Monday, July 20, 2009

The Perfect Day at the Circus

I was in the middle of trying to string a few clever sentences together for a new blogisode, when an unplanned family day on the water interrupted my progress. Because of that blog worthy day, I am changing gears for this…

As mentioned in the lower right tab, I measure my quality of life by the time spent with my favorite “F’s”. This day will be dedicated to Family, with a side helping of Fishing.

There is another “F” that is every man’s absolute favorite thing to do, but the esposa said I was not allowed to list that one. Esposa is the Spanish word for wife. To get the spelling right, I tried out one of those English to Spanish Translation sites and found something very interesting. Esposa also means “to be chained up or handcuffed”. Back in time when the Spanish system of communication was evolving out of the Latin language, someone had a great since of humor. The dual meaning of the word does hold true. A Latin wife would love nothing more than to chain up their man. Perhaps the phrase “the ole ball and chain” was derived from this.

A couple of weeks back, I noticed we were going to have one of those post card mid-summer Florida weekends. NOAA’s forecast - Bay and inland waters smooth and 20% chance for rain in the afternoon.

I gathered the troops and asked them if they wanted to go out on the boat to a deserted island. The kids were jumping from couch to couch in excitement. The wife gave me her hawkish look. When I make plans, I am supposed to check with the Boss Lady first to make sure the family schedule permits such an activity or other plans were not already in place.

Pillow to pillow, we came to an agreement on clearing our list of to-do’s and planned a simplified trip for the kids. We were to be on the water by 9:00am and off after a shore lunch. I woke up early and prepped the boat. I had to convert it from a hooky, pliery and knifey fishing machine to a 3-5 year old friendly family craft.

The trip across the bay to the ramp was uneventful. We fielded questions from the planned speed of the boat and the likelihood of seeing the “Man in the Grey Suit” (a shark), to how many snakes and komodo dragons were on the island. Our destination was to put in at the Fort Desoto Park ramp and cruise out to Shell Island Preserve. I had warned the wife that although this ramp is the nicest in the Tampa Bay area, it would be crowded with impatient people and the typical ramp circus clowns.

As we crossed the bridge to Fort Desoto, I noticed the parking lot was filling up quickly, yet there were no boats unloading. This would be a good fishing Omen. I am very superstitious when it comes to fishing & boating.

When good things happen at the beginning of a fishing trip, like bait is plentiful, the boat cranks on the first try, the weather and tide are perfect and no one is in your favorite fishing spot, we are going to have a great day on the water. The same is for bad fishing Omens. If you have a trailer malfunction or forget your fishing license, the day tends to get progressively worse and the fish will definitely not bite.

Here is an example of a bad fishing Omen:

I bought an old bass boat in 1991 and completely rebuilt it to turn it into a saltwater flats boat. On the maiden voyage to the same ramp previously mentioned, an old girlfriend and I decided to take the scenic route over the Skyway Bridge.

We had just hit the incline to head up and over the main shipping channel when a loud boom shook the truck. As we slowed and pulled over to the emergency lane, my trailer tire came bouncing by the truck and over the side of the bridge. This was a Sunday morning and I did not know where to start. The red hot rotor and hub which the tire was supposed to be attached to was damaged when my tire committed suicide.

We left the boat and trailer on the bridge and spent four hours in St. Pete trying to find the part. Luckily, we found an emergency phone number on a gate outside a Clearwater trailer manufacturer and the owner drove up to meet us. We purchased the part and drove all the way back across the Skyway to Palmetto. Then turned around to again cross the bay back to the boat and trailer.

By this time, my temper was very short and my soon to be ex-girlfriend did not have much to say for fear of me taking the same dive as the tire. We fixed the hub, installed my spare tire and headed to the ramp. At the ramp she asked me, “Are you sure you want to go out or should we save this for another day?” As the hackles were rising on the back of my neck, I snapped back with “After making it this far, there was nothing keeping me from putting this boat in the water.” She started to say something else and I kinda stopped her in mid-sentence with my best shut-the-hell-up stare.

