| Fishy Story Fishing was never my forte. Still isn’t for that matter. I don’t get it. I mean, what’s the use of casting a line with a hook attached on it, then staring at the water till a ripple might appear. I say might, cause I have heard stories – great fishing stories told to me by friends who have hats, and boats, and lures and such – of many hours in the sun, and when that sun set’s it is straight to McDonalds for a McCod, or McMakrel. I can count the times I went fishing on one hand, and I have to add here that I am a three-toed sloth! The first time I was but a young lad, my watery environment a pond in an urban setting. Time I lasted was 43 minutes and 12 seconds, fish caught equaled none! The second time round was during my early teens, on a boat floating the river Shannon. Time lasted was 2 hours 3 minutes and 57 seconds, fish caught equaled none! The third time round was during my late teens, on a pier in Yorkey’s Knob. Time lasted was 1 hour 15 minutes and 3 odd seconds, fish caught equaled none… but I did catch something else… My uncle is an avid fisher, to call him a pro is stretching it a bit, but he has more fishing years under his belt then I have breathing… When I stayed with him, and my auntie, in the year of ’89 he often got up early during the a.m. to head out and catch him some breakfast. He was successful all but once, but the remaining 34 times he managed to wake me up with the putrid smell fish frying away in a bath of oil coming out of the kitchen. I tell you, there is nothing worse then waking up with the smell of fish being fried on a saterday morning when your head is still swimming in the beer infused haze of a kegger! One sunny Sunday afternoon, trying to get over my achy breaky brain, my uncle invited me to go out and prove my manly hood. Guess he had felt lonely all those other times doing the solo gig, and thus thought that maybe I would catch the bug and from that day forth would be his steady fishing buddy. I’ve been told that fishing is for the lonely, but the moment they are in company of other people they can talk till your ears fall off!!! Anyways, I put on my fishing outfit; flip flops, t-shirt, shorts and hat, and together with Sam the wonder dog we made our way to the pier. As the time was nearing 5 the crowd had started to increase. Most of the present anglers were pro and knew that one wouldn’t last during the midday-sun. Aside from the obvious heat stroke one could get, they also knew the fish wouldn’t exactly be up for biting on some luke-warm worm bait. We found a spot at the end of the jetty, put down the cooler and umbrella and out came the squid. I had never fished using squid, for me it was worms or beacon, but no texas sushi! Deftly I braided on a piece of squid, and after a final tug I was satisfied that this piece of bait wasn’t about to lose itself from the hook. By nature I am a watcher. I like to study people in their environments. If you ask me what the best way to spend an afternoon is I would tell you this; sitting on a terrace, overlooking a square, ice cold brew on the table, ample supply of smokes nearby and some shades on my nose so I can watch without shame! Dude, that dude was picking his nose! FREAK!!!... he must’ve been hungry… When watching people you look at the way they carry themselves, mannerisms and such. But the greatest thing about watching people is that you learn something about their trade. I have never made a pizza, but I have watched plenty of hairy men toss around a disc-shaped piece of dough. Would I be a great pizza baker (ehrrr, tosser)? Probably not, but I know that I would look good while failing. Image, contrary to what the peeps at Sprite would like you to believe, is EVERYTHING! Thus deftly, with a lovely stance copycatted from the pros, I cast out my line. Plop, into the water it went. After about a minute or so I felt a tug, quickly followed by a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I had baited something. I had started my primal fight of man against fish! Besides, my stomach was starting to get empty and could use a nice filet of sol… Cranking the reel I proceeded to take in the line. Inch by inch, sweaty palms jerking the round reel thingy. And as soon as the tug had appeared it left, leaving a vacuum in my soul, an unstilled hunger in my stomach… the fish had become a ghost, just like Keyser Soze. Chalk one up for the fish! Not one to be outdone by a catfish, or some other water inhabitant, I got my lure, got me some more squid, and braided on the bait! Real good and tight this time around. Again I cast my line, again with perfect stance and a focused stare to the