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Fishing Buddys (standard:fairy tales, 2544 words)
Author: Alpha43Added: May 06 2005Views/Reads: 1944/1191Story 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 


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