The full moon was waning as I walk to my old Subaru wagon. The fishing gear and bait lie in the back with the empty plastic motor oil containers. It’s 5.00am and if I play my cards right, Kingfish will be biting near the ledges. I packed my lunch last night so I wouldn’t wake the wife.

The street is pitch black as kids had shot out the lights with slingshots. Dave looms out of the darkness on his pushbike, off to sort the mail. “Get some for me,” he laughs and with dreadlocks flying, disappears down Surf road. Dave lives alone. When his 12-year old Labrador died, he hit the piss hard and ploughed his ute up the arse of a cop car. Lost his licence for three years. We whipped around at the pub and bought him a mongrel puppy, with needle-sharp teeth and a white patch over its left eye. Around here, licences aren’t important. Dogs are.

It’s tricky clambering down to the sea ledge. Some people take chairs, hot food and beer. I take two banana and honey sandwiches, water, a small canvas rucksack and a bucket. Keep it simple. I’ve got a bit more stuff in the rucksack today but today is special.

It takes me a few minutes to set up, burley the water, bait up and cast in to a nice sandy patch. I use live bait on the end of an Alvey combo reel and a 7-foot rod. Been fishing since I was a kid. For the last seven years, I’ve made this ledge my second home. When I first came here, I caught so many kingfish, drummer and salmon, the wife said she was bloody sick of the sight of them. The last three years have been a fishing desert. I still come. It’s something to do.

When me and Sarah got married 30 years ago, I stopped fishing for a few years. We went to posh restaurants with her friends. She was a documentary film maker and her friends were actors, writers and directors. They’d sit for hours scoffing wine and talking about who got what part and the sorry state of the industry. I’d endlessly smile and wonder why I paid $40.00 for a tiny piece of fish with soggy lettuce.

I’m an engineer or I was until I retired a couple of years ago. I built roads and bridges. My wife liked the idea when we first met. I was building a bridge near the airport in Hong Kong and it was getting lots of press. She was going to do a story on how the local labourers were getting ripped off but it never got off the ground. She liked the fact I could make something out of nothing. I liked her legs.

I suppose all marriages, like fishing, go flat after a while. There’s still bites, signs of life but the catch isn’t so satisfactory. Some marriages get better as they mature. I’m not so sure about that. As women grow older, they need men less. The blokes tag along behind.

The kidney disease doesn’t help. I’ve had it for five years. Three times a week I have dialysis. Sarah has to pick me up because I get dizzy. That puts a skid on long lunches with her girlfriends or shopping in the big smoke. There’s not much talking in the car. She’ll say, ‘how did it go?’ and I’ll say, ‘okay’ and she’ll drop me at the house as she heads off to an appointment or something.

I don’t like it when I get too philosophical. It’s spoils the fishing. In my 20’s I read that Algerian guy, Camus but his stories were so bloody depressing, I gave up on him. I re-read them recently and now see that the big question is whether to live or die. I always thought it was how to make love last but I reckon Camus is right.

I rummage around the bag and pull out a small bag of white powder. It’s Nembutal. It was a pain in the arse getting. I got ripped off the first time for $600 by an online scam in Mexico. The second time, I got it sent to a PO box. You mix it in a small amount of water and wash it down with a nice glass of something sweet. I’ve chosen Frangelico because I like the chocolate and hazelnut taste. Anyway, you just nod off to sleep and before you know it, you’re history.

I’ll find a nice place to lie down in a while, have a half a sandwich and then take the cocktail. There’s a high tide around 2.00pm. My body will float off the ledge and out to sea. I’ve paid for the memorial site. All the instructions and certificates are with Peter, my solicitor, and a good fisherman too.

Yesterday I posted a letter to Sarah.

Dear Sarah,

I just wanted to say how much I love you and I’m sorry I haven’t said that to you enough. If a person knows they’re loved, they can get through anything. I’ll always treasure our adventures in Scotland and on the Greek islands, especially our little restaurant high on the hill, overlooking the harbour. Life is short, drink it while it’s fizzy. Paul xxx

I’m not big on letters.

The eastern Australian current will take my body down the coast about 100 kilometres and then the Tasman current will carry me towards New Zealand. I don’t mind being dead but I don’t like the idea of seagulls pecking my eyes out. As an engineer, I placed so much importance on my eyes.

Sarah will know I didn’t get taken by a wave. She knows I’d never turn my back on the sea.

I’ll tell you a secret. At the base of those bridges I’ve built, I carved our initials in the concrete. You’d have to look hard to find them but they’re there. I read somewhere that Roman soldiers wrote graffiti at Pompeii and other places. Things like ‘Time flies’ and ‘I love Claudia’. Once, in the base of a massive dam in Indonesia, I wrote ‘Paul loves Sarah’ but that was many years ago. I never told her.

True to form, no bites. I’ve put a fresh bait on and cast the line in a patch of sand, right in front of me. The tide is slowly rising. It’ll cover the ledge soon. The sun’s beating down and the sea is turquoise. I play the rod up and down to give the bait some movement.

The first nibble is light and then the rod is nearly wrenched from my hand. Kingfish! I plant my feet wide and flex the shoulders. He’s swimming fast for deeper water. That’s a mistake. He’ll tire. I increase the drag on the reel. He’s turning and heading south. The rod is bending like mad. I’ve got a 30-pound line on. You fight with what you’ve got. He’s breaking towards the ledge but it’s too late. I wind in quickly and see his silver flank flash in the sun. Big kingie. Maybe 70 cm. My head is spinning. The fish breaks once more for deeper water but I reel him in and haul him on to the ledge.

My heart pounds in my chest. A five-kilo monster. He swallowed the hook whole. I run a knife under his gills. It’s quick. I take the fish and put it in the shade of a small cave behind me. The rocks are covered in periwinkles and it smells of rotting seaweed. I look at the fish and wonder of its story but I cannot spend too much time. Thinking spoils fishing. I take a swig of water, rebait and cast in the same spot.

I land another two kingfish and a good size salmon. I’m knackered but that’s enough to feed me and Sarah, the neighbours, Dave and Phil and Karen who run the local shop. I’ll have plenty left over to freeze. I’ll fillet them on the rocks and then walk in the door and show Sarah. I’ll put the old brag back in my voice, “Man with big balls bags kilos of kingies for wife.”

Who am I kidding? My time is measured by the rise and fall of today’s tides. I’m an 80-kilo sinker in my wife’s life. I sit in the cave and mix the Nembutal with water in one of Sarah’s old glasses. I open the Frangelico. The water is lapping at the edge of the ledge. In a couple of minutes, it’ll flood the cave.

I hear them before I see them. A large splash about 100 metres offshore. A pod of Humpback whales swimming north, going to their mating grounds off the Queensland coast. I walk to the water’s edge and a large male with barnacles on his back, throws himself out of the water and lands with a colossal splash. A female rolls on to her back and smashes the water with her tail. She makes her way to where I’m standing. She’s only 20 metres away. She rolls on to her side so I can see her eye. Is she looking at me? And then she turns in a slow arc and follows the others.

I’ve never seen them so close. There’s no one around. No one to share the memory of it. I go back to the cave and I’ve knocked the bloody Nembutal over and broken the glass. It’s all I had. I put the broken glass in the ruck sack and pour a little of the Frangelico in to the sea. A libation. Then I make the first of two trips up the rocks with the gear and the fish. I sit in the driver’s seat and catch my breath. I’ll let Dave deliver that letter tomorrow. It’s a bit like carving one’s initials in the concrete. I’ll see that she makes of it.