It's good that some things never change.
Although the devices used to carry out the things that never change do change.
I don't think that quite made sense but then why change something I've always been relatively adept at ... putting some words together in a senseless manner.
So yes, the pursuit of the unknown from the depths of another world has never changed, in light of what I spotted the other day as I drove down the inner harbour way.
There were three young lads, maybe 10 or 12 or so, sitting with their legs dangling over the side of the quay and holding fishing lines.
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It occurred to me at that moment that time travel does exist because for a brief few seconds I managed to be taken back half-a-century, to a time when I would sit on the wharf side with a couple of chums and dangle our hooked and baited lines down into the smooth sea below.
And hey, they were wearing pretty much what we used to wear too, just shorts and T-shirts.
Some things never change.
The childhood pursuit of fishing has pretty much always been there, and I have seen grand old black and white photos from the and 30s and 40s of youngsters with hand lines fishing for whatever finned about in the waters of those days.
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Same things that fin about under there today I daresay, for some things never change.
But I wonder what the kids back then used for bait?
We just used whatever offcuts of red meat mum had left over from whipping up tea.
I do remember one kid back in my wharf side angling days of the 60s who swore by little lumps of cheese.
He never caught a thing, which leads me to wonder if in the years to come he used little slabs of chopped up herring to put in the mousetraps?
Great to see kids out and about and enjoying the quayside sea air, and occasional advice from the blokes on the nearby moored trawlers.
The only odd thing about the young trio I spotted that day was that it was on a Thursday morning ... school day.
There's always a ... catch.
During the long months of summer back then I'd be on the bike and off to the port with a mate or two to go fishing.
The big port where big ships moored up.
The port which is today (and rightly) firmly fenced and secured and off-limits to all but those who have business, or employment, there.
Back then we'd just cycle through main gates, wave to the slumbering wharfies, and pedal right down to the end of the wharves, avoiding the lined up railway wagons and trucks unloading cargoes.
There would usually be at least a dozen other kids there, and we were often joined by the odd wharfie who'd offer advice.
I remember some kids piling handfuls of aniseed balls into a wrapping of fine mesh cotton attached to a long length of string and lower it down into the waters below.
It had simply become a traditional part of the after-school and weekend fishing expeditions down at the port, as it had long been said that the fish were attracted to that strange odd taste in the brine.
I think, upon fading recollection, that it did draw in a few silver flashes of fishy curiosity.
Whether we caught any or not as a result of aniseed lures I can't recall, for we probably ate as many lollies as we lowered into the water.
As well as engaging us in exercise through cycling down to the wharves and back again, and constantly pulling in and baiting lines and moving about looking for a prime spot in the sea of aniseed, such occasions resulted in reward.
We'd take whatever we fished up down to the Marineland and get a free ticket.
So I guess we were professional anglers.
So it was kind of good seeing those young lads on the quayside, and I daresay the numbers of such young anglers swells on the weekend, which is great.
It's outdoors and its exercise and it can be competitive, for when one kid nabs a good sized spotty or a yellow-eyed mullet then the game is on to go one better.
I used to do all right but I never went fishing for a compliment for there are some things one just can't catch.
Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.