Blokes

You don't normally find this kinda thing in fishing reports. But here's the thing, fishing has saved my life more than once. Not in a dramatic way, throw yourself a lifeline way. More in a quiet, consistent way, get me through the week way. And I know from the messages I get from blokes in this community that I'm not the only one who's felt that.

So this section exists. Every month. No apology.

So this section exists. Every month. No apology.

The Bucket

You've heard the analogy. Maybe from a counsellor, maybe from a mate, maybe somewhere online. The idea is simple, every bloke carries a bucket. Stress goes in. Pressure goes in. Work goes in. Family goes in. Health worries go in. Financial stress goes in. Grief goes in. Every little thing that builds up through the day, the week, the month, it all goes in the bucket.

And the bucket has a limited capacity.

When it overflows, that's when things go sideways. That's when you snap at the people who don't deserve it. That's when you stop sleeping. That's when the things that used to feel manageable suddenly feel impossible. That's when blokes do things they can't take back.

The water empties the bucket for me. Not because fishing fixes anything, it doesn't fix the mortgage, it doesn't fix the relationship strain, it doesn't fix whatever's grinding you down at work. But it empties the bucket just enough to keep the overflow from happening. It gives me a few hours where my brain has to be somewhere else, reading the sounder, watching the tide, waiting for the bite, and somewhere in that space, the pressure drops.

I know that's true for a lot of you too. Because you've told me.

"The water empties the bucket for me. Not because fishing fixes anything, it just gives me enough space that the overflow doesn't happen. I know that's true for a lot of you too. Because you've told me."

From the First Responder

For the last decade I've worked in environments where you hold it together no matter what. No one talks about their emotions. Mental health is a game of weakness. And guess what? Last month I had a panic attack at the first formal wedding I've ever attended, because I was so used to only wearing a suit to funerals.

It wasn't until a few years ago, working in a Tactical Response role, that a bloke came to speak to us. Dr. Dan Pronk. Ex-Special Forces medic. Just a real, legitimate hardcase. He stood in front of a room full of guys who looked like they'd been assembled in a factory that only made one product. Six foot plus, tatted, shaved heads, all quietly itching for the next bit of action.

He made a comment about how Alpha the room looked. Then he asked how many of us actually talked about our mental health. We all looked around like the old fella had lost the plot.

Then he said something like, "Well I talk about mine. How many of you think that makes me weak?"

Nobody answered.

That put a spark in me. As a 6'5, 106 kilo, heavily tatted bloke, I felt like I had some kind of social obligation to carry the stereotype. Don't show weakness. Don't show emotion. Don't talk about it.

So I started talking about it.

And mate, the response has been something I wasn't ready for. Dads. Operators. Ex-Special Forces guys. First Responders. Friends. Relatives. Just absolutely breaking down, sobbing on the phone to me, or out on the boat. Because someone finally said it was okay.

I get it. In this world, showing vulnerability isn't the culture. You absorb it, you contain it, you keep moving. That's the job.

The problem is the bucket still fills. It just doesn't get emptied as often, because asking for help feels like weakness. And the weight of what you see in those environments, the things you carry home that you can't explain to your partner because they weren't there and wouldn't want to be, that weight accumulates in ways that don't become obvious until something cracks.

For me, the water is where I started to understand that emptying the bucket wasn't weakness. It was maintenance. Like servicing the boat. Like charging the batteries. Something you do regularly so the whole system keeps working.

I'm not a psychologist. I'm a 30 year old, neuro-spicy first responder who has started his life over from nearly nothing twice, and lost just about everything a man can pride himself on along the way. I'm grateful every single day that I found the water and never looked back.

I'm not qualified to tell you what to do with whatever's sitting in your bucket. But I am qualified to tell you that carrying it alone doesn't work. I've tried.

It doesn't work.

Fuck that.

"I'm not qualified to tell you what to do with whatever's sitting in your bucket. But I am qualified to tell you that carrying it alone doesn't work. I've tried. It doesn't work. Fuck that."

What Actually Helps, From Blokes Who've Been There

This isn't a listicle of generic mental health tips. This is the stuff that actually works for blokes who fish, who work hard, who struggle with asking for help.

Get on the water. Even if it's 90 minutes at the local jetty before work. The act of being near water, particularly moving water, has a measurable effect on cortisol levels and stress response. This is not hippie science. This is physiology. Use it.

Tell one person. Not a hotline necessarily. Not a therapist necessarily. Just one person who won't fix it or minimise it, who'll just listen. A mate, a brother, your partner, whoever. One person knowing what's in the bucket makes the weight immediately more manageable. Not gone. Just lighter.

Stop punishing yourself for struggling. The men in this community who reach out to me privately, the messages I get at midnight from blokes who are not okay, almost all of them start with "I know I shouldn't be feeling this way but..." You're allowed to not be okay. That's not weakness. That's being human.

Create a ritual. For me it's the early morning session. Rod out, sounder on, coffee in hand. It signals to my brain that this time belongs to me and nothing else. Whatever your version of that is, find it and protect it like you'd protect anything else that keeps you functioning.

Move your body. Fishing counts. Walking the beach counts. It doesn't have to be a gym. Movement shifts neurochemistry in ways that nothing else does. When the bucket is full, move.

You can also find me on Instagram @my_marine_addiction. I'm not a counsellor and I can't fix anything, but I will always respond.