Wanda by Writer Paul Carter MD
by writer Paul Carter MD
One of the many joys of our new house is a large and extremely deep well behind the kitchen which dates back to the time when it was used to water the horses on their way to the goldfields. And to our surprise, as we only found out after we moved in, it is full of fish. Most of them are the sort of things you would expect to see in a bowl on the side table in the living room, but there is also a single large black and white koi.
She swims amongst the others like a battleship through a flotilla of rowboats. ‘Wanda’ we call her, and we were delighted to make her acquaintance.
The previous owners of our new house, however, took the view that Wanda wasn’t part of the fixtures and fittings we had bought from them, and they tried to take her with them. Having obviously failed in their previous attempts before we arrived, they returned, together with a ute-load of nets and rods, to have another go a couple of weeks after we moved in. But every time Wanda so much as glimpsed a head poking over the edge of the well, let alone saw a rod or a net, she disappeared into the inky depths like a supersonic torpedo.
After an hour or so of lunging and missing, our predecessors frustratedly threw their hands in the air, packed up all their gear, and trudged off empty-handed, leaving Wanda with us to this day.
Where they went wrong is that they didn’t call upon the services of Gilly, who is an award-winning fisherperson. And I’m glad that they didn’t for, if they had, I have no doubt that within a few minutes Wanda would have been scooped up and on her way to her new home. Gilly’s skills came to light during a cruise up the Kimberley coast some years ago where, on the spur of the moment, she joined a fishing expedition. The boat was full of dedicated enthusiasts who all had their own special equipment made out of fancy cutting-edge materials, and who constantly and excitedly talked to one another about past triumphs. Gilly was the only woman on board, and the only one without any fishing gear.
Having reached the designated fishing ground, the boys all cast their lines. There was an air of excitement about the anticipated frenzy of catching, but nothing happened. There was not so much as a ripple on the surface of the water, and the boat just rocked gently and silently under the sun.
I think Gilly had intended to simply read a book during the trip, but in the disappointment of the moment, and with nothing else to do, someone handed her a hand line and someone else put a worm on a hook for her and showed her how to lower it over the side.
As the bait went into the water, Gilly felt a tug. ‘I think I’ve got something,’ she called out.
‘Probably just snagged the bottom, love,’ they all said without turning around, but then Gilly’s line jerked so violently that she almost went overboard, and just a minute or so later she was helped to land her very first fish. A giant Golden Bream, which fed everyone, including the entire crew of the mother ship, for two days.
And then Gilly couldn’t stop so that every time she dipped her hand line in the water, she pulled up yet another leviathan. Fifty of them in all over three days, by the end of which time the kitchen staff were all in love with her, the deckhands had given her an award, and none of her fishing companions would so much as speak to her.
Our breakfast table overlooks the well. Wanda has learned that Gilly is not a threat these days, so quite often they start the day by waving good morning to one another.
