Hooks and lures and fishing line, an eight foot throwing net,
The sea is calm, the weather fine, there’s challenge to be met.
Bait fish schools along the rocks dart frantically away,
Mesh descends on heavy weights to trap unwary prey.

A baited hook is set and cast, the line is brought in taught,
Time, like water, trickles past, the battle still un-fought.
The sun beats down on golden sand, the waves lap at the shore,
The rod is passed from hand to hand as shoulders become sore.

Nibblers tease and rip the bait, but miss the gleaming hook,
Larger fish show here and there, but only seem to look.
Then all at once the sea explodes with one almighty flash,
A heavy pull and line reels off a headlong racing dash.

Leaping, twisting, running deep, the line pays off the reel,
Excitement builds and tension mounts, the fishes’ fate is sealed.
Pumping rod and straining arms bring colour to the top,
But once again the fish will run, it seems to never stop.

An hour or more of reeling in, the fish begins to tire,
Arms, neck and shoulders burn, and feel like they’re on fire.
The battle nearly over now the fish comes closer in,
At last you have it in your hand, how sweet it is to win.

Looking down at shining scales of silver, black and blue,
The streamlined body glistens with the light of every hue.
With mouth agape and staring eyes the fish begins to gasp,
The hook is pulled, the fish reacts, falling from your grasp.

Back into the sea once more, it slowly swims away,
Maybe to get hooked again and fight another day.
A flick of tail and flash of scale, it vanishes from sight,
You long to hook it up again and recommence the fight.