Blunder Downunder

Blunder Downunder

Philip Atkinson

Smashwords Edition

Blunder Downunder

Copyright © 2011 Philip Atkinson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN: 9781742841076

Published by Book Pal

www.bookpal.com.au

Acknowledgements

I would like to take this opportunity to say thanks to the many people who knowingly or unknowingly helped with this novel.

First on my list must be my wife Dawn. Dawn, you have stood by me through the fishing trips and fishing competitions, laughed at the practical jokes, accepted the rhyming slang, the one liners and colloquialisms. You have believed in this project, always given your time and have assisted when asked. Never once have you doubted, only encouraged, and this has inspired me. Thanks so much.

Many thanks to my sons: Rhys, Craig, Lyal and Dale. I love your constructive criticism and support.

A special thanks to Lyal for the cover design, well done.

Now to Bronte and Lillian, my granddaughters. Every time you saw your Pop working on his book all you wanted to do was help. You guys would sit on Pop’s lap, mostly wanting to press the keys on the keyboard for me, then when you were bored with the keyboard, nine times out of ten you wanted a pillow fight which you always got. You don’t know how this helped to refresh the mind. Thanks.

A special thanks to the rest of my family. You as a family have helped and encouraged me and no amount of thanks seems enough. Hey, what are families for?

I am particularly grateful to Russell and Kath Clifton, my neighbours. Russ and Kath have given invaluable time and help with the editing. What a mammoth task. I only wish I knew how to spell and to write correctly. Thanks for dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. I placed so much trust in you, you’re a magic couple and I can’t thank you enough.

To Thomas Sandy Littler (now sadly deceased) and his beautiful wife Jacqueline who have been both Dawn and my mates for over thirty years. Both Sandy and Jackie were raised in the Redfern/Waterloo area of Sydney. Sandy’s rhyming slang, one liners and colloquialisms are unique, and the ones I can remember are included in this novel.

Les Ryan and his wife Mary, thanks a million to you and our Koori mates who helped with the Indigenous content. I found it hard to write about your wonderful culture and at the same time not to step on any toes. There is so much to be learnt about the magic of the Australian Aboriginal Culture.

Dr Bob Callaghan, thanks for taking the time to read the section I had written about the effects of heroin. Your advice helped me to a great extent.

A special thanks to two of my fishing mates, Ken Appel and John Bauder. Both of you have given your time and have helped, which I really appreciate. Ken with the practical jokes and John with information on the Duke Islands. To the rest of my fishing mates, all of you have unwittingly helped in one way or another.

Last but not least, I must thank all my friends and the characters out there with whom I spent so many enjoyable hours of fun and hilarity in the many watering holes I frequented over the years. I thank you all.

Contents

HAMMER AND TACK

CHINA PLATES

STEAK AND KIDNEY

GERMAINE GREER

THE DOG AND BONE

THE TRAMS AND TRAINS

WONDER DOWN UNDER

THE KRAUT LOUT

JOE BLAKES

VAGINA DECLINER

PORK PIE

FROTH AND BUBBLE

A BARRY CROCKER

ROCKHOPPER WHOPPER

ON YA PAT MALONE

ON THE FROG ’N TOAD

THE RUBBIDY-DUB

TITANIC

DROPPING THE BRACE AND BIT

SCHINDLER’S LIST

THE DRY ROTS

A VICKERS GIN

MICKEY MOUSE

NO DUCKS AND GEESE

BRITNEY SPEARS

NO JAM TART

CORROBOREE

A CAPTAIN COOK

THE ONE ARMED

JUGGLER

EPILOGUE

GLOSSARY

HAMMER AND TACK

The Princess 22 Metre Motor Yachts are without doubt one of the world’s most sophisticated. The 22 metre hull design represents the latest thinking and delivers the highest level of seaworthiness. Powered by twin V12 diesels, they possess heaps of grunt and will achieve in excess of 30 knots.

The elegant exterior styling is functional with stunning good looks. Full-width flybridge decks provide a huge area for outdoor entertainment. Teak-laid decks sweep aft past the spacious cockpit to the transom platform, which is large enough to stow a Zodiac. A flybridge crane spans the platform to launch and retrieve. Accommodation aboard is spacious and luxurious. The saloon offers panoramic views and incorporates an entertainment centre and cocktail bar.

A Princess 22 Metre Motor Yacht is what the run of the mill Joe Blow dreams about. It is too expensive for the average millionaire and is usually owned by filthy rich multi-millionaires who indulge in only the best.

