one fish, two fish

"The little fish never live where the big fish live."

That's what he said to me as we made our way out into the bay. We made our way out on a crisp, clear, and deliciously blue day with only a few rough waves in our midst. The skiff was a bright golden yellow. I sat on the left corner while he steered us to the little fish. He steered the engine with a long extension he'd fashioned out of a white PVC tube. He smoked a cigarette and shot that Popeye like smile out behind black sunglasses and a frayed Yankees hat. He was the kind of guy one immediately deemed as tough. Though deep down there was nothing but a great softy... a giant teddy bear. And this man, who rarely went fishing with anyone, was fishing with me.

I closed my eyes feeling the cool wind toss my hair, the sun sinking into my skin with its delightful warmth. He pointed toward the lighthouse at Thomas Point and I smiled. I've kind of got a thing for lighthouses, though I didn't tell him that. And all I could think in that beautiful moment was how lucky I was to be there in the midst of the blue immensity with a sweet, dear friend, attempting to fish (something I haven't done since childhood) all on a Monday afternoon. How lucky was I to be in the thick of it. And then I thought, how funny. Once upon a time I feared the immensity... being in the midst of the vast expanse... the unknown. Yet there I was, completely and utterly happy. And ready to fish.

The blood worms are perhaps the worst part. He pulled one out of a plastic bag on top of a big red cooler. With a small knife he sliced him in half coloring the white lid a blood red.
"Ah this one's a bleeder," he said.
He then baited my hook and said, "Are you watching? Cause this is the only hook I'm gonna bait for you."

I smiled. Nodded. And secretly wished I wouldn't catch anything merely so that I wouldn't have to cut those poor little worms into pieces. But I did catch those little fish and sure enough, cut those blood worms up, threading my hooks and casting away.

I kept flashing on memories of fishing with my grandfather. Truth be told the memories are vague and sparse. All I know is that I loved the ritual of heading to the pond by my grandparent's house to fish. I loved the quiet, the waiting, and not having to talk. So today I had to keep reminding myself to stop talking, to stop asking questions as I was unsure of how he preferred to pass the time in between catches. Suffice it to say, one can learn a lot about a person while standing in a boat with a baited line in the water.

We finally filled our bucket with enough little fish and ventured back across the water to where the big fish live. Several hours later, maneuvering around this little lighthouse, we'd caught nothing. Well, no fish. He'd managed to catch a Seagull. I looked on in part laughter, part horror, simply hoping he wouldn't have to leave that bird with a hook in his beak. Luckily no, but seriously? A Seagull? Apparently luck was not on our side. Or, the fish just weren't hungry.

We headed back to shore moving into the current. I made my way out of the skiff completely drenched, my fingers clammy and stiff, sunburned face, and feeling the slightest sense of defeat. I palmed over the slice in my left hand from a hook that had missed my little fish and caught my flesh instead. I then sat in the car, he turned on the heat, and watched through the rear view mirror as he latched the golden boat back onto the van. And I thought, so this is fishing, huh? Oddly enough, I loved it.

Like a complete nerd I brought up The Old Man and the Sea, thinking he might appreciate the beloved Hemingway novella. I even made reference to Thoreau. He hadn't read either. But this afternoon was meant to be more simple than that. In a way, a meditation of sorts. And despite the lack of fish, it was a truly beautiful day. And I felt content just being near him. Just standing next to each other, not saying a word, not catching a thing. I couldn't help but feel like now we better understood each other, in some small way... even though he can't tell me why he loves fishing. And after catching a Seagull, I'm sure he's still trying to figure that one out.