My Dad and Tim went fishing extremely early Friday morning while we were at the ocean. Since I stayed up every night until 1 am talking to my bro and my SIL, I was only asleep for a few hours when they got up to leave. God bless the boys for “sleeping in” a little that morning. You know, until like 7:30 or 8. It’s the little things in life. Like an extra half hour of sleep.
We didn’t expect them home until 2 or 3 that afternoon and when they came walking in around 12:30 with somber faces we assumed they’d had enough of a bad fishing trip. Tim declared that they didn’t catch a thing and I was completely oblivious even as he loaded a big styrafoam cooler on to the counter in our kitchen.
That’s when he cracked and said, “Except for a ton of fish!” (or something like that…) Tim had reached his limit (he could only catch so many) by 8:30 a.m. and he and my dad both caught some pretty big ones and had a great time.
So, their excursion reminded me of the time that I went fishing with my Dad on my last trip to “the coast” with my parents before my adult life began. It was the summer before I left for college and he convinced me to go with him on a big fishing boat that took us out quite a distance in very choppy water. I was one of only 3 women on the boat and I believe I was the only one who didn’t get sick.
I did have quite a bit of sea-sickness nausea though and my dad told me to just sit there and eat an Oreo while I focused on the horizon. Oh and by the way, I still had to hold my pole. So while I sat there consuming said Oreo and desperately wanting off that boat, the “big one” happened to chomp on the bait attached to my line. After my adrenalin kicked in my nausea instantly subsided and it was a fight to the finish. My dad took the pole for a while and then one of the owners of the boat had to reel him in, after about 45 minutes.
No one else caught anything that night and all the men and boys on that boat were a little perturbed that some chick caught a fish and they didn’t, except for my proud Daddy of course!
My fish was as long as the trunk of our car. I don’t know how long he was in inches, I just remember he was really heavy and I could barely hold him up for the picture (wish I could show you but I don’t have that one here).
I always thought it was so cool that Daddy and I caught that fish together and that it capped off an otherwise pretty boring and queasy fishing trip. And the kicker? I didn’t have a license to fish so it was all a little hush-hush when we reached land. We loaded up our big guy and left the scene fast. And we’ve always had the tale to tell.
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