tech fishing gear. I study my princely rod, my state-of-the-art reel. I think about all that endless product testing and advertising and glossy brochures and sales staff and vast container ships traversing the world’s oceans and all those little nimble fingers in China gluing it all together for me. Could’ve caught these fish on dental floss. I imagine a fishing future of hot chips, Chiko Rolls and kebabs.

This leads me to think about the old master…

Like me, Socrates was a bum. Barefooted and bedraggled, he’d wander the public places of Athens and simply ask questions of his fellow denizens. The ancient Athenians had some pretty lame ideas that they accepted as commonsense: owning slaves, marrying daughters off at thirteen, sacrificing animals to a pantheon of over 500 Gods, tuning into MasterChef each week.

Socrates would simply ask them to explain with precision why they held said commonsense beliefs and what they took to be the meaning of life. Challenging them thusly ultimately led to his death. (Ahem…this may happen to me at my RSL Club soon!) This leads me to think: what of this asinine ‘supersize me’ life we all live now? In 2500 years, when the planet is barren, will people view us as we once viewed the ancient Greeks? I mean do we really need a four-wheel-drive to tow a boat once a month to the boat ramp when the old boys happily towed their boats with an FC Holden with drum brakes and three fat blokes in the back? Do we need to live in a McMansion with five rumpus rooms when our grandparents lived in a small home on a big block rather than vice versa? Do we need a television the size of a small African state? (Hey, dump it in the skip cause now we gotta have 3D!) And moreover, do we need gear shaped by Swedish astronautical engineers in a hermetically sealed lab in Stockholm? Does all this make us any happier? Really?? It may surprise you to know that the happiest people I’ve ever met live in a caravan park, have few possessions and fish with little more than crap gear and a longneck.

Beachcomber wet’s a line everyday, has a PhD in Philosophy and lives alone in a caravan park.

Beachcomber wet’s a line everyday, has a PhD in Philosophy and lives alone in a caravan park.