spot where just moments before I had met my fishy nemesis. Plop said the line… splash said the gull crashing in after my bait! Exqueeze me, baking powder? Did someone say gull’s a crashing? I had seen them hovering on the horizon, occasionally diving in for a morsel of something, a scrap from the ocean smorgasbord. Never in my wildest imagination though had I thought them cheeky enough to steal from me! After all I had the perfect casting stance! This winged creature with loud squeaks and nasty poop (should it land on your car, or even worse… on your person) had stolen my bait. It had stolen my chance at catching my nemesis. It had stolen my pride! Not one to be outdone by this raven of the sea I got my lure, got me some more squid, and braided the bait… again. Real gooder and tighter then the last time round… Again I cast my line, again with perfect stance and a focused stare aimed at the gull while trying to figure out where in the big blue confronting me I would find my fishy nemesis! Plo… swoosh said the gull, not even giving the bait time to find it’s watery pillow, it snagged the squid from the hook and with a mocking laugh it flew off to finally perch itself on a wooden beam in the distance. The proverbial gloves were off. This was war, my personal gull-war. Mentally charting my strategic plan I prepared for the battle of the bait! Thus, not one to be outdone by the hyena of the ocean I got my lure, got me some more squid, and braided that bait… again. Even goodier and tightier then the last two attempts. I used a staple gun to really tag the stuff on, some duck tape just to ease my mind… Again I cast my line, again with perfect stance and a focused stare aimed at the gull, this time nor caring where the line would fall as my nemesis was not water born but air based! Swoosh said the gull, bait still 7 feet above water. My reel started spinning out of control as the bait stealing bastard flew off, squid in beak and a mumbled har-har escaping from that cavity. I pulled as hard as I could on the line, saw the gull’s head jerk back and instantaneously the tension left the line. I watched the bait falling down towards the water, down towards the playing ground of my supper… But there it was, a flicker of grey/white caught in the corner of my eye. Like a stuka-bomber the gull had laid course for my squid, making an almost suicidal swan dive from way up high… And again it got hold… I jerked the line, reeled the reel, cursed the seagods, fought the tears in my eyes, wet my pants… no wait, that was another time… There was noise, there was water being flopped around, I caught site of a wayward feather… and all of a sudden my line went very tight. Very very tight. Very very very tight. So tight that had it been spandex on a woman we could have counted the ripples of cellulose… Screw fishing, I was gulling! Perfect reeling-in stance, back slightly arched, grin on my face, beads of sweat on my forehead… “what are you doing mate?” asked my uncle. “getting even with nature, fighting the fight for all the kids who were bullied out of their lunch money during junior high… can’t you tell?” I responded… it took me about a minute to get my avionic adversary out of the water. I can tell you one thing, a gull is a heavy bird especially if it has been soaking in seawater for over 59 seconds. During it’s attempt at stealing my bait thrice fold, and my subsequent counter strike with the rod, the line had managed to entangle itself around the right wing. To say that I felt sorry for the gull would be a lie, but it was slightly damaged and I could see a little gull blood. As my uncle held the bird I proceeded to untangle the line… and it proceeded to bite my uncle in the finger… Why, why can’t a creature understand when you are trying to help it? Snapping away with it’s beak it tried to bite my uncle several more times… but this time we had called in the cavalry. Sam the wonder dog had found the gull to be a worthy biting rival and was fiercely trying to snap off its tail. It took teamwork to free the gull, but do you think it thanked us for saving it from certain doom? Hell no, as we let it fly away it circled over our heads and tried to precision poop on us… it missed, but only by an inch or so. I returned one more time to the jetty with my uncle, not to fish, but to see if the gull was still around being a pesky nuisance to professional fishermen… The sky remained gull-free whenever I showed up, no sign of my arch enemy. But occasionally, when I wander near the ocean, I can hear it’s mocking cry on the wind… and the plop as a white speckled gull-poop misses me by a fraction of an inch… … |