geof the baker- fishing

GEOFF THE BAKER (I’ll show you how)

As well as Pet Fitters, there were also some RASC Bakers on the Island. They were a most welcome group and I must say that those lads produced some of the best bread I’ve eaten. The two I can remember are Billy Treen and Geoff Newport.

Now, Geoff was too good to be true. He was the dead opposite of the “Prof” He didn’t know it, had never done it and didn’t have the tee shirt. He just baked bread and was the biggest Bull Sh***er on the Island.

When we arrived he had just started his second tour on the Rock.

With that in mind he took it upon himself to be our guide and mentor. He was kidding no one. For someone on his second tour he should have known better.

Firstly, as can be seen (see photo) he still had a luminescence that made folk put on their designer shades. He bloody glowed in the dark.

Secondly, if you were going to do anything, he’d “done that last time I was here” or “if you wait I’ll show you what to do”.

The next couple of “shorts” will detail how his expertise sometimes let him down.

FISHING

Apart from “Panic Tanning” and “Drinking” the only other really time-consuming pastime on Christmas Island was the sport of fishing. I use the term sport very, very loosely.

There were various methods of fishing. The right way was with all the appropriate tackle and methods. The wrong way, any means of landing a fish without tackle or decorum, and as we were to learn, Geoff’s way. Very amusing to onlookers and a blessing to all fish in the sea.

Basically, it all started when Yorkie and I decided to purchase some tackle from the NAAFI. Not your rubbish Carbon Fibre kit that floods the market now, but real quality stuff made from bamboo/brass and crossed fingers. However, prior to our purchase Geoff promised to give us a display of the cheaper method if we’d meet him behind the NAAFI after lunch.

Lunch finished, Yorkie and I proceeded to the beach area behind the NAAFI. We purchased our tins of refreshment and found a comfortable place to sit. It should now be noted that there were a few more new “Moonies” present who’d just arrived. They too had obviously been warned by Geoff that they were in for a demo to end all demos.

As if by magic Geoff arrived, glowing impeccably in the rays of the sinking sun.

First of all we received a brief description of his collection of “tackle”. This really had to be seen to be believed. It consisted of a “Whiteways” Cider can. Reason: they were a bit longer than your standard beer can. Approximately 100 yards (before EEC) of nylon line with a breaking strain of 20-25 lbs. A bullet weight of 5-6ozs, a metal trace and hook. The bait was the ever faithful “weirdo” (Hermit crab less shell).

Intriguing, how do you fish with that? No problem, Geoff was going to demonstrate. Keep in mind there were now about 10-15 half drunken squaddies giving their full attention to their teacher.

“First of all, you wind the line on to the can like this.” Great demo, slow but precise.

“Next you tie on the trace and weight.” Things are now becoming almost unbearable.

“Last but not least, you put the bait on the hook.” Gasps of drunken pleasure as he impales the hermit crab on to the hook.

“What you do now is to let off about 9 or 10 feet of line, hold the can so it faces the direction you are casting, swing the lead, trace and bait around your head at high speed, and then let it fly gracefully out to sea.”

Brilliant, why hadn’t we come up with that idea? Look at the money we could save. The bamboo forests that would never be ravaged to make rods for alcoholically incapable anglers.

So much for the lecture and briefing. Now for the demonstration.

Geoff was in his element. Dozens of eyes fixed on nothing but him. Beer cans ready to be raised in salute.

We all hold our breath. Geoff in a world of his own unwinds 9 or 10 feet of line, stands legs akimbo, the left side of his body facing the waves. Effortlessly he starts to rotate the line around his head, faster, faster and faster. The whistle of the line through the air begins to mesmerise us all.

Whoosh, he lets the line go. We all look out to sea. Nothing but a funny clinking noise.

What was going on? I’ll tell you what was going on. This high speed length of nylon line had caught a snag on the can. From being a fishing line heading out to sea it had suddenly become a garrotte heading back towards an unsuspecting Geoff.

The straight line had turned into a return trip. It came hurtling back, wrapped itself around him about six times strapping his arms to his body. The final insult was when the line reached its end. The well-baited hook embedded itself into the rear end of our “hero”.

His screams of agony, and our drunken cheers and applause must have been heard in Hawaii. “Thanks, Geoff,” we all said as we trooped off to buy our bamboo rods. Can fishing was far too dangerous.