...from last fall.
Sunday was an unusually warm November day, and the stripped bass fishing was supposedly pretty good on the outgoing tide, after dark. I called two friends to see if they wanted to go; they couldn't. Rather than twist arms, I figured I'd go out by myself. Sometimes its more enjoyable that way, ...I can do whatever I want, be self reliant, and more into the moment. So I decide to go and try something a bit new, fishing technique-wise. I grab what I need, jump into the boat, and head down the canal. The electronics (GPS, fishfinder...) are not working. WTF? Ok, no problem, I know what I'm doing anyway. I get to the outer bay, just after sunset. Something is wrong with the engine, its not pushing out maximum rpm's. Another WTF?, but its running well enough. The outer bay leads to the inlet to the ocean - rocks, waves, current, boat traffic. The outer bay is also a conduit for the tidal water flow from both the inner and outer bay. When the tidal flow is ripping, the current drifts you along at about 5 knots give or take.
I get to the outer bay at slack high tide, the period between incoming and outgoing water. Its calm and windless, the sunlight fading, beautiful. I figure I have about an hour, so I start looking around. On one pole, I have a bait catching rig - a series of 5 shiney, dressed up hooks, with a 4oz diamond jig at the terminal end. I see shad swirling on top of the water. After casting in the general direction, and jigging it back in, I have one shad. Live shad are great bait - into the livewell he goes. Two more tries, two more fish. These fish are a foot long, and fun to catch, but I have three for bait, figure I could probably get more later if I needed too, so I stop fishing and just hang out. I'm feeling competent - I caught the bait I need - first time I tried shad. I have no clue why others have touble with this. I feel good. Still got 55 minutes until the tide starts going out, so I just hang out watching the water, the sky, both changing over from sunlight to half moon and stars. Im thinking its gorgeous out here and I'm happy to be there. The feeling of competency diminishes as I try to plot a game plan to catch the real fish, the bass.
The tide starts slowly going out. I rig up a shad, and try two short drifts - nothing. The rig snags the bottom, the 1st shad is gone. The tide is starting to really move now and there are a lot of boats out, so I decide to just drift away from the conjestion towards the inlet, where Im sure there is another armada of nutty fisherman. I hook up the second live shad, let the weight take it to the bottom, and drift towards the inlet about 2 miles away, all by myself in peace. I start moving pretty good, the current is picking up.
(This is boring huh?)
Im about a half mile down the stream, when I go to start the boat. The battery is dead. WTF??? No anxiety at all, but I'm slightly concerned that this is going to interfere with my fishing. VHF radio dies. I keep fishing, and with the other hand, reach for my cell phone. I had just gotten a new battery for it earlier that day... ($76...WTF?). So I call my cousin, ask him to come out with jumper cables. Ok, no problem. I keep fishing, ...its obviously my last drift, as I have no power, no manuverability and I still have about a mile before danger. When I get another half mile, I put the pole in the holder, and go to get the anchor ready. I set it on the bow, making sure the line is clear and untangled. I go back to fishing. No problems, lets fish! Suddenly BOOM, fish on! I'm fishing with light tackle and this fish feels big. You have to play a fish like that, ...its a delicate balance of give and take. Try to yank him in too fast, with too tight of a drag setting, and you loose him. So I get him to the top, he freaks and takes all the line back out to the bottom. This happens four times and takes about 10 minutes. I take an occasional glance at my surroundings, but I am so absorbed by the fighting fish, I feel connected to life, literally. Finally I get him close enough and get half of him in the net, and haul him into the boat in the darkness. Now I look around at my situation. WTF??? I run to the bow, throw out the anchor with a lot of scope, it holds. I grab a flashlight and go back to the fish. Damn, ...nice fish! I unhook him, get him out of the net. I try to measure him, but he's bigger than my tape measure. I attempt to put him on ice, but he doesn't fit in the cooler, so I get most of him in the ice with his tail hanging out. I bleed him in the ice, so he dies fast. I'm feeling pretty competent again. It was my biggest striper, and I got him doing my own thing. Played out the circumstances perfectly. But I also start thinking...well this should impress the boys. I figure I'll give it to my cousin for rescueing me - if he ever shows up.
When he finally gets to me, the current is ripping so hard, that he crashes into my boat with his stern quarter. My fault really, I had a line out with third shad, letting it drift out with the current, restricting his movement. Anyway no damage, no problems. With the jumper cables, I start the boat and separate from the other boat. The additional drag of the other boat tied off to mine, pulled the anchor. I see we are getting close to the rocks, yet, still no anxiety, just aliveness. I run to the bow, pull in the anchor, run back to the console, and put it in forward. Its still fun times, and looking back, I see I have another 30 yards before I smash on the rocks. OK, so? No big deal, I didn't hit them.
Heading home, I lead my cousin through a shallow shortcut in the dark, saving us about 20 minutes. We get to his dock, I give him the fish. Neighbors start gathering - these people must smell fish, WTF? They are all impressed with the fish; I am becoming less so. Still I'm feeling competent and confident, but the fish is no longer a big deal. A neighbor measures him, someone takes a picture. We clean the fish and put the fillets in zip lock bags. We wind up splitting the fish, half and half, ...I have 4 or 5 meals in the fridge. We talk about some engine mechanical stuff. I head home. In the morning, I realize that this nagging feeling I have is not worry about the boat problems, thats not really a big problem. In all the fun chaos surrounding the catching the fish, I had forgotten something. Although "I" felt good about myself catching the fish, I forgot about the Fish. I never paid my respects. Never said thanks.
(The thanks came in the preparation and devouring of the fillets).