A Princess 22 Metre Motor Yacht would make an ideal investment for large organised drug cartels wanting to shift large quantities of prohibited substances anywhere around the world.

Such a yacht would be, without doubt, a state-of-the-art facility to import and export illicit cargoes to and from Australia without attracting adverse attention, especially during the games of the XXVII Olympiad in Sydney 2000.

Cruising at 22 knots and under the cover of darkness, a Princess Super Yacht named Doodle Dandy entered Australian territorial waters.

Owned and operated by a powerful San Francisco drug cartel, the Doodle Dandy was equipped with the latest state of the art electronic technology. She also carried an arsenal large enough to arm a small army and, concealed deep behind bulkheads and under false floors, she carried a cargo of illicit drugs large enough to meet the growing drug demand of the entire east coast of Australia for months.

This Super Yacht wasn’t crewed by the average sightseeing mariner or tourist. The Doodle Dandy was manned by a group of sophisticated able-bodied seamen all highly trained in communications, weaponry, espionage, martial arts and drug smuggling. They were all ruthless criminals who know the consequences of getting caught and would be prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice if necessary.

Willy Armstrong, the skipper, and his handpicked crew were known throughout the underworld as the best traffickers in the business.

With favourable weather and calm seas, the trip across the Tasman Sea was plain sailing for the Doodle Dandy. Willy watched the stylus on the echo sounder make a rapid rise, from a depth of over five hundred metres to one hundred metres as the Super Yacht motored over the continental shelf. Willy checked the chart plotter and GPS, and made some quick calculations on the Admiralty Chart. ‘Good, on time and the seas are calm,’ he thought to himself as he pressed the intercom button.

‘Leroy, we are in Australian territorial waters. Get Jake up and I’ll see you both in the bridge.’ He turned his attention to the radar. He could see a couple of container vessels to the east in the shipping lane but the faint dot that had appeared on the screen twenty-five miles to his northwest was the one he was interested in. The radar showed him that a vessel the size of a small fishing boat lay idle or at anchor and was about seven miles east of Maroubra Beach.

He took the Doodle Dandy off autopilot then idled back and put the yacht into neutral.

Leroy and Jake walked into the bridge. ‘Good morning, Will,’ Leroy said.

‘Jake, lower the Zodiac,’ Willy commanded.

As Jake left, Willy pointed to the dot on the radar. ‘That looks like the Dollyhawk. It’s at anchor and is sitting on the correct mark. They call the place The Peak– it’s a fishing spot, I think.’ He started to twiddle with the settings on the radar zooming out. ‘There are no other vessels within ten nautical miles of her.’ Willy checked his watch and then turned on the 27 MHz radio. ‘It’s 3:40am,’ he said then turned the radio to channel 890 and they listened to the chatter between two fishing vessels.

‘Leroy, listen for the code. It’s There are no Kingfish at The Peak and it’s due at 3:45am. When we hear it, all is in readiness and the coast is clear.’

Amongst the chatter at precisely 3:45am, ‘There are no Kingfish at The Peak’ came in loud and clear across the 27 MHz airwaves.

‘OK Leroy, you have about an hour from now to do the transfer and be off her.’

Willy handed Leroy a piece of paper with a set of coordinates scribbled on it. ‘Put these latitude and longitude coordinates into the Zodiac’s GPS. They will take you straight to the Dollyhawk.’ He gave Leroy a second set of GPS coordinates. ‘When you’ve completed the transfer I’ll be waiting here at these coordinates twenty miles up the coast.’ Leroy studied the marks.

‘I want this to run as smoothly as possible. No trouble if you can avoid it and run without lights. If anything shows up on the scanners, I’ll let you know via your radio on Channel 880.’

‘OK, see you when I get back.’ Leroy left the bridge and headed to the stern.

In the meantime, Jake had lowered the Zodiac and its illicit cargo into the water where he was warming the motors. Leroy descended the stairs, opened the gate, and jumped into the Zodiac. After releasing the stainless steel winch cables he entered the first set of coordinates into the GPS as a waypoint. He switched on the GPS plotter and instantly a track line appeared on the screen. ‘Follow that line, Jake.’

Jake turned the Zodiac to the northwest, accelerated and disappeared into the darkness. Using the plotter line the GPS provided, they sped towards the waypoint.

