Good evening, my friends,
Yes, today was just beautiful - and to think some of our family back in Illinois, (who haven’t awakened to the idea to moving to a warm climate), are experiencing a snow storm!
You can keep it! Thanks.
My neighbor and my old fishing buddy, Steve, went out today, but didn’t catch anything. But, as any fisherman knows - a day on the water beats a day at work, hands down.
While I’m on the subject of fishing, I’d like to tell you a true story about my buddy, Steve, and how he saved my life one day a few years ago.
I call this one: A True Competitor
A true competitor knows no boundaries. I discovered this the hard way. This tale actually happened to me, and by the grace of God, I am here to repeat it.
My buddy, Steve and I were fishing again and I was being “skunked”. Steve had just landed his second fish of the day and I’d landed exactly none.
We were anchored in our favorite fishing spot, (which I will not reveal here). The wind was mild and the sky clear and bright, so it was a beautiful day for fishing.
As usual, when we arrived, we removed our bulky and cumbersome life vests and placed them in a storage area under the bow of the boat.
Steve is the epitome of competitiveness. If you look for that long-winded word in the dictionary, you will find Steve’s picture.
Again, Steve let me know: “That’s two for me and none for you.”
Steve was using a closed-face reel with a right hand crank. I, on the other hand, was using an open faced reel and had changed the handle to the left side. I am right handed, but prefer to reel with my left. It’s just a quirk of mine, but Steve doesn’t approve.
We both have our different reels mounted on “Ugly Stick” rods. His is seven feet long - mine is six. We both are using live shrimp as bait.
“No wonder you can’t catch anything with your reel reversed,” he razes me. I remain silent.
Steve also has his own idea about the area on the water with we are both entitled to use. He stands at the rear of the boat; I sit on my chair in the front. I call it “my chair” because with Steve’s permission, I purchased and installed the chair for my comfort.
Steve has been known to steal “my” chair periodically, especially if my area is producing more fish than his.
As far as I am concerned, my fishing area should extend straight out from the middle of the boat to the shore and contain all the area to the right of the center line.
Steve has another idea. His area consists of the length to which he can cast to his right and the same to his left. There will be no cutting down the middle. What is left over belongs to me. Steve sees nothing unfair in his concept.
If my cast should stray into his area, or if I am using a bobber and the current or wind pushes it into his area, he has a “tizzy” fit.
“Can’t you stay out of my area?” He asks. “What’s wrong with yours? Are you jealous because I’m catching fish and you aren’t? I thought you liked it up front in your chair.” He goes on and on. I remain silent.
If I don’t hook something big soon, I will never live it down. Steve will tell everyone the final score.
Suddenly, I saw the end of my rod dip and felt a slight tug. Slowly, I reeled in the slack and waited. Then the rod dipped again and I felt the fish take my bait and run with it. In my excitement, I reared back in my seat to set the hook firmly.
As it broke from the pedestal, my chair must have made a noise, but if it did, I never heard it. With the power of my own backward thrust, I did a back half-flip and fell headfirst in to the water. Instantly, I found myself underwater and disoriented.
It is amazing what the human brain does in times of stress. It sends out so many messages it almost unbelievable.
The first message I received in a micro-second was the memory of my Air Force flight training. My brain told me to open my eyes and look for the air bubbles. Whichever way the bubbles are going is UP!
At the same instant, my mind was saying a prayer of thanks to God that I chose not to wear my waders. If I was, they now would be filled with water and I would never be able to reach the surface with all the weight of that water pulling me downward.
The second, (or was it the third, counting the prayer?), message told me to right my body so I was facing upward. I did as my brain told me.
The next message said, “Your feet must be close to the bottom. Kick downward and push yourself upward.”
I completed the maneuver, but found my brain was lying to me. There was no bottom! All I found was more deep cold water.
“What do I do now?” I screamed silently.
My brain responded with a very strange message: “Don’t let go of your rod.”
Until then, I hadn’t realized my right hand was firmly clutching my rod. Even underwater and in trouble, I could feel the fish on the other end, pulling.
“Why should I?” I questioned my brain’s latest command.
“Just shut up and listen,” my brain shot back instantly.
Once more, I did as my brain said. Come hell or underwater, I was depending on him to get me out of this situation.
“Now it said, “Kick with your feet and push downward with your hands. Swim you dummy - get up from here. I want to live too. But whatever you do, DON’T let go of your rod!”
I did as I was instructed. You can imagine my relief when I broke through the last foot of dark water and felt the sunlight on my face. I gasped in a quick breath of fresh air.
By now, Steve had noticed I was missing and saw the broken seat. Quickly, he dropped his rod and searched the water for me.
Later he said when he saw the frightened look in my eyes; he knew I was in trouble. At first, he didn’t know what to do. Our lifejackets might as well have been a mile away. By the time he got one out, I would be back underwater. He couldn’t jump in - he WAS wearing his waders.
As I foundered and attempted to keep myself afloat by dog paddling in my soaked clothes and heavy wading boots, I was losing ground.
Then my brain told me why he didn’t want me to release my hold on my trusty rod.
“Reach out and give Steve the end of your rod,” my brain said with conviction. “How the hell do you think you are going to get out of here if you don’t listen to me?”
I could tell my brain was ticked off.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied and did as I was told.
“That’s a good lad,” my brain said. He sounded relieved that once again I was paying attention.
Steve grabbed the end of my rod and pulled me toward the boat. I hung on as if my life depended on it.
My brain said, “It does, Dummy.”
Man, was he upset with me!
When I reached the boat, I grabbed the chrome railing with my left hand. Then, with my right, I handed Steve my rod. Ever the true fisherman, I wasn’t going to let a chance to catch a fish go by.
“Here, Steve. Take my rod and land my fish.”
Steve stared at me in disbelief, but just then my fish stripped off another 20 feet of line in a desperate attempt to free itself.
Also a true fisherman, Steve took over.
Slowly, I worked my way hand over hand to the rear of the boat.
While Steve played my fish, I loosened the rope that held the steps out of the water and lowered them so I could climb aboard. Either the cold water was making my hands shake and my body weak, or I was a little more frightened than I would let Steve know. It took three attempts before I was able to raise myself out of the water and into the safety of the boat.
I sat down on the rear cushion and took stock of myself. I was soaking, dripping wet. Somehow my glasses remained on my nose. I thanked God for that small miracle too. I didn’t want to put out another $250 for a new pair. That would cut into my fishing money!
As I watched Steve fight my fish, I pulled off my sodden sweatshirt and wrung water from it.
The fish moved into deep water and more line screamed from the reel. My fish had to be a large one. Now, when Steve landed my fish, I would only be one behind him. Maybe then he would stop razzing me.
My fish made one more run and then turned belly-up. The fight was over. I watched with admiration as Steve calmly reeled my fish to the side of the boat. I picked up the landing net and scooped up my big, fat, 26 inch Redfish with a net.
“Thanks, Steve,” I said.
With a smile on his face, Steve said, “Well, that’s three for me. When are you going to catch a fish?”
Don’t you just love a competitive man?
Hope you enjoyed this.
Until next time,
Vaya con Dias, my friends,
Karl
