Category: Boats

The Melbourne Stainless Steel Fabrication Appreciation Society (MSSFAS) met again today to discuss the latest developments in the boat welding world. Outsiders gathered around, watching as the world’s most influential boat welders entered the castle where they would decide the fate of the boating universe for the next year. With MSSFAS’s meetings widely publicised and top secret, many people have begun to theorise that the group has hidden motives to establish the order of the new world. Regardless, MSSFAS founder and leader, Charlie Hustle IV, insists that the group only discusses the latest developments in marine welding, such as which boat latch for sale the members want to publicly endorse as their top choice of the year.

“It’s all above bait board,” said Charlie Hustle IV, when asked for comment. “Of course, people are naturally going to be curious and even suspicious when a group of powerful white men gather together, but honestly, the most controversial topic discussed at our yearly meetings is whether our name should be changed to the Society for Marine Stainless Steel Fabrication Close to Melbourne, or SMSSFCM. People wonder why we can’t be more public about these discussions if they are as innocent as they claim. If we are only discussing which rod holders have taken us by surprise this year, why all the secrecy? The simple truth is that we boat welding enthusiasts are very private people, and the thought of other people watching or listening to us talking about our passion makes many of our members uncomfortable. How would you feel if your book club was televised or discussed in depth on a podcast?”

When asked about the recent rumours regarding the group’s exclusionary policies that prevent others from joining their ranks, Charlie Hustle IV pointed out that MSSFAS welcomes anybody with a passion for boat welding to apply. However, given that the group only allows a total of twenty members at a time and the extreme length of the current wait list, he pointed out that people should not get their hopes up about joining any snapper rack conversations soon.

‘Land, ho!’ came the cry echoing across the harbour. It was foggy still, so none of us could see the boats as they drifted silently across the water and into the dock.

‘Who is it, Mama?’ I asked quietly, squinting from the shore of the bay. ‘Is it Papa?

‘Hush, child,’ she said sharply, eyes straining against the haze. ‘We don’t know yet.’

‘Could it be Papa, Mummy?’ my little brother piped up, still playing with a pile of rocks he’d found.

‘Perhaps,’ she said – although she sounded hesitant even to my little ears.

Our neighbours, the baker and his wife, scrambled over the hill to appear next to us. She puffed as she stood next to my mother, concern etched in her eyes.

‘Is it true?’ she whispered. ‘Could it be them?’

‘It’s been months since we’ve seen their professionally applied fishing boat graphics,’ said the baker, in the sad tones of a would-be poet. ‘It isn’t likely.’

‘Oh, hush,’ his wife frowned at him, her expression softening as she looked back to my mother.

‘No, he’s correct,’ she said. ‘It is foolish to hope.’

‘Why is it foolish, Mama?’ my brother piped up. ‘Don’t you want to see Papa again?’

‘Oh, child,’ the baker’s wife quickly interjected, bending down to scoop him up. ‘Of course, your mother wants your Papa home, safe and sound.’

‘Of course,’ my mother repeated, eyes vacantly staring out into the fog. ‘I miss him… terribly.’

The baker grunted his approval, chewing on a pipe.

A wind came howling over the hill, mountain-cold and storm-fast. My mother quickly wrapped herself around me so I didn’t feel the worst of the chill. She stayed close to me as we watched it push the fog back slightly, thinning it out, until—

‘Now, where do you purchase a boat wrap like that?’ the baker whistled, as the large trawler in the bay came into view. ‘That’s one hell of a boat.’

‘Yes,’ my mother agreed, her voice trembling. ‘But no fishing vessel, that is for sure.’

‘I’m sorry, Mary-Anne,’ the baker’s wife put her free hand on my mother’s shoulder.

‘As I said,’ my mother hardened her posture. ‘It is foolish to hope.’

The ocean is busier than ever these days. A couple of hundred years ago, mermaids were being hunted by fishermen so frequently that our population numbers dwindled down to extinction. But the past few decades have seen this trend in reverse as we learned to hide from their ships and deceive their scouts. I am barely twenty, so I never got to experience the secrecy and fear that came with the height of the mermaid hunts, but I have heard the stories.

My grandfather says the worst of the boats had a fishing boat decal sticker of a giant squid on the underside of its hull. It moved so silently that we couldn’t tell it was coming but for the dull thud of its anchor hitting the ocean floor. When we looked up and saw the inky squid peering back at us through the opaque water, we kicked our fins and swam as fast as we could. I’m glad I wasn’t around in those days. Whenever an elder tells the story of swimming away, there is a sliver of fear in their eyes that makes me shiver.

Now that the mermaids are at the height of our power again, we’re holding a celebration in the coral fields to commemorate our history and prepare for our upcoming battle against the humans. The fields are always colourful, but today it’s as though all the rainbows in the world have conspired to appear here for our celebration. Bubbles twirl in the water, fish flicker and dance around the perimeter, and someone even seems to have shorn off a vinyl boat print from a shipwreck and strung it up across two tall pieces of coral. My brother is a musician, so I imagine he’ll be floating around here somewhere, shining his metal tubes and getting ready to perform. As for me, I’m just excited for the food. There’s a stall selling seaweed soup that I’ve been eyeing for the past few hours, and as soon as the ceremony finishes I’m going to make a beeline for it.