A wild life
Life is a journey, they say. The paths we choose determine the direction we follow. For me, the ocean, the bush and the creatures which call these environments home have had a huge influence on my way of life. Now I’m not writing my memoirs just yet, the trip’s not over. I may have hung up my wetsuit, mask and fins, but my old hunting boots and fishing rods are cleaned, oiled and ready to go. This article is just an overview of my journey so far.
Island life
Being born on Kangaroo Island had a lot to do with my love of the water and the scrub. We were surrounded by it. With three brothers and three sisters for company, a watchful mother, and a father who was a professional fisher, life was good. I can’t remember ever having much money. Dad was a good fisher, but when it blew a gale, he couldn’t go out catching fish.
The stone house where we grew up in Kingscote still stands. It would have to be a century old, I reckon. Today, it would be called a cottage - to us kids it was home. The thick walls insulated us from the heat of summer, with an open fire for warmth in winter. We had a big yard, with the old dunny up the back, and a huge spare block next door, overgrown with boxthorn bushes. We lived in bare feet and boxthorns were always being pulled out of our leathery soles, but the berries were good to eat.
Dad used to take us out in the old boat to where the deeper channel ran between the bushy island and the point. The tide ripped through
