On our annual Edisto trip, as Roo has already documented aspects of, I was reunited not only with my summer playmates Dusty and Morgan, but also with a long lost love for fishing. So reminded by the simple joy that comes with fishing that I hung a stuffed fish in our garage. I’ve always enjoyed fishing which is odd given my competitive nature, impatient tendencies and complete uncertainty of success that comes with fishing. Fishing is one of those things that make you feel closer to nature and more manly you feel when you reel in the big catch. And there’s always hope that the big one is still out there. No matter the size you nab (or don’t), you have no idea how much bigger the next one could be. Whether it was brother Mike and I riding our bikes down to Lufkin Pond to snare Blue Gills or Henry, PJ and I seeking 12 pound Pikes on the cold waters of Kenora, Canada, fishing has always been a hunt in the unknown. I’ve been hunting maybe twice in my life and didn’t enjoy it. You can’t shoot something you can’t see. But with fishing, what you can’t see may be the next big one. At the Edisto Marina, we got a great idea of what that big one might be at the weigh-in for the 1st Annual Edisto Fishing Club Shark Tournament. We don't quite have expectations this big...but whose to say aspirations aren't.
Riley’s dad and I have been determined to catch the next big one ever since I started attending the annual summer retreat with Roo’s family seven years ago. For the past two years, Ronnie and I have tried harder than we did in 2002. We’ve scoped out various docks, landings and creeks and chartered captains and boats. We’ve waded chest deep into the ocean while in over our heads with enthusiasm. What I like about our recent adventures only lures me back for more. But I am getting ahead of myself. On the last day of our vacation, we set out early on a chartered voyage. We put our squid and shrimp baited shortcomings of the previous trips of the week behind us and set out for some big game. We knew right away that we were on the right boat as our guide took us to shallow waters where St. Helena Sound meets Big Bay creek, where bonnethead sharks were nearly beaching themselves to get a morning snack. Into the water we tossed blue crab-baited hooks and out came a 17-pound relative to the hammerhead. Ronnie reeled it in. 
Later that night, while grilling our fresh catch along with some small Whiting fillets, Riley’s dad shared some rare quality time and conversation. It was mostly and pleasantly one-sided. Ronnie told me stories from his newlywed days, where he and Riley’s mom would take fishing trips on her grandfather’s pontoon on the Santee (River). He told other stories of Riley’s early adventures on the boat as well. For someone who doesn’t seem to talk very much, Riley’s dad is a great story teller. I look forward to telling our kids tales of these trips now. That said, Ronnie and I are going to have to really start reeling in some big fish. Or not. Like I said, with fishing, you don’t need something on the end of the line to necessarily have a good story. But Ronnie and I both agree having our own boat might help.
So for a week, I am the one that got away, away from it all: my inbox, cell phone reception, traffic; and got back to a childhood joy that I hope to grow in the coming year, connecting with my father-in-law, creating stories that we can pass down in vacations to come.
Riley’s dad and I have been determined to catch the next big one ever since I started attending the annual summer retreat with Roo’s family seven years ago. For the past two years, Ronnie and I have tried harder than we did in 2002. We’ve scoped out various docks, landings and creeks and chartered captains and boats. We’ve waded chest deep into the ocean while in over our heads with enthusiasm. What I like about our recent adventures only lures me back for more. But I am getting ahead of myself. On the last day of our vacation, we set out early on a chartered voyage. We put our squid and shrimp baited shortcomings of the previous trips of the week behind us and set out for some big game. We knew right away that we were on the right boat as our guide took us to shallow waters where St. Helena Sound meets Big Bay creek, where bonnethead sharks were nearly beaching themselves to get a morning snack. Into the water we tossed blue crab-baited hooks and out came a 17-pound relative to the hammerhead. Ronnie reeled it in. Later that night, while grilling our fresh catch along with some small Whiting fillets, Riley’s dad shared some rare quality time and conversation. It was mostly and pleasantly one-sided. Ronnie told me stories from his newlywed days, where he and Riley’s mom would take fishing trips on her grandfather’s pontoon on the Santee (River). He told other stories of Riley’s early adventures on the boat as well. For someone who doesn’t seem to talk very much, Riley’s dad is a great story teller. I look forward to telling our kids tales of these trips now. That said, Ronnie and I are going to have to really start reeling in some big fish. Or not. Like I said, with fishing, you don’t need something on the end of the line to necessarily have a good story. But Ronnie and I both agree having our own boat might help.So for a week, I am the one that got away, away from it all: my inbox, cell phone reception, traffic; and got back to a childhood joy that I hope to grow in the coming year, connecting with my father-in-law, creating stories that we can pass down in vacations to come. 
3 comments:
cute post! don't you feel refreshed?!
That's wonderful! We all need weeks like that!
We spent all of our summers at Santee diving off the pier, fishing, swimming... they are awesome memories!
Oh, and we REALLY want a boat, too!
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