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This Is Northern New South Wales

The Lone Fisherman

It was a late Sunday afternoon.

The wind is blowing 20-30 knots from the SE. The rain splinters the side of your face. The ocean is a short-fetched delight of whitewash and Grey. There stands the lone fisherman.

This man stands at the Eastern end of Australia. Alone with many a thought. The sea charges it’s way around the Cape, the undertow pushing him from side to under. The rain belts down for another round of run and hide, I watching from underneath my jacket as he catches a fish. He reels it in, with a heave and release before holding the fish high in his hand. The enigma let’s out a massive hoot, a sense of release from the perseverance, before letting his dinner swim free.

Zig-zagging North-West, I made my way to the Pass. The wilds are tamed to a rate where surfers can bait and tackle these waves which have evolved from the fury outside. Dancing with the tide, and intrigued by the surfers doing lap-upon-lap, I caught a few moments before these surfers caught their own fish, before returning home to the warm of a family cooked meal, whilst leaving the memory of their catch to the sea.

Another three days of this. Enbrace it.