The Adventures of Ari, Part 10: Coming Home

“I’d trade two steaks for a loaf of home baked bread, even if it was a day old. I’d swap a bottle of bubbles for a dozen eggs, half a dozen if a couple were still warm from the chook.” Ari said out loud.

This food could not be hunted; eggs, bread and milk in particular, Ari was longing for them. He had been camped out, scavenging for mussels for the last week, although he loved them, he had runout of ideas to keep them interesting. Last night he had steamed them in some ‘bubbly’,nicked from a derelict bottle shop.  He had chopped up apples from an old orchard and thrown in some sea weed. It tasted good, but it was time to leave.

Ari was going to return to the city, it had been four years since he had left his sister and most belongings. Driving out quickly on the night the check points went up, not knowing when, or if he could come back.

Returning, he walked in from Hornsby, where Ari had hidden his car. The roads were empty at ten in the morning, apart from a few couriers darting around in their little vans. He wondered what had happened to the traffic.

As Ari walked into north Sydney, a bell sounded and people streamed out of the buildings, standing in lines, stretching and swinging their arms. Regimented, prescribed exercise was being performed, they looked as though they were dressed for surgery, wearing masks, paper overalls and hats. There was no talking. The routine lasted a few minutes before they sat down on benches in the gardens around the buildings to eat their lunch.

Some were drinking from boxes with meal images on the side, others were squeezing pastes out of tubes with similar imagery. On the far side Ari spotted a woman sitting alone, she did not have a mask, and a little of her brown hair was falling out the side. She was very beautiful.

Carefully the brown haired woman opened her bag, removing a pale pink cube from it, gently tapping it against the bench she was sitting on. Slowly she peeled it revealing a pure white centre, then held the white cube gently between her teeth as she reached again into her bag, removing a small brown sachet, tearing the top off with her fingers.

Ari was transfixed, ‘What was this white cube she held between her teeth’?

As she bit into it he could see it was bright yellow, almost orange in the centre. She had sprinkled it with salt from the sachet, and continued to put a pinch on with each bite until it was finished. She dabbed her lips with a tissue as Ari watched, it was an egg, a square egg.

Mixed emotions rushed through Ari, so much beauty, even the square egg. Yet it disturbed him, the world had changed and he wasn’t a part of it.

He looked down at himself seeing worn clothes, brown arms and sturdy boots. He felt his beard, rough on his face and laughed to himself, ‘I don’t think she’d appreciate my mussels, or my muscles’.

All he could think about was leaving, going back to the beach, where his mussels were.

mussels    bubbles   apples

Set Menu Wednesday $40

Bookings Available from 5pm

Salad of asparagus & brinawa with soft boiled egg and herb crumbs

Fresh tasmanian black mussels steamed in white wine, herbs, apples, vegetables & sourdough

Alice’s fresh baked desert.

Served with Katnook Estate Sparkling Wine

The Adventures of Ari, Part 9: Do you want to come diving for crabs?

Relaxing heavily against the side of the canal, Ari breathed deep and quickly trying to recover, first he was capable of hearing nothing, as his heart beat overtime, that was all he could hear.  Then silence sunk in and Ari began to reintroduce his surroundings, like an conductor leading in his orchestra. First the water lapping against the bridge then a fish jumped. He focussed hard to hear if there was anything else, it felt like he had been under water a very long time, not just two minutes.

“Are you alright?” a soft voice asked from behind.

Ari turned quickly, half sliding back into the canal to see the shape of a woman standing with one foot up on a rock. She looked very strong.

“Yep, fine, just a little hungry.” Ari responded toughly.

She asked in response, “do you want to come diving for crabs?”

Not wanting to sound scared, Ari decided to simply ask where, to which she responded by beckoning and proceeded to walk over to the bridge, and climb under it.

“You did well to avoid that Shark,” she said. “Staying low is the key, if you can hold your breath.”

The woman handed him a set of old swimmer goggles, as she pulled on some herself with a flashlight attached to the strap, then entered the water.

“Aren’t you worried about that shark being still around?” Ari asked nervously.

She replied. “They’re always there, you’re better off getting accustomed to the fact, I swim near them, but don’t let them swim near me.”