I wish I would have let her complete that last thought.

We took off and the boat ran perfectly for about one mile. Then the same boom sound ringed out from the engine. I blew up the freakin motor.

All my sweet girlfriend wanted to say was, “Ron, you wanted me to remind you to add oil to the gas.” Straight gas in a 2-cycle engine is a death sentence.

Once again we were stranded.

This bad fishing Omen cost me a couple of thousand dollars and a pretty good girlfriend.

I sold this boat some years later and turned the meager earnings into a down payment for Boss Lady's engagement ring.

The family day was shaping up. We were the only boat backing into the water and within minutes we were on our first family boating trip. I surmised the ramp was empty becasue the fishermen were up early and on the water at first light and the wild and crazy boaters (see circus clowns above) were still sleeping off their hangovers from the previous night.

Actually it was our second trip. Last summer, we had the kids on the boat for a short 10 minute ride and both Fisher & Ella did not get the whole “sea legs” thing and were not up for the unstable motion. They also had issue with sitting on the “roof of Mr. Shark”. We cut the trip short for fear of my kids associating the boat and the water with bad memories.

One of my greatest fears is that my munchkins will not grow to like the woods & water. When I am kneeling in prayer at church I will be thanking God for this and that, asking him to watch over those who are sick and the like, but I always finish with, “Dear Lord, please let my Fisher and Ella grow up to love the outdoors especially the water and fishing – Amen”.

I have buddies who were some of the best athletes to walk the halls of Brandon High School. They earned scholarships to Division One schools. Today, their kids either can’t stand sports or the apple simply fell far from the tree. When asking them how little Johnny is coming with baseball, shame and disgrace covers their face as they try to paint a picture of how much he works with him and how hard he pushes him, but the little J-man just does not get it. Then they generally blame video games, skateboards, computers and TV’s for there kid’s inabilities. Oh yeah, and they also blame soccer. Down here in the South, soccer is considered a girl’s sport or a communist sport. This is the land of football and baseball. My buddies seem almost embarrassed when telling me “but he is very good at soccer.”

I know, I know. We, as good parents, are supposed to introduce our children to many different activities and let them find their own way. Whatever…it’s still going to be painful if they do not follow and excel in some of the family’s ways.

I have made a solemn oath to my wife to sloooooowly introduce them to the outdoors. I will plan each trip around interesting things and before they are over it, get off the water or out of the woods.

On my way to our little paradise, I told the wife we will have to find a spot well away from the big-worthless-go-fast boats, beer guzzling and topless women that inhabit these coastal islands. I have seen many a bare breast frolicking around Shell Island when coming in from grouper fishing or a dive trip in my younger years. I’m not saying these folks are wrong or bad. When they have consumed too much alcohol, they tend to lack common consideration for others. Just a different group. It’s kind of like the rough and tumble biker bar on the water. Before you get irritated with me, let me say, I have never met a biker I didn’t like. I guess if I must be honest, then I would have say ditto on the bare boobs, too.

As we come about the point on the gulf side beach, we find the vast playa empty and to ourselves. My first thought was we were not allowed on the island anymore and maybe the tree and turtle huggers passed some stupid law to keep people off the island. This has happened on several islands throughout Tampa Bay. Islands that I camped on and fished as a kid, are now sea bird sanctuaries.

Without question, it is the above group that has the go-fast boats which ruined it for all.

We see a big sign down the beach and make our way to it. WELCOME TO SHELL POINT PRESERVE – NO ALCHOHAL, NO NUDITY, NO PETS, NO FIRES & NO DISTURBING OF WILDLIFE. So, I told my first mate to keep her clothes on and set the anchor.

The only down to the day was the water was not pretty emerald green due to the previous day thunderstorms, but it was clear enough to find incredible shells. We found so many shells, I went back to the sign to read the fine print and make sure the shell huggers had not lobbied against the shell collectors. They had not.