At 4:00am, seven miles east of Maroubra at a fishing spot called The Peak, a fishing boat lay at anchor in the darkness.

The black Zodiac cruised to the rear of the fishing boat and slowed. Leroy ran the beam of a dolphin torch across the stern. The fishing boat displayed the name Dollyhawk along with its port name of Botany Bay.

‘Take me alongside, Jake.’

Jake manoeuvred the Zodiac along the starboard side of the fishing boat to where a rope ladder was hanging over the side. Leroy checked his Ruger MII pistol and, satisfied that the magazine was full, he slipped the pistol into his belt. He pulled his balaclava over his face, grabbed the rope ladder and quietly started to climb aboard. He turned to Jake and whispered, ‘I’ll see you later.’

Jake put the motors into gear and disappeared quietly into the darkness.

Leroy climbed onto the deck. He could see a faint light that was coming from the wheelhouse. He took the pistol in hand and switched on his dolphin torch.

‘Catching any Kingfish?’ Leroy yelled.

‘There are no Kingfish at The Peak!’ came the answer from within, as two solid men dressed like fishermen walked out of the wheelhouse.

Leroy ripped off his balaclava and placed the pistol back in his belt, then extended his hand.

‘Leroy!’ the younger of the two said and thrust out his hand. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’

‘Ben! I see you’re still working for Anthony.’

‘Yeah. He pays well. Besides the missus just had another baby.’ Ben gestured to his offsider. ‘By the way this is Fred.’

Leroy glared at Fred, as in this line of work he trusted no one and made few friends. He took a hand-held radio from his back pocket and turned it on and said, ‘coast is clear.’

The black Zodiac came back alongside the trawler. Jake tied off the Zodiac and climbed the rope ladder. Once aboard he handed Leroy a parcel wrapped in black PVC.

Ben looked at Fred and indicated with a nod to get something out of the wheelhouse. Fred disappeared into the wheelhouse.

‘Take that shit and check it. You’ll find it’s pure,’ Leroy said, as he handed Ben the parcel.

Ben took the parcel and placed it on the sorting tray. He cut away the black PVC with a fishing knife to reveal two packs, each containing two kilos of pure heroin. He put a small slit in one of the packs, wet his finger with saliva, and tasted the drug.

‘Anthony should be very happy with this.’

Fred walked out of the wheelhouse with a briefcase and handed it to Ben. Ben took the briefcase and gave it to Leroy. ‘Anthony said to give this to Willy.’

Leroy tossed the briefcase to Jake, who caught it and scurried down the rope ladder.

‘Activate the winch.’

Ben lowered the winch just high enough for Fred to release it from its anchor. Once free, he lowered the winch hook down into the Zodiac. Jake clipped the winch hook into the net that held the illicit cargo.

‘OK! Take it up!’ Jake yelled.

Ben activated the winch. The cables and net groaned and creaked under the 1,000kg weight as the winch lifted the cargo. Once the cargo cleared the deck railing, Ben swung the boom across and lowered the cargo onto the deck.

‘OK. She’s all yours. Nice doing business again,’ Leroy said as he turned and descended the rope ladder. He entered the next set of coordinates into the GPS.

Jake turned the Zodiac to the northeast and it disappeared into the darkness.

The Zodiac planed along the track line the GPS plotter provided and headed straight towards the Doodle Dandy. As they neared the Doodle Dandy Leroy picked up the spotlight and gave three flashes into the bridge.

Willy put the cruiser into neutral and went to the stern and lowered the winch cables. When the Zodiac pulled alongside the Doodle Dandy Jake hooked the winch cables onto the inflatable. Willy operated the electro-hydraulic crane and lifted the Zodiac into its cradle.

‘Anthony said to give you this,’ Leroy said as he hopped out of the inflatable.

‘Was there any trouble?’ Willy asked as he took the briefcase.

‘No everything went according to plan. You’d expect nothing less from Anthony.’

They entered the bridge and Willy checked the contents of the briefcase. It contained Australian currency in unmarked banknotes and a handwritten note. Willy estimated there to be about $50,000 and then read the note.

‘No doubt about Anthony. He’s given us some spending money. Very thoughtful don’t you think?’

Willy checked his watch and went over to the Admiralty Chart. He entered the coordinates to Sydney Heads into the GPS then put the yacht into gear and took her up to 25 knots. He switched over to autopilot. The Doodle Dandy headed straight towards Sydney Harbour.

