Today was a fishing day. I had to meet 9 of my fellow workers and friends for a half-day fishing in Galveston Bay. This would be my first Texas charter.
We have been planning this trip for months. The busyness of the summer had us all gasping for air. Honestly, the anticipation of this adventure was a common conversation; it kept us smiling!
Now, the clock read 3:15AM. Yes, you read that correctly. Both the numbers and the time of day are accurate.
Getting up early was part of not wanting to disappoint anyone. I would not want to be late and hold up the adventure of others who were eager to make a memory out on the waters of the bay. Nine others were counting on me to be on time for our team adventure. I would not disappoint them.
At 4:30AM all ten of us showed up at the rendezvous point and we were off to our destination. Our three guides were waiting for us. Our group dispersed and we were off at the break of dawn, headed for secret fishing spots known well by our professional guides.
Anticipation is one thing. Past memories of great fishing adventures is another thing. But, actually motoring out to the fishing spots of a guide that I have never met is a completely different thing.
Then, the boat slows down. The captain is scurrying about his boat. He is giving us instructions.
I am paying attention. He is speaking with confidence and professionalism. My expectations morph into excitement rather than skepticism. Fishermen are always optimists.
With rapt attention I was attuned to my rod. Feeling the slightest movement, staring at the rod tip for any unusual action and trying to imagine what that first strike would feel like. Then, “SLAM!” something violent took my bait, line peeled of the reel, the rod bent into the shape of a giant comma. “Fish on!”
photo credit: brucefong cellphone photography