(Grab your coffee, you're gonna be here a while with this one)
If you live in Southern California, then you've been stuck in plenty of traffic. Especially if you travel in the mornings or in the evenings as I do. Tell me, what comes to mind when I list the following:
105, 405, 605, 91, 110, 710
The answer: TRAFFIC!!! Slow moving, practically non-moving TRAFFIC.
But every now and then, that traffic serves a purpose and actually proves to be beneficial. Today, was one of those days.
It was 6:00 p.m. and I was heading eastbound on the 105. It typically moves pretty well from Crenshaw (where I get on) until just after I pass the 110. Then, it transitions to a very slow crawl.
So today, I'm sittin' there, stop, go, stop, go, and out of nowhere came of memory of something that happened to me way back in the 7th grade. Now that's no easy feat when you consider the fact that I have 3 children who have ALL already completed the 7th grade themselves.
Anyhoo. So out of nowhere, I recall going fishing with my good friend Mitch (Mitch was a girl by the way, and if anyone who knows me is reading this...you know which Mitch I'm talking about and would LOVE to reconnect with her). One weekend while I was sleeping over at her house, her dad Mike decided to take us girls fishing. Cool! I LOVED to fish. I fished with my "Paw Paw" all the time. Fishing was nothin' new to an old pro like me {wink}.
So we head over to the fishing hole and I quickly realize that this experience is gonna be a little bit different than fishing with my "Paw Paw". You see, he did EVERYTHING for me. He put the bait on the hook. He cast the line. All I did was hold the fishing pole, and reel in anything that bit.
Not so with Mike. He handed me the pole, showed me where the bait was, but when it came to casting my line, I needed help. So he helped me. And he helped me. And he helped me. Eventually, I realized that there was absolutely NO way I could ask this man to throw my line in again, so I decided to give it a shot on my own.
I had my bait on the hook, had my pole, flung it behind me, lunged forward, everything was good, and cast my line. In it went, and IN I WENT right behind it. Yes folks, I fell in!!!
So I'm in the water flappin' and flailin' and Mitch is crackin' up. Although I could swim, I was certainly not the BEST of swimmers. So Mike did what he could and "fished" me out of the water as we watched his fishing pole float away.
Now I'm standing there, soaking wet, and oh, did I mention that my attire that day was a white T-shirt and shorts. So of course, we all know what happened with my shirt...it became completely transparent. How embarrassing!!!
Now, I needed clothes. I forget what Mike did for a living, but he rustled up this orange jumpsuit from the trunk of his car, and since beggars can't be choosers, I put it on.
This would've been fine and dandy if we had gone straight home. But nooo...Mitch and Mike were hungry (I was too), so we went to eat at a nearby restaurant. I can STILL see the looks on the faces of the restaurant patrons as we walked in. Mitch and Mike all nice and tidy, and ME...sportin' and orange jumpsuit and an Afro, lookin' like a Soul Train flashback. Wow!
Even with the embarrassment, I wouldn't have changed anything about that day. I was with my friend Mitch, doing something that most of the kids at school probably never imagined her doing. She was pretty busty for our age and had a bit of a reputation. None of that ever mattered to me. All that mattered was that she was my friend, and when we were together, we had a ball.
Sure wish I could find her today.
Let the DIALOGUE begin! What's your BEST fishing story?
Talk to me!
Til next time...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
Good one! I'm game. So, my fishing story is that years back when I was in high school, my Dad tells me and my brother "I want you to come with me, we're goin' sport fishing!". Me and my brother have been lake fishing for trout but what is sport fishing? "For albacore, out in the ocean!", and we're like, COOL. So I remember we had to get permits to go into Mexican waters, and we are to board a ship that will take us out there. So far, so good.
ReplyDeleteThe day comes and we board ship. Now, this is not a Carnival cruise. Basically the hull of the ship is where you sleep, so they are like bunkbeds along the sides of the ship in a dark, cabin-like environment with one miniature bathroom, no air flow, and wafts a scent that includes fish, sweaty yellow underarms, and BOAT. There is a huge metal housefan cranking full speed, but the air is so heavy that it barely moves. This is where sleepytime will take place later.
