|Fishing Buddys (standard:fairy tales, 2544 words)|
|Author: Alpha43||Added: May 06 2005||Views/Reads: 1944/1191||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|To have a somebody show a fisherman the key to guaranteed fishing success would be wonderful, wouldn't it?|
Fishing Buddy I used to fish every chance I got. I’ve had many great times out in the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico, or Florida Bay as we natives call it. You almost always caught something. It might not be edible, it might squirt black ink or inflate itself or have quills, but you could bet you would have something on your line. I had a trusty 24’ boat named “ADAN”. My wife’s name is Maryann, the boat’s name comes from the initials of the 60’s song, “All Day, All Night, Maryann.” Wishful thinking. Ah, the good old days! Avid fisherman? I guess! I would constantly dream of record catches, both in fish size, either length or weight, and in quantity of fish. What’s the old saying, “Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.” Let me tell you about the day that started me becoming a landlubber. It was back two years ago, and I recall being flustered waiting at the marina. I remember it just like it was yesterday. I was mad and I was thinking... My first chance to go fishing in three weeks and what do I have, a NO show. My buddy, ‘Mr. Grouper Slayer’ Stan, was supposed to be here over an hour ago. Light winds, a clear sunny afternoon, water temperature is perfect, and I have been sitting at the dock in the “ADAN” for nearly sixty minutes. I just talked to Stan last night, everything was agreed to; noon at Bayport Marina, off Florida SR50, west of Weekiwachee Springs. He’ll bring the sandwiches and beer, I’d bring the bait shrimp, but after all this time sitting on the hot deck of my boat, a good two-thirds of the shrimp are smelly, pink, and floating. “Hey kid, yeah you! Would you go out to the parking lot and see if there is a green Ford pick-up with a white topper? If there is, help the guy with his gear. I’ll pay you a buck if you’ll do it.” That poor little guy looks like he could use a buck. Kids get dirty, but he has that long-term filthy appearance. He sure looks raggedy, but he moves and reacts like a sharp little fellow, intelligent eyes. I wonder why he isn’t in school? The only good thing about this delay is that the engine is all warmed up, it has been idling for three-quarters of an hour. I’ve had time to get four rods rigged up, the bilge’s are pumped, I fine-tuned the depth finder, and checked the GPS for some previous hot spots. We’ve taken some great yellowtails, grouper, and snapper from those GPS recorded locations. “Sorry mister, no green trucks at all.” The kid yelled back. Well, fifteen more minutes and then I will, WHAT? I could probably launch, but it is not wise to head out fifteen to eighteen miles in the gulf alone. Trying to watch the weather, the rods, the boat speed and direction, dodge lobster traps and floating debris; not wise at all. Oh great, the chum is starting to thaw out, I have to do something fast. Stan has never done anything like this before. He’s usually the first one here. I thought fishing was supposed to stimulate relaxation. Right now, I am like a brood hen with thirty chicks. ‘Come on Stanley!’ “Hey mister, I know where you can catch some big ones. You won’t be out long and you will have your limit. I never miss, just go to 86.” “That’s nice my boy, but I am waiting for a friend, OK?” “He’s not coming.” The kid said matter of factly. Some kids will do or say anything to get a ride or to go fishing. He’s telling me Stan isn’t coming and he doesn’t know Stan and he doesn’t know me, I wonder if the little squirt has a crystal ball? “It sure was nice of Stan to let you know that, did he send up a smoke signal or did he use Western Union?” “I don’t know what that means, but I can get you to the hot fishing spots. The Spanish mackerel are schooling a mile past the old rusty Click here to read the rest of this story (210 more lines)
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