I have family in Louisiana that I visit at least once a year. My sister Jo fell in love with Frank, a sailor on leave visiting a friend in California. Jo married this southern boy when she was only 19 years old. She and Frank had four boys. These boys bleed gulf water and love their fisherman’s paradise state. So when Frank, the eldest of the boys, now a man, invited me on a fishing venture, I knew it would be an unforgettable experience. This story is about one day in late June, 2003.
Frank owns his own fishing boat, and though that speaks volumes of his love of the sport, to him it is a passion.
The night before our adventure, Frank called me to inform me that he would pick me up at 4:00 A.M. The day before, my mind was running wild with thoughts of having to use the bathroom while on a small boat. What if I had to use the bathroom in the middle of nowhere? I tossed and turned all night worrying about this bathroom issue. It was not until 6:30 A.M. that Frank finally pulled up. Jo reminded me that this was going to be an all-day ordeal and asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. I did have second thoughts, but only because of the bathroom situation. However, I reluctantly said yes. My other nephew, Nick, was going with us as well, and they invited Resio, a friend of theirs.
I had not buckled my set belt when Frank spoke in a very solemn voice, “Now, look Aunt Lynda, one thing you have to remember that that the hook can take your eye out so you must be very careful when casting.” It was seven by the time we were gassing up the boat. Frank yelled that this was the last call for the public bathroom. We hit the highway, back into the country of lush green. As we pulled into Port Sulfur, I realized that I needed to use the facility again.”Go in the bushes, Aunt Lynda,” yelled Frank. What? There was no way I was going to do that! So I carefully watched as the guys were busy getting ready to launch the boat and found that the truck would be my shield. “I can do this,” I told myself. In the meantime Resio and Nick did the unthinkable and the boat broke away from them. They were both in a panic mode and in a quick motion were able to get the boat tied again.
As the wind hit our faces and the boat bounced off the water, we were headed to the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the natural beauty of the water, sprinkled with patches of marsh. Our captain, Frank, knew exactly where to go, so as we settled in, he instructed me on how to cast my line into the salty water. At first I could not figure how to hold the fishing line, and so many times my casting went short distances from the boat. Frank patiently reviewed the process over and over, each time saying, “This is the last time, Aunt Lynda.” We were using shrimp for bait and Frank told us to cut the shrimp into three pieces. This grossed me out because this disgusting yellow substance oozed out and got embedded deep into my fingernails. Many times when Frank was not looking, I used the entire shrimp. When Frank busted me, he told me that I would never catch anything with that much bait. Resio, the self-proclaimed fisherman, was using whole shrimp the entire time. Resio was either fixing his fishing line or messing with the tackle box, and at no time displayed any fishing etiquette, though he shared whopper fishing stories which I did not believe. Frank once tripped on his pole and Nick lost the “big one” because his and Resio’s lines crossed. From my recollection of this trip, Resio was in the thick of everyone’s business. Resio claimed that he almost caught a shark, but unjustifiably blamed me because his line was tangled with mine. I never connected with Resio, as he was a big talker and a know-it-all.
Along with all these mishaps, we were being eaten alive by flies that seemed to have sharp teeth. Frank told me that they were sand flies.
In the meantime Nick caught the most fish, his quiet demeanor calming the fish as if he hypnotized the redfish into the boat. Then there was Resio, who loudly caught a stingray and almost flipped the boat doing it. Frank yelled out, “Man, be careful of that tail! It will really sting you!” Both Resio and Nick were scared of the smiley fish and Frank had to free the creature. I prayed that the fish would not die.
Frank announced that we would go to a new area. Nick, Frank and I sat next to each other, we were like human sardines, and even the biggest bump from the boat could not move us, as we were butt puzzles. We caught at least three dozen hard head, I caught three but these fish are not edible. Once Frank caught a really big hard head and could not free it, so mercilessly beat it against the boat. Nick too murdered a hard head. I prayed for the the fish to be healed of their hook wounds.
On the last part of the trip, I was anxious because I was the only one on the boat that had not caught a fish. Even Resio had caught a sizable trout. By now I was desperate and prayed out loud. As I opened my eyes I noticed a sea creature close to the boat and it had many arms. Frank said that it was an octopus and for me to not cast my line near it. I was intrigued with its spiny extensions, but it looked more like a giant tarantula than an octopus. Nonetheless I watched its every move.
I finally decided to catch a fish when I came to the realization that Nick was having all the fortune, because he had the best spot, the best pole and the best excuse. From the time we got on to the boat, Nick had to use the bathroom, but his brother Frank showed no mercy and never pulled the boat over. Nick refused to relieve himself with me on the boat, so in his suffering, God granted him favor. By this time Nick was too uncomfortable to fish. I took his spot, along with his pole, but had to cast to the other side because of that darn octopus scaring all the trout. I could clearly see the difference, as my line made the sound of a real fisherman’s as it cut through the thick humid air. It seemed to reach the ends of the sea, but it was not to be; still no fish. “No more bait!” Frank announced, as it was time to pack it up.
The Fish and Wildlife Patrol boats were docked as we pulled in. Again, Frank schooled me on what not to say. “Remember, Aunt Lynda, you and Resio do not have fishing licenses, so don’t talk to them.” Really? I talk to abandoned cats and I was not going to miss out on this opportunity to find out if they needed Salvation or friendly attitude on my part. So while the guys were hooking up the boat to the truck, I made small talk with the officers. One asked me what we had caught, and I wanted to tell them about all the hard heads that were wounded but I held my tongue. I asked them what their jobs entailed, and they said they said that they were there to make sure that the fish that were caught were the right size. I added that we measured all the fish we caught. Then I shared with them about the octopus, only to find out that there are no octopuses inshore of the gulf. I looked over at Nick, and he smirkingly told me it was just seaweed.
On the ride home I thought of Jesus’ disciples being fishermen. Simon, Andrew, James and John. There is so much to learn from fishing: having the right equipment, being patient and quiet, and catching the reward. That is how the disciples caught fish and through this training they became fishers of men.
“And Jesus said unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Mark 1:17
