Easter Story 4

What do fish do at Easter time? They know nothing of Lent.

The question had not crossed the minds of Pliny and Nostradamus yesterday. They went to Port Noarlunga for a picnic and a walk beside the sea.

They sat near the rocks and ate salmon rolls, rock melon and grapes. The sun was shining, the sky was blue. It was 24 degrees. What perfect Easter weather we are having, they said.

They walked towards the southern cliffs and the Onkaparinga mouth, carrying their shoes in a bag. The reef was under water and only a faint line of splashes showed where it was. The sea, black green and blue green out there, was a pale translucent green at the shore, stretching up like toffee before dumping loudly on the sand.

When they reached the river they turned with it and sat down facing the opposite cliffs, on a small ridge of sand at the edge of the water. The tide was coming in. The river was racing inland. Small white fish were speeding along with it in mid stream. But something was not right with the small white fish.

After some time Pliny and Nostradamus realised that they were not even fish. They were just scum. It is less fascinating to watch scum swimming past. Pliny turned around.

Between her and the sea was a low sand hill, and metres away, on the horizon of the low sand hill were a hundred Hitchcockian seagulls. Pliny turned back to look at the water swirling into a tiny inlet just near her feet. The ripples and cross currents formed patterns like fish scales edged with golden light.

They got up and walked back along the edge of the river towards Port Noarlunga. Along a narrow churned up track between the water and the sand hills they passed fishing families with runaway dogs and sulky sons and daughters. The track opened up into sticky mud flats half covered in low green succulents with swollen red tips. The water was flat, reflective.

But not so reflective. Pliny and Nostradamus could see grey and brown fish in it, of small to medium size.

The closer they got to the bridge at the end of the sand hill trail, the more of these fish they could see. Nostradmus stopped to tell a fisherman that he had just seen a number of fish some way back. There's plenty here too, said the fisherman. But they're not biting today.

And they were not. There were hundreds of them in suspension all pointing southwards, and they were not biting today.