CHINA PLATES

Mick woke to the sound of his alarm at 3:50am. He rolled over and forced his bleary eyes still heavy with sleep to focus. He looked at the clock radio then waited under the warm fleece sheet for the 4:00am news and weather.

The news was mainly about the Olympic preparations and the weather forecast was perfect. A fine mild day, light northeast winds mainly in the afternoon. ‘Gee, I hope we kick arse when the greatest show ever comes to Sydney,’ he thought to himself as he moved out from the warmth of his wife’s body and the bed linen.

‘Dawn. Are you awake?’

‘Yeah. Are you still going?’

‘Weather forecast sounds OK but you know me, I take those forecasts with a grain of salt.’ He moved the curtain and blind to the side and peered out the window into the still, fresh dawn that looked to be another perfect day.

‘Looks great and Knuckles and I haven’t wet a line since Adam was a boy.’

‘Then Adam must have been a boy last week.’

‘Last week seems like an eternity,’ Mick said as he scratched his Niagara’s while on the way to the bathroom. ‘Anyway, we have got to get some fish for the kids raffle tonight.’

He lifted the brasco seat and had a leak. He washed his face and the little hair he had left with cold water, squirted some Colgate on his toothbrush, then brushed and cleaned his teeth. He gargled, wiped his face and went to the kitchen. After filling the kettle with water he turned it on. ‘Would ya like a cuppa pommy petrol, love?’ he yelled.

Michael Ellis was born and raised in Redfern just like his father and his father’s father. Mick’s father and pop were both trappers who spent half their time in the bush trapping rabbits and cutting saplings for clothes props, and the rest of the time selling rabbits and clothes props around the streets of Redfern and in the many pubs around Surry Hills and Redfern.

Mick possessed a colourful vocabulary of Australian phrases, sayings and rhyming slang, all thanks to his father and grandfather.

‘Yes, thanks!’

‘Kettle’s on,’ he yawned on his way back to the bedroom. ‘Whack some toast on for me while I get dressed.’

Mick was a champion amateur fisherman who dominated the sport from the early 70s to the 80s. He was a master at beach, rock, estuary and deep-sea fishing. He had titles from the N.S.W. Amateur Fishing Club Association in the Sydney Metropolitan Division. He was a champion who was hard to beat.

Mick learnt the art of fishing at the age of twelve. At every opportunity he would catch a tram from Cleveland Street to the Prince Henry Hospital near La Perouse. After leaving the tram he would walk around the side of Prince Henry Hospital to Little Bay.

Little Bay is a small cove and one of Sydney’s best-kept secrets. Its white sandy beach is clean and inviting and the bay is shallow and calm. It’s ideal for the inexperienced swimmer. A steep rugged cliff to the north protects the bay. The southern headland has a sandstone cliff of about thirty to thirty-five feet high. At the base of this cliff are two sandstone plateaus which are six feet above the water level and protrude into the bay. Between these rock plateaus is a deep gutter.

The rock plateaus and gutter protect Little Bay from the continuing easterly swells.

Fishermen call it ‘The Gutter’.

To fish The Gutter, you have to wade across a rock ledge to the eastern side and fish with your back to the ocean. Not a very smart thing to do, but the rewards are there in good quality blackfish and plenty of them. The risks are well worth it. Over the years, the fishermen have drilled steel stakes into the eastern plateau. They were put there to hold onto when an odd rogue wave would come, and they prevented many a fisherman being washed in. The continuing easterly swells would crash, wave after wave, in a raging torrent of white water and boiling foam. They took in their wake green rockweed (the main diet of Luderick), seaweed, crustaceans and any other unsuspecting marine creatures, washing them into the swirling contents of The Gutter.

This provided a feast for the fish, which in turn attracted them to The Gutter. It was, however, a dangerous place to fish and had claimed a number of lives over the years, so the senior fishermen wouldn’t let Mick on the dangerous east side of The Gutter. On the west side he would wait, watching and learning from a distance while biding his time. One by one the fishermen would untether their catch and bring them back to the west side to clean. For a couple of blackfish Mick would clean their catch. After a year of cleaning fish the fishermen allowed Mick on the east side but only on very calm days.

This was when Mick started his fishing apprenticeship. He was taught to respect the ocean, and learned rock safety, gear maintenance, how to bait a hook, how to read the water, casting, and the correct way to play fish. It was not long before Mick could catch fish as well as anyone fishing at The Gutter.

