Trekkies - A tribute

TREKKIES – a tribute

Intrepid – is a word that comes to mind
while watching fishermen who “trek” their nets.
Invariably you’ll find
the catch, a paltry pack of puffer fish,
the odd sand-shark and a handful of harders.
Hard work for such poor return.
One day I saw them load a “bakkie” full of tuna to the gills
and a good pile on the sand awaiting transport.
That day the sun shone out of salt stung eyes.
The Watch upon the hillside spots a shoal hard by the shore
and pipes the news.
The trailer toting rust bucket bounces to the beach.
The boat, a broad beamed wooded wench, is launched,
leaving a coil of thick serpentile rope
snaking in its wake.
While sinuous shoulders strain at long oars
and feed the net in a wide arc.
This, said in sentences, is seen taking hours
if nets are rucked on rocks or caught in kelp.
But ultimately the craft comes crashing in on a curling wave,
its purpose served.
And the back breaking business of bringing in the booty begins.
Passers-by pause and park, leaving their cars to join the crew,
to take a turn at tug-of-war on a ropes end.
A salesman, shirt sleeves rolled. A city girl in sandals.
Two tourists and a local law enforcement officer
lend soft hands in self conscious jocularity.
Bold boys and giggling girls nip in to liberate
St. Joseph Sharks, small rays,
return them to the surf before the greedy gulls can swoop.

In Kerala this is the Untouchable’s task
and none but the ignorant tourist would ask
if they could lend a hand.
The barriers, broken down on Africa’s shores,
are, in India, held fast by the caste laws
still written in the sand.




Sandy Wetton                                                  Cape Town, South Africa, October 2003