Just when you think you had it all together, life intercedes.
I took a mad dash to the coast for a pre-arranged fishing trip. Under leaden skies, it was, at best, a little weird. Rivers and lakes are full, and I was hoping, the bays would be teeming with life as well.
Yes and no. It was a hugely successful trip as far as I’m concerned with no appreciable fish to show for the afternoon expedition. There was a rich metaphor that played out over the afternoon, and I don’t think I’ll ever get a chance to use it properly. I can try, but I doubt it.
We met up and launched at the Fulton Marina, then, with a quick glance at the clouds, headed south towards Aransas Pass. Scooting along, under the clouds, the seas were almost dead clam and we were having us a good afternoon. First stop yielded a couple of under-sized Redfish, the promise of more, and some other action, I think I landed two or three crabs.
I don’t get the whole “boiled crab” as a culinary delicacy. Sure, it’s really good food, and I suppose, good for you, but it takes way too long to work the meat out. However, as bait? It’s excellent, just hammer it up in bite-sized chunks. Slip a hook through a leg opening – good to go. Worked well before, didn’t work so well this trip. Why it’s called fishing.
We blasted across the bay – again – under the leaden skies with a patch of blue sort of following us around. We pulled up in a cut along San Jose Island, and there was a picture perfect scene, Longhorn cattle, with horns that were a good six or seven feet across. So, even though the picture didn’t come out real well, the foreground is the bay’s water, then sodden marsh grass with long-legged herons picking away, then the Longhorns, grazing under clouds that were stacking up.
I snapped several shots but the details escaped my boat camera. It was one of those incredible images, the bay, the birds, the cattle, the skies. The way the clouds would pile up right at the shoreline – maybe no hurricanes (yet) – but the wettest year on record. Ever.
I knew the answer, but I asked anyway, “Gulf’s on the other side, right, how far is that?”
“Just the other side of that dune, maybe two miles.”
Looked, to me, like about two hundred meters. Then again, I could be wrong.
In the bay, once more, there was the fin of a dolphin, then two fins, then three, circling and cavorting. We slowed and circled the circling dolphins. I thought I had the video on, instead, all I got was a single still shot. We were hoping that I would catch some dolphin porn, in action.
“They’re not too big, probably young adult dolphins, and since there’s no fish, I’d guess they’re mating.”
Thoughts of live action fish porn – dolphin porn – fleeted through my brain. We motored off to another spot to fish, I didn’t discover that the single still shot until later.
The harbinger of a squall line, moved overhead. The bay had growing three-foot swells rolling up against the shoreline, with the tide going out. Low tide looked like high tide. We turned towards the marina, coming in a full two hours earlier than expected.
The ride back to shore was like a roller coaster. Up and down, as the waves swelled in size. Never got rained on, but the little boat was hammered by the waves, and I got to test the new waterproof case for the phone. Both survived in high style.
Longhorns, clouds, herons
Dolphins (flipper jr.)
99.5 on the radio