‘Tea and toast’s ready,’ Dawn called from the kitchen as she spread the Vegemite.

Mick walked into the kitchen pulling on his jumper. ‘Did I tell you Osram rang me at work from Coffs last night?’

Dawn finished pouring the tea. She put the teapot down and placed her other hand on the bar. ‘Wonder what Osram wants this time. It wouldn’t be another fishing trip, would it?’

Mick met Dawn in the printing shop where he served an apprenticeship in printing. She worked in the office. They soon started dating and, after a long engagement, married. After twenty-five years married to Mick she could read him like a book.

‘Yeah, he did say he was planning another fishing trip.’ Mick picked up a slice of toast and took a bite. ‘To some uninhabited island.’ He had a slurp of tea.

‘Don’t bullshit me about some uninhabited island! Some uninhabited island! Where? Off the coast of Russia, Japan or the USA? The last time Osram planned a fishing trip to an island it was in New Zealand for some ninety-mile beach comp. Well I remember that one. It was men only! No women!’ That’s right, he thought. No women. They had taken the girls on fishing trips in the past and there were fights. You put two women in a kitchen and you always get a blue. So fuck it. No women. He knew he would be about as popular as a pork chop in Jerusalem. He also knew about the trip. It had been on the drawing board for months. This trip was planned to an uninhabited island that had no fresh water and no power. It was a no-frills fishing trip and not a place for the girls. Anyway, now was not the right time to let on how keen he was to go. Besides he had already broken the news and he knew Dawn would get the shits, but shit happens.

‘It’s only on the drawing board at this stage. Anyway I’m really not that interested,’ he lied.

‘Bullshit! You’re not interested. You would give your right knacker to go and don’t say you wouldn’t. As always it’s a case of stuff you, Dawn, Mick’s in the lifeboat. Shove off!’

She knew fishing trips were not the place for the wives. She also knew Mick was going to go regardless. But after all, she was his cheese and kisses. She cooked the meals, washed and wiped up, cleaned the house, even washed the skid marks off his underpants. She was not going to make it easy for him. She stormed past and went to the bedroom.

Mick half chased her as she turned and left the room. ‘Don’t be like that, love. You know how you turn me on when you’re cranky’.

Mick was never one to crawl or grovel. Dawn hopped back in bed. ‘You wouldn’t say no to a dawn buster, would you?’

‘Piss off!’ She tried to keep a straight face as she rolled over in the bed linen.

Mick checked his watch. ‘Shit! It’s twenty past four. Knuckles will be here at any tick of the clock.’ There was no comment from the bedroom so Mick went out the back.

Hubble, the pet Jack Russell, jumped up into Mick’s arms and licked him as he wagged his tail with excitement.

‘How ya going, Hubs?’

Hubble was a good dog but he was bred to rat and there were no rats at Mick’s place, so Hubs would run around pretending to rat. Mick thought he was off the planet so he called the dog Hubble, after the Hubble Telescope.

Mick gave Hubble a rub between the ears while on the way to the laundry. In the laundry he had his two bait freezers. He placed Hubble on the ground and lifted both freezer lids. A cold vapour cloud hovered above the bait and slowly ran down the freezer cabinet walls to the floor. Mick studied the freezer contents then took out two blocks of blue pilchards, a packet of whitebait and two frozen berley bombs. He put one block of unopened blue pilchards in a bucket of water, turned off the light and went to the driveway.

Two sensor lights came on, lighting the entire driveway. Parked in the driveway were Mick’s Land Rover and a 14ft Cruise Craft Rogue. The Rover was a 1972 long wheelbase that was only used for fishing and the odd camping trip. The Rogue was a 1973 model and was powered by a 1996 Yamaha 70HP motor. The boat was a fishing boat and was the best-equipped boat in its class. It had a bow-rail, grab rail, echo-sounder, GPS, marine radio, the compulsory safety equipment, running lights, bilge pump, fish box, live bait tank, live bait pump, scoop and an overhead fluorescent lamp for night fishing. The boat was always maintained in immaculate condition.

After every trip Mick would methodically clean his boat inside and out making sure salt wouldn’t build up. Any maintenance that needed attention was attended to. The motor was flushed and a light spray of WD-40 applied. All ropes were recoiled and everything put back in its place.

He called the boat Dawnbuster. After all, his better half’s name was Dawn and Mick always believed you had to get up at the crack of dawn to go fishing, so why not? It didn’t go down too well with his better half though. She couldn’t see the funny side.

