“I’m telling you, those bats are slamming right into the line,” I said, squinting into the dark. We’d been hearing the bite alarms go off all night and pulling up nothing—just line twitching from some phantom. Flo walked over to my spot, phone in hand, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized the sound wasn’t coming from the rods. “That’s your phone,” he said, deadpan.
I looked down. The alarm had been blaring from my handset the whole time, muted and distant. I laughed, shaking my head. We’d been sitting there like idiots, checking every rig for a bite that wasn’t there.
So we killed the bite alarms and sat back. The rods stayed still. Then, like clockwork, another bat dove straight into the line and sent the tip bouncing. “Yeah, there it is again,” I muttered.
“Can’t do much about that. ”
We were out on the bank for a night session, the water black and flat in front of us. It was supposed to be quiet, relaxing. Instead, it had turned into a comedy of errors and two tired legs refusing to cooperate.
Earlier that day, I’d told Flo about a dream I had the other night. I was running from something—no idea what, probably an ex—when my right hamstring cramped so hard it woke me up. I was still half-asleep, leg bent completely, pain screaming through me. I had to press my foot against the bed frame, then kick the wardrobe until the muscle finally released.
“I was dying, mate,” I said, shaking my head at the memory. “But you know what’s worse? The jaw. ”
“The jaw?
” Flo raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I’ve had cramps in my jaw before, and afterward it felt like a thousand needle pricks. Proper nasty, man.
I’ll take the leg cramp any day. ”
He grimaced. “Alright, nightmare fuel. ”
We’d set up our rods with feeder setups, hoping for something worth pulling in.
I’d gone with a fixed-lead rig, meant to keep the bait tight on the bottom. Flo was running his own setup. The bats kept messing with us, but I wasn’t convinced they were the only problem. “I’ve honestly never seen so many false bites on a rod before,” I said, walking over to check my line.
“Either something small is nibbling, or the bats are really that stupid. ”
“They’re definitely hitting the line,” Flo said. “I saw one fly right into yours a minute ago. ”
“Right.
I’m taking the bell off, then. No way I’m sitting here listening to that all night. ”
I clipped off the bell and tightened the line a little. Flo wandered over, looking up at the spotlight he’d hung over his setup.
“Can you see the bats in that light? ” he asked. “Yeah, they’re all over it. Whole squad of them,” I said, squinting up.
“They’re just smacking the line head-on, one after another. Nuts. ”
He laughed. “At least we know the alarms work.
”
“Yeah, too well. ”
As the night settled in, we started to realize we had bigger problems than bats. The power banks were draining faster than they should. My phone had already dropped to 68 percent, Flo’s was hovering just above 80.
The stream camera we’d set up for the chat was eating battery life like crazy. “Where are you gonna put the stream hand at night? ” Flo asked. “Dunno yet.
Maybe in the tent, pointed out the open flap,” I said. “Fair enough. ”
We’d been live-streaming the session for a few of our mates, but the channel was sputtering. The word box had crashed twice already, and the IP address kept doing something weird.
Flo shrugged it off. “It’s done this to me before, but not this much,” he said. “I don’t know why it keeps switching. ”
“Honestly, I don’t either.
But let’s just leave it running and see. ”
By then, it was getting late. We’d brought bread rolls and some snacks, but neither of us had much appetite. The light was bright enough to make the whole area look like a ball pit.
I pointed it up and adjusted the beam. “Okay, that looks good now,” I said, looking at the camera feed on my phone. “You can see the rod tips clearly. ”
“Nice.
That’s all we need. ”
We sat in silence for a moment, our eyes on the water. Then a thought hit me. I glanced over at Flo.
“Did you pack the bags for the rain? ”
He nodded. “Yeah, they’re in the crate. ”
“Good.
I don’t want to be stuck here drenched. ”
“We’ll be fine. ”
I yawned. It was late, and the day had been long.
I looked at the tent and then at the rods. “Alright, I’m gonna pack it in soon,” I said. “You staying out? ”
“Maybe a bit longer,” Flo said.
“But I’m not expecting much. ”
“Me neither. ”
We tidied up the little area—pushing the chair between the rods so we’d have a table, leaving the tent open so the breeze could come through. I checked the bite alarms one more time.
“Make sure your phone volume is up, okay? In case something actually bites,” Flo called. “Yeah, no, I’ve got it. Just don’t scare me again.
”
He chuckled. “I won’t. ”
I crawled into the tent a few minutes later, leaving the flap half-open for air. My eyes were heavy, but my mind was still whirring.
Every little rustle outside made me tense. “Good night, Flo,” I muttered. “Night. Don’t let the bats bite.
”
I laughed, but I didn’t really relax. Somewhere around midnight, the silence got to me. I sat up, listening. The wind had picked up, and there was a strange noise coming from the edge of the bank.
I unzipped the tent and stepped out. The spotlight was still on, and the water was glowing silver under it. “You see that? ” I called over to Flo.
He was already standing by the rods, staring at the surface. “Yeah. Something’s moving out there. ”
We stood there for a minute, watching.
A swirl of dark water near the far bank. Then, breaking the surface, a tail flicked and vanished. “Huh,” I said. “Well, I’ll be.
”
Flo cracked a smile. “Looks like the night isn’t dead yet. ”
We exchanged a look. Neither of us said what we were both thinking.
We just sat back down, replaced the bell I’d taken off, and kept watching the water.
