I can taste the salt coming off the page. Sarah Drummond shares her apprenticeship as a fisherwoman with poetic cursing and forthright confessions. The culture of Australian shore fisherpeople is being squeezed from all sides, with the commercial fishery operations, the fish and game, and the residential folks who don't want their beach fishing hindered.
The character nicknames are priceless.
A taste:
"Dodgy wet-weather gear in sideways rain when the nearest hot shower or clothes dryer is fifty kilometers away, is a real bastard.
Then Salt backed into the net and bound up the prop in monofilament. You know the Conchords song 'Business Time'? Yeah, well. It's Whingeing Time. Six in the morning, the sun not yet wakened and my expletives were already spraying the deck. Salt always thinks my tantrums are very funny, so to up the entertainment, he backed into the net a second time after I'd untangled the first one from the propeller." (23)
"Beneath the boat, I could only imagine all the things going on, connected to these happenings by the net and what it would reveal. There was the skin of the water and Salt's boat, floating above this universe. Down there, flathead swam in toothy, carnivorous swathes and the eccentric little spider crab preened her new crown--a single length of seagrass. Turquoise grass whiting fled from the greedy spotted sharks and vampire bat rays. Strange currents ran beneath the calm surface, rolling the net into tight bundles of monofilament and weed. Seagrass undulated in rippling meadows and above all the drama, the dinghy fidgeted against her anchor like a naughty pony." (24)