Toasting the Roaring Forties With a Fly
In the last update, I was on Flinders Island toasting the Roaring Forties. To be precise, I was beneath the “You are crossing the 40 South Parallel” sign lifting a jar of scotch to my lips. That’s when I heard the buzzing in the air.
What the hell was that?
It didn’t sound like an albatross, cliff or flapping sail, all the sounds I associate with this way-south part of the globe. No, it was more annoying, high pitched.
Then I spotted it, a black spot on the jam jar. A black spot that, as my eyes focused, turned into a very wind-flattened, very determined, fly. A fly which, as soon as it gained a grip on the slippery glass, began making its way one… step… at… a… time… into… my… scotch…..
Dang! Now this was some tough fly. I had to admire the little fellow. How he shared the skies with albatross that soared around the world on 6 foot wings. How, instead of suffering an inferiority complex when he saw the big birds soar, took to the airways with his stubby wings. Wings, when I looked closer, looked like waded up cellophane that had been un-stretched by a miser. The sort of thing that would make guys like me, if they saw it on a blueprint, smirk, “that’ll never take to the air….”.
But there he was, roaming that terrible sky on his lonesome.
No wonder he needed a drink.
So I let him.
Which is why, if you drove by a certain sign on Flinders Island last week, you would have seen a guy on a crusty bike taking a long pull on a short jar. And if you’d have stopped and approached slowly, you would have spotted, on that jar, a fly partaking with the same gusto.
Then we went our separate ways. I pedaled my way south into the Roaring Forties. He jumped into the air, and belly full of scotch, carved a magnificent, wildly curved, getaway into the sky.
Coming next: an audio recording of the Roaring Forties sign.
lol That was very amusing Bernie, I love the way you take lemons and make lemonade from them.
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