I’m typing this post with fingers that still have the faint whiff of mackerel – despite several washings – reminding me that yesterday I was pulling fish out of the sea, left right and centre.
The annual Forged in the Fire Fishing Trip was very cool and being at sea for 10 hours filled my mind with snap-shot analogies, parallels, comparisons and pictures relating to the life of faith as a believer in Christ. Here’s just three:
The Boat:
Hoof! There were 12 of us aboard each trawler. Some of the guys were quiet, some were gobby, some were sleeping for hours, some were eating and some couldn’t because they were chundering over the side of the boat. Some seemed to be better and more experienced at fishing than others but, at some point, everyone’s strength came out. Some had all the gear while others had none. But it was a powerful picture of the church as equipment was shared, the sick were accepted & looked after, experience was used and some guys taught others how to catch and gut a fish or sort the tackle out, depending on what type of fish you were going for.
The Camp:
After the return to shore, all of us headed for a stunning natural balcony in the Whitby cliff-face where tents were set up and a fire was built. It was phenomenal to see 24 guys all pitching in, collecting firewood, hauling massive stones for the fire pit, lugging a keg of ale down the cliff-face, sharing tents etc. I’ll never forget it. Within 20 minutes of finding the spot the fire was roaring, (the best bbq I’ve ever seen), and soon after all manner of fish were being amazingly cooked. My friend, Rob, was like an American Bear (chocolate) Grills– cooking the fish with all his trans-Atlantic flare and getting things really going. The scene was like a glimpse of heaven.
The Fishing-Master – John:
The reality is, we might not have caught anything and the fire pit would have been empty if it wasn’t for this guy. He was responsible for taking us out to sea to the right places to drop our lines. Towards the end of the trip I was getting really irritated because the fish had apparently all swam off (we hadn’t caught anything for ages) and all we seemed to be doing is moving around the oceans, getting tossed around, lines up. But John was seeing what I couldn’t see. He had a radar-view of the wrecks that were the hot-spot areas to find fish and so, on his command, we let our lines down and, on his say so, we brought them back up. Sometimes there was only 2 minutes between each descent. It taught me that I had to be ready to ‘drop’. If my line was in a mess I’d miss the window and I’d miss the fish and I’d miss my supper later. John helped us catch 95 fish that day, some as big as 12 lbs! Enough to amply feed 24 hungry men.
firebrandnotes.com 