I would really like to
tell you about the very big fish my husband caught – and lost – last week. Last
Wednesday we decided to take our boat out for what very well might be the last
time before we have to put it away for the winter. The day began well. A
light breeze rippled the water softly. Puffy white clouds decorated the azure
sky, as the sun gave just enough warmth to make it comfortable.
We made our way from Harbour
Cove where we keep our boat, up Rockhold Creek and past the rock wall into the gorgeous
Chesapeake Bay. The water level was high after all the recent storms, but the
waves were gentle. Tom put out the two planers and we slowly glided north
toward the Bay Bridge reveling in the quiet and serenity. We seemed to be the
only boat out there. It was lovely.
The only thing marring an
otherwise perfect outing was that there were no fish to be had. So, after a
couple of hours Tom began pulling in his lines. He had pulled in the first line
and had just picked up the second when he caught a big one! A very big one.
Now, I must preface this with
the fact that I am not, by anyone’s estimation, nautically savvy. I cannot
drive the boat. I cannot swim. And, honestly, I cannot even stand up on the
damned thing without becoming perilously close to going over the side.
Tom on the other hand has
always had what are referred to as ‘sea legs’. He’s a wonder. He can pretty much
bring in fish or hand me a soda or steer the boat and do many other amazing
feats without difficulty while standing up. I’m always in awe of this ability.
That day, however, just
as he was pulling in the line, shouting for me to get the net, a speed boat
roared past and its wake caused our little eighteen-footer to roll dangerously.
Tom lost his footing and over the side he went.
Normally, I don’t do well
in crisis situations. I am usually the first one to panic. So, I am proud to
say that in this instance I did have the presence of mind to turn the key and
stop the engine. Then I dithered around, trying to keep my balance, and
wondering what to do next.
Tom, who thank God hadn’t
hit his head and does know how to swim, was treading water. As he directed me with
some agitation to toss him one of the seat cushions that floats so nicely and
extend the ladder so he could climb back in to the (well, I won’t quote him
verbatim here because my granddaughter may read this) colorfully described boat,
I’m pretty sure he was wishing he had married someone a little less cerebral
and a lot more physical.
However, I managed these
feats without joining him in the water and he climbed back on board, dripping
and not in the best of moods. The fish, after having a good laugh at our
expense, departed to depths unknown taking the planer with him. On the bright
side, Tom was all right. And he had managed not to lose his glasses or his
wallet. And he is still speaking to me. So, I call that a win.
As I said at the
beginning, I would like to tell you this story. It’s way more interesting than
my real life. However, in all honesty I can’t. We did go out. It was a
beautiful day. No one went over the side. Tom didn’t catch a fish. He didn’t
even get a nibble. The most exciting thing that happened was my sighting of a
huge stork that turned out to be some guy pulling in a crab line. I have an
appointment with the eye doctor next month.
