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There was a call to arms put out on the Australian Kayak Fishing Forum, the English Perch were starting to invade the Capitalist motherland once again after a cold winters hibernation. Having infiltrated our home lands previously on a number of occasions, ravaging and destroying our once pristine waterways, it was up to a few baron troopers to thwart there movements and subdue rogue forces expanding towards and over the East, West and Southern basins.
After being dropped at the lakes edge around 9:45am on a gorgeous August Sunday, Craig and I set out to meet fellow members milling around the forsaken battlefield, the infamous Black Mountain Peninsula weed bed. Lake Burley Griffin was eerily calm with not a soul to disturb, graceful Swans hooted in the shallows, Cormorants scouted from beyond while the Gull of the sea took to the airborne flow in droves as we grew closer with suspicious but inattentive disregard.
With no friend nor foe joining us at such an early hour it was time to commence our initial attack runs, weaving back and forth amongst the weeds whilst trolling our dedicated weapons with reckless abandon. My weapons of choice ( Viking Talsiman / Killalure Pakrat ) have been engaged in war many a time and are scarred heavily with memories of the land, Craig had employed the services of a Halco Scorpion with a deadly new silver armoury and a few battle worn, trusted steeds from his lure stable ( Notably dual Poltergeists in notorious garb ).
Collectively we covered respectable ground and the seventh pass, on the seventh minute past the hour of eleven, Craig ( The seventh son of a seventh son ) was attacked mid flank by a large unknown assailant. Being caught off guard drew a costly outcome, the goon started smoking line off the light wand, making off with the corpse of the Scorpion ( No doubt to parade before the Perch King ). The lure had defended his trade well but paid the ultimate price with its life, a restless native was identified as the most plausible culprit. Beginning our second assault phase proved futile, it required the union of fellow members amping numbers beyond the straights towards the Dam wall.
One of Craig's Poltergeists sighted a solo enemy unit fleeing and managed to ensnare the now wailing individual, fearing for his safety he slipped through the lures piercing grasps, earning the passage of freedom and discounting his soul from a ruthless interrogation. Small gusts of wind drew breath from the overcast sky, begging to avenge its brothers death, Craig ordered the two Poltergeists to search the depths as we moved towards the small berth housing the local rowing population. I scrambled with animation, these rowers sculling blind were not to be trusted, keeping an eye open incase of wayward projectiles kept my senses keen and fresh, I could smell the blood of an Englishmen.
It turns out that the English had employed the rural services of the humble indigenous population in hope of early warnings and potential enemy fatalities, the contemplation of losing another soldier to the casualties of war drew frowns on my brow. An American bounty hunter by the name of Bagley mentioned he could speak in various dialects, recently upgraded with razor-sharp weaponry he was deployed on reconnaissance… In recent times he had served under another in the Orient attaining the martial art rank of 'Diving Killer B 1'.
While retreating with hopes of gathering affable numbers, Bagley was ambushed… Raging with torment I became betrothed in his anguish, the skirmish was protracted and fierce and in due course gratifying as a large, fat native announced surrender to the armada. Bagley spoke in tongues unheard of in the southern hemisphere but alas was unable to converse freely with the natives personage. Offering no optimism of locating the English, the Yellow-bellied inhabitant was liberated much to Bagley's consternation.
Adorning the tree lined banks upon return were strange poles, what was the purpose of such wonders? Was it a type of tribal art or expression? Perhaps it was meant to alert marauders as to what lay in wait? Signs of such led Craig and I to hastily recoil into the loving arms of the female advent party, anxiously awaiting our safe homecoming.The first phase of the war was over, during epic crusades such as this, we must constantly remind ones self that the English will return, stronger, faster and in larger numbers than previously encountered before.
It wont be long before they procure the help of the mighty Europeans.
