The Bunyip

I was inspired to add this by a, ~coughs modestly~ friend.

Thanks Harry.

http://wayfareingstranger.blogspot.com/

Picture Australia. Right-hand side, down a bit from Sydney, sort of midway toward Melbourne. Just where the coastline folds back on itself. Beautiful place called Merimbula.

Look it up, it's worth it. I was there a while ago. A sandbar facing the ocean gives shelter to the tidal lagoon in the lee. Herein is the town proper. Between the two is The Boardwalk, just seen bottom left curling away.

Here it was that we met the Bunyip.

The air is warm and the sea-breeze lends a welcome cooling in the evening. The tide is ebbing and myriad creatures scuttle and dive and splash in the receeding water. Crabs in legion seek the warming sun and run swiftly from our shadows. Fish dash from pool to pool in the race to keep pace with the waters edge.
We leave our shoes on the wooden walkway and step down into the mud and sand. Revelling in that glorious moment when bare toes encounter the delicious, wet and cooling mud.
A large fish catches our attention as it sploshes its way across the rivulets and on down to the waters edge. We follow, groaning when it seems to turn and start back up the shore, and encouraging every small delay and seemingly last, fultile effort.
Without warning the fish is dead. Speared to the mud by a gleaming three-pronged wepon.
We jump as the figure responsible for hurling the missile bounds past us. "Gotcha! Little sucker will cook-up good. It'll go well with the crabs and sand-sole. Could have used one last night. Very quick across sand. Not an easy shot. But you only get them in clean, fresh water. Not many places left. Here and Upper parts of Queensland is all I know of and I travel about a bit. I was down in Victoria earlier in the week, water is getting a bit cold down there though.
He held out a hand. "Marcus," he said and reached down to brush a small crab from his bare foot. And then he began to talk.
During the next hour, or was it more? We learned the best way to catch any amount of marine life. The best way of holding a knife when one simply has to skin a kangaroo. How the waters around the coast tell you all you need to know about the state of the world. Why sometimes the tide will seem to reverse and start coming back in again when it should be going out.
He furthered our education with tales of derring-do that had our skin stand on end. Great was the rejoicing as he emerged unscathed from yet another emcounter with a fish that possessed particularly perceptive powers of pluck.
He talked. Then he talked some more. All the talking he did in the first half-hour just warmed him up for the second.
We could aid him by agreeing to purchase the fish that still was impaled on the trident which, by the by, had been a gift from a grateful resident up in the Northern Territories; Stainless steel, finely balanced, a joy to use. We could have a go if we liked,? But would we like to purchase the fish?
The colour of the sand was important. The way the clouds hesitated before crossing the range of mountains could give a clue to the days weather. The local Council here had imposed many good restrictions for fishing whereas the next town along the coast was not so caring and suffered by a reduction in the amount of fish. Dirty sand is bad.
He had journeyed far and wide. The peaks of the distant Blue Mountains had been his route south earlier in the year. Now the coastline was his footpath back north to follow the warmer waters. Spend the winter far north where the tropical air flowed freely. If it rained, shit, it was bloody warm rain!

His way of life beame clear. Living off the land and his wits. Freedom to come and go and with the wherewithall to Live his life
When we finally managed to escape the ramblings of the fellow it was because another couple had appeared to enquire about the fishing. We took advantage in the pause and continued along the Boardwalk.
As we set forth a voice said cheerily, "I see you met the Bunyip?" Across the mud and seated on a comfortable verandah supported by stout logs above the waterline sat a man drinking and relaxing on the lower deck of a timber house that stretched up the bank. He was at pains to point out that the man was a regular visitor to the town and he was harmless, though maybe a little eccentric. Mostly the townspeople just ignored him.
And there he was out in the bay. Still talking. The Bunyip.

The man on the verandah decking described bunyip simply as a bum.
Further research will show it predates Bums and is present in Aboriginal Dream Time. A cannibal.
He was a very pleasant chap. In his way interesting, but not being able to stop him to ask questions was a tad disconcerting. That he will be able to survive is not in doubt and his lifestyle has so many attractions. All the freedom he can eat!
And there is the gulf.
A gulf of our own making of course. Each of us chooses a path.
All I know is that I failed to buy the fish the Bunyip offered. - Was this a good move?

<<>>