Gone Fishin’

“Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem thirty-one years. He did what was pleasing in the LORD’s sight and followed the example of his ancestor David. He did not turn away from doing what was right.” 2 Chronicles 34: 1-2

I’ll be honest with you. I had my doubts. We’d planned this a few weeks ago, but we were blessed with a stack of rain and the kids were unwell. In fact, the day after our fishing trip, we were hit with a bit of cold weather. But for one day – one miraculous day – we had beautiful, warm sunshine. Not bad for the middle of winter!

I used to do a little bit of fishing when I was a child. I know enough to be dangerous. Actually, I know just enough to be useful! Thankfully, my children and I were blessed with the company of my step-dad, my kids Pop, who is well versed in the twin skills of fishing, and being able to explain why they aren’t biting! He’d often brag about this ‘secret spot’ on the Sunshine Coast (and no, I’m not going to disclose the location!) where he reported a great number of catches, and a greater number of whoppers that got away!

You know, they say religion is going to church but thinking about fishing, but faith is going fishing and thinking about God. I’m not convinced either of those are entirely correct, but it paints a great word picture of the day. There’s something really wonderful about driving north from Brisbane to the Sunshine Coast. The Bruce Highway, the backbone of Queensland traverses so many wonderful landscapes as it creeps its way up the coast. For me, the wonder starts just after the Pine Rivers. I love the way the Glasshouse Mountains just poke out of the ground. Scientists tell us these beautiful monoliths are long-deceased volcanoes. Shortly after that the plantation forests stick up like thousands of brown and green needles, lined up in row after row. A big billboard with Steve Irwin points to Australia Zoo, and I don’t think a Queenslander who passes that iconic smile and sandy, scruffy hair can forget that wild, adventurous man who loved his family, loved his country and loved pretty much any animal that could (and did) kill him. Once you’re past the Mooloolaba turnoff, the countryside takes a dramatic change. Plantation forests are replaced with farming country. Rolling green hills and white-fenced estates roll by as lazy as the cows that inhabit them.

We turn off the Bruce and before we know it, we were at this famed ‘secret spot!’. My children have a habit of being ‘busting’ seconds before I do anything enjoyable. On this particular day, it happened to my daughter milliseconds before my first cast. There’s something you need to know about ‘secret spots’ and girls toileting. Hint: they don’t mix. After my commands to ‘just squat behind that tree!‘ were rebuffed, we raced miles to find the nearest public toilet. Sweet relief was found and we made our way back to the jetty.

Well to our surprise, we came back to my son reeling in his first fish! A lovely sized bream flipped and flopped in kid air, suspended only by the thin translucent line. He was proud as punch. I was proud as punch! Excitement continued as he watched as we unhooked the fish from the line. It didn’t take too long for the rest of us to start reeling them in. It wouldn’t have been more than 15 minutes between catches. In fact, every time my son would comment that there was no fish left, we’d catch another one!

As the tide slowly rose so the children’s interest in this age old pastime increased. They really were fascinated, it was so beautiful to watch – so beautiful! The quickly learned to cast like a pro. I was so impressed to see them concentrate and just nail almost every cast – finger on the line, flipping over the latch, carefully raising the rod over their shoulders, casting with a flick of the wrist and giving the line a little reel in. Just beautiful!

Well not including the whoppers that got away, we hauled in 15 bream and kept eight. If you know anything about fishing, the fish need a quick clean before you take them home. The kids were amazed as Pop literally cut these fish a new one, pulling out their innards with his index finger. The kids looked on with squeamish curiosity, watching as Pop described the various body parts being stripped from the fish.

Fishing is one of those skills that seems to be passed down from generation to generation. You see it all the time – families fishing off jetties, rock walls, from boats or on the beach. I started this post off by quoting from 2 Chronicles, which continues the story of the kings of Israel and Judea. The kings of that time seemed to be exceptionally good, or exceptionally bad. We read in the preceding chapters of 2 Chronicles that King Josiah really didn’t have a good example of being a Godly king for a number of generations. I’m no avid fisherman, but I enjoy it. My dad, then my step-dad have taught me an appreciation of fishing. It’s something I hope to continue with my kids for a number of reasons. But there’s something way more important than fishing that my forefathers have taught me. They’ve all, in their own way, modelled what it means to be a Godly man. They’ve all imparted different elements of what it means to be a Godly man. In no particular order of importance, they’ve taught me how to serve the Lord in their local church with quiet humility. They’ve taught me the value of people, the value of the study of scripture, the value of discernment. King Josiah was eight when he became king – my son’s age. The challenge is for me, what am I passing onto my son (and daughter!). What values, practices, beliefs, truths am I passing down. It’s a very challenging question, one that I pray about constantly.

With two tired children, we trundled back down the Bruce. Past the plantation forests and the Glasshouse Mountains. Over the massive Gateway, back to our little pocket of the earth. We had a wonderful day – magnificent in fact! I hope it won’t be too long until we go fishing with Pop again!