Ari followed her into the water, it was still dark, with the water pitch black under the bridge. She walked in up to her waist then lowered herself under the water, turning on the flashlight. Ari followed.

Ahead was the torch’s glow, the woman was swimming down, along the bottom of the canal, Ari could see the rocks and weed, the water was surprisingly clear. There were a lot of fish darting around, big and small. Ari stayed as close as possible to her, feeling that if he got separated he would fall prey to the shark, surely.

The flashlight came across the first pylon of the bridge, the woman stopped, turned and lit her face with the torch, pointing to her mouth and expelling all the air from her lungs. Ari did the same, and felt himself sink against the bottom, they sat there cross legged for a second then she slowly stood, he did the same.

On the bottom they stood together, looking at the pylon. It was alive with Blue Swimmer crabs, picking their way over the barnacles busily, taking no notice of the light. The woman reached over and pressed the back of one of the crabs, preventing it’s escape. She left four fingers on its back, then moved her thumb under the crab, holding it firmly with both claws waving, outstretched but incapable of reaching behind. Then repeated the exercise so both hands had a crab. Ari moved over to the pylon and copied the woman, catching two crabs also. They flicked in his hand to a steady beat, trying desperately to reach around and pinch him with their claws, though not quite able.

‘By this time surely she must be out of air’, Ari thought to himself, as his lungs were ready to burst. She looked perfectly calm, then gestured with both her crabs to return to the surface. The kicked together, unable to use their arms to swim, carrying their angry passengers upward. The journey with empty lungs was difficult, with no buoyancy to pop back up. They felt like they were swimming through honey, until they reached the surface and took the first gasp, then floated easily beside the pylon.

“Don’t move around so much, you have to relax, we don’t want that shark coming around here for a snack,” the woman said.

“Sorry”, Ari said as he tried to regain composure. “What’s your name?”

“Valerie”, she replied curtly.

For the first time Ari notice that she spoke with Swiss accent. Valerie was very strong, practical, and obviously knew about sharks. He did not want to seem useless, but still needed to ask. “How do we get back in?”

“Down and across the bottom, same way we got here, and, the same way you got out of your silly little canoe”, she said in a condescending manner, then breathed out and began to sink.

The Adventures of Ari: Part 8: The Canal

He thought, looking across the canal.

“When the fish are running, it sounds like someone fighting to break through the surface, just a litte flick, the odd splash, but essentially the surface is rarely if ever broken, they never make it through.”

Not sure what was under there he stared at the water, his eyes darting toward each noise, hoping to see. On the far side in the moonlight he saw a good size fin break the surface, darting around in semi circles, chasing fish. Most likely a Bull Shark.

“Nothing like the movies”, he thought. “They are much slower, and focused, not erratic like this one.”

He slid the kayak Ootle Bird into the water, bracing the paddle against the rocks and slipped into the kayak.

The skirt on the kayak had long since perished, but his hand line was still stowed inside, with a spinner attached. Ari fed out ten meters of line whilst he paddled, then anchored it between his legs, the lure trailing behind. He felt safe, surprisingly, with only two millimetres of fibreglass between him and the world beneath. Occasionally he would startle a fish to jump, sometimes there would be a strong, fresh fish smell. A recent dinner completed in the underworld, with oils and particles concentrated in the water. He paddled onward, waiting for his first strike, turning just the other side of the bridge to Chevron Island Bridge.

Ari reached out far with his right arm, putting his whole weight on the flat of the paddle, dragging the kayak into a sharp arc. He felt a trickle of the canal lap over the edge of the kayak, and quickly levelled the boat. Ootle Bird was becoming sluggish, paddling diagonally toward the bank to give room for the fishing line to turn he noticed that water was now up around his buttocks. She was breaking silently underneath him and folded suddenly, wrapping around him forcing his legs to his chest. They sank together silently, there was no need to yell, know one lived here.

Memories began to enter his mind, as he struggled to free himself from his fibreglass trap, Ari thought of a discussion he often had with an old mate, never panic, relax and work out what to do. He stopped fighting and decided to sink to the bottom first, hoping the kayak would unfold when it rested. He lay on his back across the deck as it settled on the bottom, the water was much colder here. He slid out easily, noticing that the fishing line was taught, moving erratically.

