If you don't know me, than you probably don't know that fishing is sorta my thing. What overpriced cars are to some, and Grey's Anatomy is to others, fishing is to me. Not quite an obsession, but...well, maybe. I don't want to talk about it.
But I will write about it. In my six or so days in florida this Christmas break I went fishing twice. The first was to the infamous Juno Fishing Pier. The place where multiple times I have spent hours watching the little Vietnamese men around me pull up fish as I do seaweed. With the exception of one trip I have never left the pier with that indescribable feeling of pure luck and gratitude that the nine inch bluefish decided to bite my double hooked line instead of the hooks of identical bait around it. What I have left with each and every time is sunburn. As you can tell, not too many fond memories of the pier. And why should there be? All that happens is that I get harassed by seagulls and pelicans, step in bird shit, and up smelling like bait, and catch absolutly nothing. But somehow I still love fishing.
Anyways, this time was different. I was going with the father-son fishing team of the century, John Arthur Syverson III and John Arthur Syverson IV (John and Mr. Syverson for short). As I was saying, they love fishing as much as I do, and Mr. S. knows all about saltwater catching. At least that's what I thought, until we struck out again. At the end of the day we asked the vietnamese man in his camo jacket what we were doing wrong. We had to buy him off first with leftover shrimp, but we got what we needed to know, "Your hook too big, and line too fat". Shit. We had no chance all this time.
But I wasn't about to let one bad experience of the fishing capital of the world deter me from the work that needed to be done. Catching fish.
The last day of the vacation I planned to wake up early, 7 o'clock, and go fishing. However, after a totally dry new year's eve celebration, and much other demanding activity of the sort, I accidentally slept in until 8:30. "Shit, shit, shit". I tried to sneak out of the house, but Dad spotted me with my fishing gear. "You gonna go swimming later then?". "Ahh, maybe, I don't know." "You know you're supposed to, You're not doing what Rich told you". "Alright". I trudged into the bathroom to put on my speedo and get my swimming shit together, went across the street to the pool, put in a solid 40 minute workout, and called it a day. After all, I had work to do.
Still in my speedo and a pair of shorts, I grabbed my gear and headed to the dog park. But clay, there's no fish in dog parks, are there? Good question loyal reader, not usually. But this is perhaps the nicest dog park I have ever had the privelege to experience. About 2 acres of native florida wilderness proctection area thing, a nicely fenced, two section dog area, and jai-lai courts for whatever. Ohh, and it backs up to the intracostal, the system of inland saltwater waterways and channels that border the ocean all along the coast. The previous day I saw a manatee, and that was my main reason for coming back. The chance to see the fatest, clumsiest, most unevovled animal on the endangered species list that for some reason has a special spot in my heart. Sappy, in know. No manatee this time, just sweltering heat and lots of big, big boats.
I tied on a DOA shrimp to the end of my line, naive as that sounds. I didn't know what I was doing, but after much Discovery channel I knew that fish loved the mangroves. Second cast I pulled in the shrimp as saw about a one foot pufferfish chasing my lure. "Haha, this is gonna be a fun day". About the fourth of fifth cast I tossed the shrimp out there and 'jerked it' right along the mangrove roots. All of the sudden something pulled back, and hard. I 'jerked it harder' and something silver came out. It jumped high out of the water and I honestly thought at first that it was just a giant minnow, how stupid of me. After a solid fight I pulled in the 18 inch barracuda. Awesome.
So awesome that in my panic to get a trophy shot it almost bit me. All I'll say is that if it bit me I would have 'leatherman'd' that ho.
I know I look constipated in that picture, but I wasn't. I was sweaty, and sweaty is sexy.
After my barracuda miracle I was fishing purely for fun, I had the "nothing to loose, everything to gain" attitude. I caught nothing for the next hour and a half but that was fine with me. The couple that came while I was there did. The man was at first a little hesitant to get in the water, saying, "Shit, shit, that's cold. I ain't puttin' my foot down in that. Shit man". "Just give it a minute boo, you'll be hot in a second". Within two minutes of fishing he pulled in a nice pompano. He put down his cigarrette thing and unhooked the fish, dropping it in the bucket. I told him I had to leave, because I did have to be home. "Alright man, I got to go, but good luck to you." "Ahh, we just came from home. Left the kids and came fishing. This is our time, our time, haha. Well good luck to you too little man." The 'little' man wasn't necessary but I knew he meant well. Goodbye beach and new friends.
That was, for many reasons, possibly the nicest, most gangster man I have ever met.
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