Mick placed the bait in the boat. He had the boat ready the night before and knew everything was in place. As always, he gave the boat a quick visual check to see if everything was OK.

It was nearly 4:30am. He started the Rover to warm it up and then walked out to the front with Hubble trotting along at his side.

Jack Simons pulled up in his bucket of nuts and bolts that was supposed to be a Commodore. He was on time. He turned off the motor, got out and slammed the door.

‘G’day Fishhead! Top morning!’ Jack said in a loud excited voice as he opened the back door of the Holden.

Mick walked over to the front of the Holden. ‘Fuck me dead! Knuckles. There’s an empty four gallon drum and a fuckin’ lump hammer around the back. If ya belt the shit out of the drum with the fuckin’ hammer you won’t just wake up my next door neighbour, you’ll wake the whole fuckin’ neighbourhood,’ he said shaking his head.

‘Sorry, mate. I wasn’t thinking,’ Jack whispered as he got some gear off the back seat of the Holden. He gently closed the door with hardly a sound. ‘Here grab this,’ he whispered as he handed Mick a small esky and thermos. He started to undo the two rods on the roof racks. ‘Shove these in the boat, Fishhead.’

‘What’s in the esky?’ Mick asked as he placed Jack’s gear in the boat.

‘Cath made some sandwiches and coffee.’ ‘Have a gander at the weather, Knuckles. Perfect or what?’ he pointed for Hubble to go around the back. Hubble obediently went.

‘Sure is. Should be good for fishing.’ They got into the Rover and drove slowly out of the driveway. Mick placed his favourite Dan Fogelberg cassette into the tape deck, pumped up the volume and headed for the Rose Bay boat ramp.

Jack Simons was an Indigenous Australian who was very proud of his Koori bloodlines. Jack was taught the culture and tradition of his people at a very early age. He learnt about the dreamtime, social and spiritual awareness, relationships between his people and the land, and how to understand, respect and live in harmony with the animals, birds, reptiles, fish and the importance of Aboriginal rituals.

Jack accepted the cultural challenges modern Australia offered but at the same time he never gave away his proud ancestral traditions. He also acknowledged the essential need for an education.

Jack’s primary education was at La Perouse Public School and his high school was at South Sydney Junior Tech at Maroubra Junction. It was at high school where Mick met Jack. They were close mates since their school days and in fact they were more like brothers.

Jack was known to his mates as Knuckles because of his ability to fight. He took up boxing at an early age. He excelled and as an amateur boxer was undefeated and an Australian Champion.

‘How are Cath and the billy lids going?’

‘They’re OK. Cath’s been working hard as always, especially with the Olympics just around the corner. Young Dave’s going to rehearsals for the Opening Ceremony three times a week. Guess who takes him?’

‘Cath.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t be you, Knuckles. She’s a good scout, your missus. It’s got me stuffed why she would marry a dickhead like you. What’s Dave doing in the Opening Ceremony?’

‘It’s all hush, hush, a big surprise. I don’t know. They won’t tell me. We’ll just have to wait see. What I do know is that the Opening Ceremony has a huge Aboriginal content.’ Knuckles seemed to expand his chest. ‘It’s going to be unbelievable.’

‘Do ya reckon it might smack arse?’

‘From what they tell me it will do more than just smack arse.’ Knuckles smiled.

‘You know more than you’re letting on. Ya cunt.’

‘Nar. Just putting one and one together, Fish.’

All Mick’s fishing mates called him Fishhead or Fish for short. His fishing ability and fishing knowledge were the main reasons for the nickname. They also reckoned he had a head like a stunned mullet, so that counted as well.

There was little traffic on the road and they were at Rose Bay in next to no time.

‘Not many boats out,’ Mick said as they drove past the near deserted car park. ‘Only two trailers. It looks like we’ll have the harbour to ourselves.’

Rose Bay has a double boat ramp and wharf. Mick backed the trailer onto the ramp and parked there. Both he and Knuckles got out of the Rover. Mick took off the tie downs and put the bungs in the boat while Knuckles undid the winch hook and got the bow rope ready.

‘Let’s go!’ Mick yelled as he jumped into the Rover. He took off the handbrake and let the Rover and trailer roll back until the trailer wheels just touched the water. Then he hit the brakes. The Rover and trailer stopped dead and the Cruise Craft kept going smoothly along the trailer rollers and glided out into the water. Knuckles stopped the boat