The thought that the Bull Shark may have followed Ari, worried him.

‘

‘You can feel so strong on land yet in this world, under the water, so helpless and vulnerable.’ he thought. ‘This surely can’t be my time’.

Still on the bottom of the canal, Ari was now very aware of every noise, every movement in the water. It was pitch black apart from the moon. His lungs were ready to burst, he decided to float slowly to the surface, hoping not to attract any attention. As he broke through he filled his lungs and lay there, hoping to go unnoticed.

“Now, to make it to the edge,” he thought.

There was an imaginary line Ari created, it lay the depth of a toddlers paddle pool, this was the safe zone. He lay flat on his back and stared at the moon, swimming with a gentle ‘star’ like movement, if only his heel remained out of the water below his toddlers pool, then, maybe he would go unnoticed. There were no sounds of the fish on the end of his line now, it had been consumed, or maybe just swam out of energy. Either way, any attention would be on him now, fearfully, he imagined just below the shark circling, looking for him, confused, waiting for any body part to break through the membrane below. His shoulders nudged the bank and Ari manoeuvred his legs around, without letting them drop below. Safe, and hungry.

A gentleman beyond reproach.

On the riverbed Tia hovered in the hole, just a gentle, slow, wiggle was all it took to hold her spot. Slightly seductive, yet nonchalant. She knew he was watching from the other side of the hole, he was often there, it was comforting. Other than him there was little to see, most of the yabbies only came out at night, she dared not dig around in the day time in case a bird might spot her and snap her up. She was still small enough to be hoisted from the water.

Tom was watching Tia’s slow wiggle, he was shy, and lived within strict rules. One of which was never to approach, he had always been that way and nothing would change that. None the less, she was nice to watch, he had worked out that she was scared to hunt in daytime. Often he caught a yabby and dropped it up stream, then swam down quickly to watch it wash into her path. She would barely break rhythm to snap it up, before returning to her waggle.

Tia looked up stream, where she heard a noise, another one of Tom’s offerings no doubt. She felt a little bit guilty about always accepting his food, but never offering friendship. He was however missing a wing, had scars all over and seemed, just, a little strange. She much preferred the look of those long strong young ones that paced the river, mile after mile.

The noise had not escaped Tom either, he woke from a snooze that he had perfected, placing himself in an eddy, wedged between a rock and an old boot he could catch a nap whilst letting the water swirl over his gills. He flicked out of his wedge and moved over to his usual vantage point, just in time to see a yabby drifting groggily toward Tia.

“Damn”, he thought. “Someone else is feeding my girl.”

Something drew Tom closer to the yabbie, it had a smell about it, very alluring. He could see a trail of oil following it, smelling of yabbie also. As a matter of fact, the whole river was alive with the smell of yabbie. Tom was a little suspicious, although if someone was fishing, usually one of the young cods would would have let him know as they flew past on one of the stupid laps. He looked up to see if a man was there, he saw nothing.

Tia had smelt the yabbie also, she was very impressed. “Dinner at this time of day, what a treat.”

She watched as the yabbie staggered with the current toward her, this one was still alive.

“Obviously Tom’s teeth are falling out”, she thought as she began to slowly waggle in to position, ready to gobble the yabbie down. She opened her mouth just as the yabbie was staggering toward her. Chomp, she bit him.

Tom felt her teeth sink into his side, just as he felt the hook lodge in his mouth, he tried to back off the hook, but Ari was on the other end of the line. With one sharp pull the hook was lodged, Tom launched against the line, and swam toward Tia. She had returned to her waggling, and Ari slowly reeled him up stream.

Next weeks Wednesday Night dinner will be fish.

The Adventures of Ari: Part 6 “Ootle Bird”

Ari drove along the empty, straight, freeway toward Burley. The road was totally different since the pacific highway had been upgraded. He hadn’t driven this way since he was 21, when he planned to sail the Gulf Carpinteria on a Hobie with Bernie. He never made it further than Double Island Point. On that last trip he left Newcastle at 10pm and drove through the night, he was meant to stop in Woolgoolga, but Bernie fell asleep and woke at sunrise, pissed off to see cane fields either side of the road. Ari had pulled over to look for a map, Bernie stepped around the back of the ute and jobbed him fair in the jaw. ‘At least they were closer to where they were to look for work’, he had thought at the time.

