The other day I was out in the water, as I seem to be a fair bit these days, sitting about waiting for a wave to come my wave. As a small wave approached I bobbed down before it, losing sight of the horizon. As I bobbed over the wave, directly in front of me I saw three small fish, no larger than the size of a can of sardines, jump out of the water at great speed, in a flat arc slightly above the surface of the water, trying, no doubt, to avoid becoming the prey of something a little larger. I turned my head in an involuntary reflex action as I saw a fish coming straight for my face, and whack, the speeding bullet hit me just below my right eye. In the immediate aftermath I was too shocked to do anything, even feel the stinging pain in my eye. I had seen plenty of jumping fish before but I had never seen them strike anything. After a while I felt the stinging in my eye, but when I finally opened it I was relieved that I seemed to still have my vision. As there was nobody else out at the point, I sat there completely in wonder at the chances of a small fish being in the same place in my face given the expanse of ocean in which it had to roam. After a while the pain died down, a wave came my way, and I paddled on to it, and was soon focusing on making the next section.
However, sometimes now when I close my eyes I see that steely, cold, dark, black eye of the fish coming my way, fulfilling its date with destiny and my face.
A travel blog for the thinking clown who has drunk a little too much of the local tap water
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