I was walking the cliffs near my house this morning, and I made a shocking discovery – a small fishing boat, completely abandoned and beached gently in a small cove, miraculously unharmed by the rocks. I scrambled down to investigate it, pulling it further onto the sand so it wouldn’t be washed back out with the already-receding tide. It was abandoned – thankfully – and didn’t look anything like the crime scene I was concerned it would be.
I scoured it for clues – where had it come from? Who owned it?
I couldn’t find any contact information, so I investigated all of the fixtures and fittings. Clearly it had been well-loved before it was whisked away by the tides – someone had spent a lot of time making custom stainless steel marine fabrication. Melbourne work, by the looks of the quality. I let out a low whistle as I admired the fishing rod holders, and the impressively-mounted snapper racks.
‘I wonder if you ever caught anything,’ I laughed to myself, at the clearly un-stained steel. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’
I moved to the front of the boat, hopping back onto the beach, sinking to one knee in the wet sand. As I struggled free, I noticed the high quality boat latch installation and let out another whistle – when had I started whistling? I frowned at myself. Too much solo walking, maybe. Even this inner monologue was new, I realised with a start.
Shaking free of my own existential crisis, I stood back and surveyed the boat, trying to decide what to do. I eventually realised there was nothing I could do – I’d even left my phone back up at my house, so calling for help wasn’t an option.
‘Oh well,’ I shrugged. ‘A nice distraction at least.’
I trudged back up the cliff face, passing by a distressed looking man in a captain’s hat.
‘Have you seen a boat around here,’ he asked, reaching out a hand to stop me. ‘I can’t remember where I parked it.’