This time Ari was alone, heading for a house he had heard was lived in by some ‘outsiders’ that had been able to avoid capture, so far. Here he hoped to find company, and perhaps someone to hunt with. He had a beautiful picture in his mind of what he would find when he arrived, some beer, maybe even someone to cook for him.

Ari drove slower now as he approached the centre of town, there were no lights, the old casino loomed up on the left, then the high rises on the right. He slowed and turned left, pulling to a stop. He had developed a special trick for his Premier, a switch that allowed the car to remain running after he shut the door, but if the door was reopened without pressing a small button under the front wheel arch the car would turn off. This was a useful to find out if he was being watched, as most could not resist sneaking a peek inside.

Walking west down Sunshine Blvd, Ari stuck to the middle of the road so he could keep an eye out for movement. He was heading for a place he stayed last time, a long time ago. As he neared the end of the road, he spotted the old two story block of units, ‘ April Court’, they were empty now with the windows smashed, there were still some ragged curtains swaying in and out. No sign of the old residents; ‘Personality Pete’, from Thevenard, Steve, the toothless Janitor, Brian from ‘Old Bar’ and definitely no sign of Bernie, he was long gone. This place was once alive, with the comings and goings of spent men, hiding from their ex wives, the law, or just unable to escape the underside of the ‘Goldy’. There were never women there, no woman would feel safe in such a place, with eyes following their every move.

There was still the faint sound of the car burbling, so Ari slipped around the back of the April Court heading for the space between the units and the fence, hoping that something he had left there would still be there. The weeds had grown high, and it was damp smelling, there was no light and he hadn’t brought a torch, so he tapped his toe around in the weeds, looking for her. She was still there, ‘Ootle Bird’, Bernie’s old Kayak, covered in mouldy carpet and weeds. Ari’s car was still burbling in the distance, He would go fishing tomorrow.

River Poker

River Poker: The Adventures of Ari, Part 5

Ari drove his old Holden over the undulating track, across the flood plane toward the river. He pulled off to the side well before he could see it, turned off the motor, got out and walked briskly around to the boot of the car. He opened it and grabbed an old yellow school satchel, quickly slung it over his shoulder and moved toward the river. He was hungry again.

As he approached the river he slowed, and moved forward carefully, keeping a look out for any parties of food scouts, conscious also that he needed to maintain a distance from the water in case the fish spotted him. Once they were aware of him, the word would pass quickly through the water for miles that someone was on the hunt.

Ari surveyed the river from a distance, looking for a deep hole, somewhere the water slowed and circled gently, a perfect place to try his luck. To do this without alerting the elders of the river required an emotional understanding of the riverbed. He looked at the far bank of the river as he walked through the trees, out of the line of sight from the surface of the water carefully looking for a steep section that had recently collapsed. He found one soon, this was a good sign, so he hung his satchel over a tree, grabbed his hand reel and began to jog downstream.

He ran smoothly, darting through the trees, leaping over logs, it was a rare pleasure to move like this, his body was eager. After twenty minutes he slowed and moved across to the river and sat at the edge, reaching into his pocket for a duck bone he had stored there this morning after breakfast, he hadn’t gnawed it clean this time, so it had begun to smell a little. He attached it to the end of his fishing line with a firm knot and lobbed it into the centre of the river and waited for it to sink. When he felt it touch the bottom he began to trawl it very slowly back toward him, he took a full half hour to bring the line within a metre of him, there he left it. Slowly out of the murk a pack of yabbies surrounded the bone and , approaching carefully, they began to feed.

The secret to collecting more than one was to carefully pluck out the members of the yabbie pack from the rear. First Ari moved his hand in, under the water without a sound, then careful not to cast a shadow he glided it in one smooth movement to the first, collecting it between his thumb and index finger. He collected the rest quickly in the same manner, leaving one remaining to feed on the bone. There were eleven in total, more that enough for lunch if he chose.

