Off The Cuff: Hooked on the fishing habit

Squeezing out the best of every sun-drenched day was my goal as I settled into vacation mode in Goa. Standing on an uneven rock, line in hand waiting for the fish to bite, epitomised the fact that time stood still. Just the line, the wind, the extra smart fish, and hidden rocks that took fancy in snagging the bait, and a not-so-patient me.

The white beach on the opposite shore gleamed as the green coconut palms did a slow dance in the morning breeze. Trawlers laden with the previous night's catch chugged past, creating waves that had the little canoes bobbing wildly. The smell of salt and vegetation gave a sweet smell of freedom from the worries of everyday existence.

The buddy whom I accompanied on these expeditions is a part of the cut-throat computer business, but he becomes a laid back fisherman once he sets off to pit his wits against his marine prey.

Luis is a patient man, willing to wait till the birds go home, waiting for that big bite, the jerk of the line, and a flapping fresh fish to make some evening curry.

Picking up a bagful of sardine to be used as bait at a sleepy village, we proceeded to our hunting grounds.

My trustworthy Vespa and his noisy Yamaha zoomed past rocks and grass-filled paths to reach our favourite spot to settle down to a morning's fishing.

The first few trips were enjoyable but did not net big results. Almost-empty bags, a good tan, and unfinished discussions on varied topics were what we took back home. The residents of that particular body of water didn't seem to have a taste for the bait we offered them.

Then, one fateful day, Lady Luck decided to have pity on us. After spending a couple of hours at a spot where neighbouring fishermen were bagging fish by the minute while we didn't even get a bite, we decided to change position.

We moved onto nearby rocks in search of the elusive quarry. A serene Luis suddenly became very agitated as he pulled out a foot-long red snapper with a loud whoop. And another followed. Then a little fish completed the hat trick.

I was still waiting for a bite! Then I slipped on the sharp rocks and went down, hook line and sinker. A bloodied hand with umpteen cuts was the prize catch I netted along with a bruised knee.

Luis was kind enough to give me his catch of the day to compensate for the injuries.
Three fish for a week's agony seemed like a good deal. Better than returning empty-handed, I thought.

After a few days, Luis handed out a fishing invitation, but I decided I would be better off if I lived to fight another day.

I did not return to the spot. But I have fond and a few painful memories of the place. The wily red snappers that eluded me are waiting to be fished out.

Another round is definitely on the cards on my next vacation.