We all have them, the stories of that great fish that got away. The one you wish you had fought a little harder to keep. Maybe you had him, reeled him up to the boat, only to have some dimwit smack him back off with the very net they were supposed to grab him with. The reasons are always different, but in the end, it's always the same—the big one got away. One hot July, my dad was determined not to let this common travesty happen to him. Not this time.
It all started when we decided to troll in a different cove. We had a routine, given the direction of the wind and the time of the day (I would share it with you, but then you might take the cove), but today we decided to change things up a bit. The reason wasn't due to some gut feeling that the fish were bigger in the next cove, but rather we all needed a bathroom break. However, we weren't ready to quite give up. So, on chance, we all dropped our lines back into the water for one more go at it.
Within two minutes, it happened.
My dad's rod began to bend to the seduction of a nibble. In the blink of an eye, he pulled back, firmly securing the catch. His determined face turned to one of excitement and joy, and he said the words: "Karen get the wheel."
We all knew what that meant. If the fish is large enough, the trolling ceases, and mom takes over the controls. That way dad can finesse the large fish into the boat. If only he'd known how different this fish would be, he may have yelled out, "Karen, cut bait!" instead.
"It's a big one," my dad growled with effort. "Turn the boat! It's going under!" He was swimming underneath to the other side. If we hadn't turned the boat, the line would need to stretch out across the bow until it was over to port. He cautiously released just a little line to give the fish more play.
"Here he comes!" My dad's hand was furiously turning the reel, madly trying to take up the slack he just released. "Get the net!" Jumping into action, I quickly came to my dad's side with the requested item.
"You're going to need two hands." I almost handed the net to my mom. Forget this! I didn't want to have the pressure. If he reeled that baby up and I lost it, there was a chance he might throw me over and leave me. (Not really.)
"Wait! He's going back down." Frustration colored my dad's face, as he'd already been fighting the fish for nearly five minutes (going on thirty). Letting out an overly used curse, he exclaimed how big this guy was. He had seen just a glimpse of him.
"Where the heck were you with that net?" My eyes just about jumped out of my head for safety reasons. My heart grabbed them back in just in time.
"I was right here. You didn't tell me you were ready." His face betrayed his anger, and I could tell he only bit his tongue because I was his bloodline. Better not toss me over just yet. Luckily, the fish broke the tension. (In the air, not the line—don't worry.)
"Here he comes! No, he's swimming back down! Okay, here he comes! Wait, he's going back down!" I fought the urge to leap off the boat and wrestle the wild creature onto the boat.
"It's a turtle!" Ex that plan. I'm staying in the boat—could be a snapper. I try to hand my mom the net.
"Here it comes! Here it comes!" Was this a fishing trip or a delivery? I braced myself for the worse. Suddenly, the water gave birth to its monster. Dad proudly heaved it into the boat.
"It's a rock." We all busted into fits of laughter. Oh, the joys of fishing.
Fish, turtle, rock—it doesn't matter. If it's on the end of a rod, and you can reel it up, it's all good. Agree?
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