Ari had dug a hole in the damp river bank whilst trawling his fishing line and had collected the yabbies there, keeping them alive whilst he prepared his line for the fish he was to catch. First he washed his line and reel meticulously in the water, making sure he removed any smells form the boot of his car, the old cod were very cautious, more than happy to pass up a meal out of fear. Then he cut nine 12 ft lengths of fishing line and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box of hooks. He attached a hook to each length of line, then connected each to the one point on the remaining real of fishing line.

The yabbies were moving around the damp hole he had dug, he grabbed two and smashed them up, rubbing them into the line, covering it in all their juices. Ari then collected the rest and threaded a hook through each one, hiding it deep inside them. They remained alive for now whilst he rolled up his line carefully and draped the nine tails of hooked crays over his shoulder, jogging back quickly to where he had hung his satchel.

Once arriving back Ari quickly drank water from a small bottle he had in the bag, then moved twenty metres up stream, dropped to his belly and dragged himself carefully to the edge of the river bank. The fish could not see him. He hung his head over the edge and looked across at the other side, it was well within casting reach. He spied the steep collapsed portion of the bank, a little downstream, the water was moving slowly there, but in front of him the river moved at a walking pace, ‘perfect’, he thought to himself.

He remained on his belly, laying out the yabbies in front of him, they had slowed a little now, but were still alive. ‘The water would wake them up’, he thought. Ari rolled on his back and cast all nine lines over his head, then quickly rolled to his belly and watched them sinking slowly, the river washing them toward the hole. The line stopped moving once in front of the collapsed bank. ‘It is a hole, lets just hope it’s occupied’, he wished. If it wasn’t he had gambled his lunch for nothing, as the yabbies would be dead within an hour or two, there would be no second chance.

A Bad Dream

The Adventures of Ari: Part 4 “A Bad Dream”

Ari remembered the farm he worked on in his late teens, it had been a shock for a city boy to end up there. The farmer reminded him often of his shortfalls.

It was an interesting place at dinner time. The farmer was a vain man, although a brut, he preened himself like a model paying particular attention to his shorts and shirt. They were tucked in tight and pulled up high, one size to small. He fancied himself as an athlete and diet was of huge importance. The meat they ate was lean and dry, cooked with spray oil in a non stick pan. It did not brown, it steamed a grey colour and was cooked right through.

The farmer would say to Ari, “there’s no fast food out here mate, just good honest food from the land.”
Ari considered this assertion and thought of the beautiful paddocks of cows and asked “Do you ever eat any of your calves?”
“Too much trouble and I only eat the leaner cuts,” the farmer replied knowingly.

There was a drain at the end bottom of the cattle yard where the cows waited to be moved through for milking. Ari had spotted watermelon, pumpkin, tomatoes & potato growing randomly in the fertile soil where the dirty water washed from the milking sheds.
‘Why did none of this ever grace the farm’s kitchen table?’ he thought.

One morning after milking the farmer declared that he needed Ari to come to the tip to shoot cats, as though it was a matter of National Security.

“I want you to drive down the lane, with me in the passenger seat, and as you pull into the tip’s clearing swing to the west and pull up fast, got it?” the farmer said excited.
“Yep, …..I think.” Ari responded.

Ari swung into the tip a little slow and the cats disappeared, but not before the farmer had brought his rifle up from his lap and fired a worthless round in their general direction.
“You stuffed it”, he said. “Still I’d better teach you how to shoot whilst we are here,” as he lined up some cans.
Under full instruction Ari couldn’t hit one can, much to the farmer’s disgust.

They returned the jeep and the farmer drove them to the furthest paddock on the property. A cow lay on her side, she had been there for a couple of days.
He walked over to her with the rifle and beckoned to Ari to follow. As they looked over the cow, Ari could see her big eyes watching them. She had spent years in service to the farmer and had fallen, breaking her leg. The farmer coldly drew three imaginary dots on the side of her temple with the muzzle of his rifle and requested that Ari shoot her there.

He always remembered this day, as the farmer had just left her there in the paddock, returning later with the tractor and digging her into the field. Ari would have sat with her for a while at least, if he had the chance. He had wondered why there was no further use for her, with his experience now there is no way he would have left a feast like that to go to waste.
Ari thought to himself. ‘To this date I can’t remember who pulled the trigger, me or the farmer. I know he wanted me to, but I am sure I would have taken too long, yet I still feel like I did regardless.’