A Very Fishy Tale

• Tyler Quinn, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2022

I never cared much for fishing. Yet, there I was, feeling nauseous and looking a bit green around the gills in our trusty, old tinny. My parents insisted we have some brotherly time and go wet a line. There was a choppy swell crashing against our boat. The stench of rotten mullet and bait filled my nostrils and made me heave. At least it made for a good burley.

Storm clouds started rolling in and the sky turned black. The temperature dropped rapidly and an icy wind whipped our faces. We decided to reel in our lines and head back to shore before the storm hit.
“James, start the motor!” My brother Charlie yelled over the howl of the wind.
As I pulled the cord, there was a fizzle in the engine. Charlie pushed me out of the way and gave it an almighty tug, but to no avail. The motor was dead.

Panic set in. “What do we do now?” I asked fearfully, my voice beginning to quiver.
“Grab the oars and paddle like your life depends on it,” Charlie replied firmly. We saddled up alongside each other and thrust through the swell which was growing larger by the minute.

“Pass me the dry box. My mobile’s there. I’ll call to get help,” I said impatiently.
Just as my brother picked up the phone a freak wave crashed over the side of the boat and we took on a lot of water. The phone was thrown from my grasp and the waves were unrelenting. One after the other, pounding over us.

I grabbed the bucket and frantically started bailing out water. Despite my efforts, the boat was filling quicker than I could bail. Much to our horror, the realisation set in that we were sinking. We secured our life vests firmly around our chests and held on tightly to each other so we wouldn’t get separated. All our belongings were now floating around us when I spotted the dry box. The salt water stung my eyes as I dived to retrieve it.

Charlie was desperately sounding his whistle, while I unscrewed the lid to the dry box. I fumbled around feeling for the flare gun and ammunition. I clumsily loaded the flare into the chamber and prayed for a successful outcome. Holding my arm high above my head I pulled the trigger. A red glowing flare shot into the dark sky. This one small light was our only hope.

Charlie and I huddled together, trying our best to inhale air and not choke on the mountain of seawater that repeatedly struck our faces. It seemed like an eternity before we heard the hum of a helicopter overhead. Our eyes were blinded by the bright flashlights streaming down upon us. Tears of joy rolled down my face as I realised we were going to be ok. A ladder was lowered down and the rescue team pulled us to safety.

I always hated fishing, but now I had a good reason.