The top of the ship is a huge deck with a table center forward that is where they chop the fish that get caught. Whatever you would theorize makes fish smell the way they do, well, this table is fish smell times 10000. It was shocking actually, how salty strong it slammed into your nose. The rest is the cockpit with the captain (he did have one of those hats on, too), and all the people ready to fish. Now, my Dad brags that he spent extra so that there where less people on board. That means there was 35 people, which is HALF of the regular 70, and there isn't a bit of spare room anywhere. The pistol pops and the fishing commences. People start to finagle everywhere, going under and over each others lines, casting, reeling, and affixing the most horrid stuff onto the bait hooks. Nobody can be in one place. Everyone is moving constantly, and when someone catches an Albacore, the scene gets real BUSY.
Me and my brother bother with this for a while, and then decide to eat breakfast in the Galley. We notice that our stomachs feel as if they sloshing. Like being carsick, but with it's own special sting. So breakfast comes, and I start laying into it, and my brother is staring at his plate sliding back and forth with every wave. He has that look, that thousand yard stare. I crack jokes about can he pass the pepper, never mind, the next wave will slide it to me, when he jumps up and sprints to the bathroom. He didn't come back for a while, so I ate his omelette for him. (part II next)
Back out on deck, my Dad was fishing furiously somewhere, but I couldn't find him. Finally I spot him in the back corner behind the trash bin. I walk up, and he's bent over the rail, retching up everything he ate for the last 72 hours. I say "wow, man, are you ok, Dad?", and he says "Oh, for sure! The motion got me a little bit, but I'm lovin' it!". I know he's not loving it, he's lying, but he'll never admit it. So, I go to the bathroom, and it takes 45 minutes because I have to brace myself over the toilet, and then wait patiently for the right lean of the boat, so's I don't have a "train leaving the station" and then get thrown into the wall. The odor in here is a juggernaut too, but believe it or not, the chop table wins.
ReplyDeleteThree days of this adventure I have committed to, and so it went. Fishing, vomiting ever so often, fishing, and sleeping in the hull with 34 other people snoring, farting, and wandering about drinking bargain beer.
On the final day, I'm up front, and I notice that some guy had brought his wife on this trip, because she was sitting on an ice cooler with a face that did the talking for her. She's in a sundress, with a straw hat and pink nails, waiting out the three days while her husband trolls for albacore. I think she was about as enthused as me and my brother were. We finally get back to shore, and everyone trades their catch pound for pound for canned tuna at the journey's end. I get off the boat FINALLY, and was surprised that I almost fell flat on my face. I had gotten "sea legs", and got used to the motion, and now it took another 5 or 6 hours to get used to solid ground. It's like being drunk for NO good reason.
So we go back to the beach, and summer, and solid ground, and 3 weeks later, my Dad says "Hey now, let's go sport fishing again, who's WITH IT". We both look at my Dad and say "No, we're good. We're good". I waited to see if he was going to man up and say "fine, I'll just go and handle these fish myself", but that gumption did not come forth. He sat there munching toast with us, then we started our day, and albacore sport fishing took it's rightful place in my memories. Oh, the memories.
Too FUNNY! Thanks for playin'! I read this one to my kids (had them turn off the TV and everything). There was laughter with a mix of "Ewww" sandwiched in between. I can only IMAGINE what that chop table smelled like. I think I'll pass on ever having to smell it firsthand. I have a feeling that if I were on the boat I would've been "feeding the fishes" the entire time. (Yes, I know that the plural for fish is fish, I just like saying fishes). Don't know that I've ever been that sick, in a car or on a boat. Somethin' tells me, I don't wanna know. I'll leave that up to your brother and your Dad. He sounds like a really cool dude, who likes to keep it cool. "...The motion got me a little bit, but I'm lovin' it!" Too funny. Thank you sooo much for sharing your story...your memories!
ReplyDelete