After the tents where up, we'd set up the old camp table and chairs. The we'd go for a walk along the beautiful lagoon. At night, dad and I would often go for a stroll in the adjacent camp site were there were hundreds of dilapidated caravans. It was quite spooky at night but I always felt perfectly safe because I was with dad and it was at times like this that I'd feel such love for him that my eyes would literally well up. Then on the way home, we'd stop off at the little camp shop and get mint chocolates.
Breakfasts were always a veritable feast. All three of us were big eaters and we'd create a huge fry up using an ancient iron frying pan - egg and lots of bacon and banana and bread and tomatoes and more would all go into the pan and the gorgeous smell would create much anticipation for what was to come.
Mum found a pile of old letters that I wrote to Gran and Gramps when I was a child. Amongst them is a drawing (see photo below) of all the elements I've mentioned - the old tree, the Variant, the orange tent, my small tent and the camp table. This drawing is now a treasured possession. I feel so thankful to Gran and Gramps for keeping it.
I have two particularly vivid memories from our camping trips. The first was when a large black snake slithered across the grass close to the tents. I was absolutely terrified and gramps, in a protective instinct, gave it a mighty wack on the head with a large stick. It turned out in the end that it was a non poisonous mole snake. When it was dead, I was able to hold it and I was absolutely fascinated by the way its scaly skin felt.
The second was my first ever fishing experience. Dad patiently showed me how to create fishing knots and tie on hooks and sinkers. Then he taught me how to cast and I practised over and over again on a long section of grass by the tents. Finally it was time to try the real thing. I was so excited. We pumped prawns on a large mudflat close to the camp site - dad always maintained that live prawns made the best bait. Then we went down to the lagoon mouth and dad taught me the grissly knack of threading the hook through the wriggling prawn. I cast in and as if ordained, caught a feisty steenbras within 10 minutes!! Talk about beginner's luck. Excitement doesn't adequately describe how I felt.
Unfortunately it's been downhill since then. I'm been fishing many times since then but I'm usually the last to catch a fish or the fish I do catch are laughingly tiny. But nothing can take away the thrill of catching that first fish.
