2006 Fishing Photo & Writing Contest

Boat Chat

 The purchase of our new “used” $5,000 Smoker Craft boat was the ticket to family togetherness. Some fishermen say fishing is like being in God’s country, listening to the waves lap against the boat and hearing the cry of  gulls as they dive for shad…such a peaceful little picture. I don’t think it’s that way for my Dad. 

8:00 am:  My 9 year old sister Maria, me (Anna) age 11, and mom pile into the boat with all our stuff. It’s plenty snug with the life jackets, cooler, tackle box, poles, towels, books, magazines, coffee cups, sunscreen and candy. 

“Are you sure you need all that?” asks Dad. 

We all smile and nod. 

8:15am:  Wham! My mom gets a hit and spills all her coffee while my dad calls us to action. 

“Somebody get a towel and wipe that up…looks like we’re done with the coffee.” 

“I don’t want coffee all over my towel,” insists Maria. 

“Don’t use mine,” I say. 

“Isn’t there an old rag around? Mom asks reeling in her fish. 

Dad sighs and shakes his head, “Never mind it’s soaked in.” 

Mom reels in a nice white bass and swings it up and over the side almost hitting my sister in the head which makes her scream.  Flop. The fish lands on the bottom of the boat with the hook lodged deep. 

“Watch out for my library book!” I shriek. 

“Would somebody move the books and magazines?” Dad sighs. 

“AHH! This dumb thing won’t stop flopping around,” Mom says holding the fish down with her sandal. 

“Hurry Mom!” shouts Maria. “Get it in the live well or it’s gonna die!” 

“The hook is deep…. you’d better get it honey.” 

Dad tries, but the fish is flopping, the treble hooks are flying and we’re all in his space.  

“Everybody stand back…where’s the thing-a-ma-jig to get the hook out?” 

“Right here Dad!” says Maria picking up the unfastened tackle box lid.

“Oops”. 

Dad barely notices all the hooks and lures that spill out because he’s trying to pull the line out of the fish’s throat. 

“Dad,” I pause, “I think you’re pulling his guts out”. 

“Would somebody find the hook remover thing?” 

“Watch out for the hooks and your bare feet,” instructs Mom. 

“I’ll get the live well going,” I announce. 

Dad just yanks until the line snaps free. The fish doesn’t look so happy and neither does Dad. 

“Would somebody steer? We’re going in circles.” 

“Hey! I have a bite!” I yell, jerking my pole to set the hook. 

“Me too!”  shrieks my sister. 

“Watch out for those fish hooks with your bare feet,” reminds Mom. “And, did you guys get sunscreen on?” 

“This Bass doesn’t look so good,” says Dad looking into the live well. “He’s belly up.” 

“Hey! I’ve got a lunker!” I remind everyone. 

“Me too!” My sister says trying to reel faster than me. 

My sister and I soon realize we’ve only caught each other. 

“Ok, everybody sit down,” Dad says. “Everything’s all screwed up.” 

“Who took my gummy worms?” My sister says looking at me. 

“They’re on the floor,” I point, “Next to the fish guts!” 

Dad sends us to the front of the boat while he and mom detangle. 

“Dad, do we have to wear our life jackets?” I ask. “It’s hot.” 

“Everyone,” announces Maria. “Anna’s feeding my gummy worms to the fish in the livewell….and he pretty much looks dead.” 

“Let’s just cut the line,” says Dad 

“I think we can get it untangled,” Mom answers. “We just need a little patience.” 

“Would somebody pick up those hooks and lures?” Dad asks. 

“Maria can do it,” I order, “I gotta go.” 

Maria yelps. 

“Dad, Maria’s got a hook stuck in her,” I point out. 

“Where’s the knife?” he asks. 

“Where’s the potty bucket?” I ask stepping over my sister. “Hey, Maria’s bleeding.” 

“There’s got to be bandaids somewhere,” mom says studying the tangled mess in her lap.

“Just look for them.” 

“Mom, do I have to use the potty bucket? Can we just go back?  What if those men in that boat over there see me pulling my pants down?” 

“Honey, nobody cares about an eleven year old’s bare butt.” 

“Let’s just cut the line and start over,” sighs Dad. 

While pottying in the bucket, I come up with a brilliant idea. 

“Let’s keep a journal of all the fish we catch, where we catch them and what we use for bait.” 

Maria, who has stopped bleeding, says “Yeah, and let’s name them after whatever we’re talking about at the time.” 

“Like we could name this dead one, Java, since mom spilled her coffee when he bit,” I smile. 

Mom and dad cut the line, I dump the potty bucket and Maria puts the last lure away in the tackle box. Finally, our poles are back in the water. Dad wipes sweat off his face and says, 

“Is anybody getting the idea that it takes patience to fish? 

“Well, Jesus knew that,” Mom reports. “He was a fisherman and he was patient.” 

Wham! Mom gets another hit. 

“Well, here comes Jesus!” screams Maria. 

Today we caught Java, Jesus, Grandma and Grandpa and Mongo all on crank bait in twenty feet of water. All in all, it was a pretty good day cuz they’re all keepers.

My dad looked kinda hot and tired by the time we got back to the dock. 

“If you guys clean those fish, we could eat them for supper,” says Mom. 

“What? You’re not gonna kill Jesus are you?” asks my sister. 

We all laugh.

Dad cleans the fish. Mom dips the fillets in egg and flour, fries them up and squirts lemon juice all over the top. I’ve never tasted anything so good in my life. 

“Hey dad,” I say putting my arm around him, “what time are we goin’ fishin’ tomorrow?”