To each his own... especially when it comes to fishing!
|"Catching any?" The Tourist pauses his leisurely walk along the river bank.
"Nup... just a whole lot more experience." The Fisherman doesn't sound like he cares too much. His voice is as relaxed as he looks, comfortably sprawled low in his fold-a-chair on the lush green lawns, a cushion at his back, obviously not too fussed about success in the traditional way of catching something. His pleasure focuses on the sun's warm fingers soothing his ancient spine. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, smiling in gratitude. The smell of fresh, salty air eddies around the men from where the river meets the sea close by.
A few gulls float on the sparkling water, others circle overhead shouting their harsh demand for something to scavenge . The whoosh of a pelican breaks the calm water, webbed feet braced, creating a far-reaching wake of ripples and eddies. At an exact speed it sinks to tuck its aeronautic wings against its body and soundlessly glide away. Its disdainful head demonstrates an interest in nothing at all — not fish, nor worms — nothing but a well-earned rest after long, lazy circles high above.
The Fisherman sizes up the Tourist, keen eyes shining from a deeply wrinkled face. Bushy grey eyebrows all but meet above his nose in a searching look. "Fisherman too?"
"Well, no… although one time I caught a fish." The tourist chuckles. "On an old metal door catch for a sinker and some sweetcorn for bait!" And now he laughs out loud. "A ruddy great carp. Didn't even know how to kill it, until a guy came up and whacked it on the head with a lump of firewood." He pauses to wipe his eyes.
"Guess you could say I got a large dollop of experience THAT day!"