Fisher with perfect Olive shell and Giant Cockle


We chased ghost crabs, dug sand fleas pointed out several XL snook and sting rays to the kids. Fisher learned to jump off the boat and they finally learned not to swallow salt water.
Egmont Key in the background. Dad wearing his new Breathe Like A Fish shirt
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Fisher wanted to go on a “safari” to find snakes, while Ella played in the sand. I tried, but none were to be found. We did see several roped off areas designated as sea turtle nest. Fisher was fascinated by these. He understood there were babies in eggs waiting to hatch under the smallish mounds of sand and that we could not disturb them. He told me that when they hatch they will follow the light of the moon to the water. He is a 5 year old animal encyclopedia.
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The whole beach to herself.
Continued
Stringray shuffle
Is Ella still playing in the sand?
Railroad vine or Bayhops
"Dad, I'll go this way & you go that way"
Beachberry or Gullfeed (endangered plant speices) Pretty cool to find this.
Laying on a felled coconut tree modeling Dad's Costa Del Mars
Just another million dollar view
Small sea grape plant

It was about 11:30 when we finally received beach company. It was a couple of women who sculled up in their kayaks. Kayakers and sailors are good eco-friendly folks. They are the polar opposite of the go-fast crowd. Considerate, quite, animal loving would be good descriptive words for this group. The yakkers who fish are purist. No live bait in their boats. They work hard for their fish and are very good at their craft. I too, enjoy an occasional yak trip for snook and reds.

I have a special place in my heart for the sailors and always yield to their right-of-way. When the wind leaves their sails, I will gladly offer assistance in the way of a tow. I had a Hobie Cat 16 in high school and college. I really miss flying the hull, and the freedom the boat imposed on my soul. I will definitely teach this side of “Salt Life” to my little schoolies.

One group of boaters I have left out and I use the word “boaters” loosely, is the jet skiers. In my opinion, they are the bottom feeders of boating etiquette.

I have seen them veer off their path to zoom within casting distance of my boat while I had two hours vested in stalking a school of redfish. I have tried my best to stick my Zara Spook in their ear as they pass and have got into some heated arguments with a few of these folks. Yes, I know, I don’t own the water, but minimal common courtesy around me will keep the inconsiderate transgressor out of a hospital emergency room. I understand cutting treble hooks out of ones neck is painful. They usually stop the arguing and leave the area as I relentlessly pound them with my hook laden plug.

We put up the bimini top for shade and enjoyed our simple shore lunch. We had worn the guppies out. I asked them if they would like to catch a fish and they were both angling with “me first” chants and raising their hands.

Just what daddy wanted to hear.

We cleaned up making sure nothing was left behind and cruised back to the inside of the outer islands. While navigating the main channel leading inland, a fisherman and his young kids were hooked up on something very large. We safely idled and drifted near them watching the man take turns fighting the unknown fish with his boy and girl. Some kayakers pulled up at a reasonable distance to watch the long fight. About this time a big go-fast boat came by about 20 mph and cut the line of the fisherman, and swamped the kayakers. My wife asked as we grabbed the kids to brace for this large wake, “Is he stupid or just an inconsiderate A-hole?” I replied, “Both.”

We moved inside and out of the rat race to find ourselves alone on a deeper grass flat. A few cast later and both the kids got to real in a few misc fish. As we released the fish, three porpoises came swimming under the boat. Denise said she thought they were after our fish. I caught another one and quickly released it and again they came ripping by and chased our fish down. The kids were very excited first to catch a fish and second to see wild porpoises so close to the boat.
Fisher's small trout
Ella with lizard fish

We stopped fishing to take a few pictures of Flipper.
As we stepped off the boat at the ramp, there were a couple of high schoolers handing out some propaganda. It was a brochure on why you should not feed the porpoises. Apparently, this family group of dolphin has learned it’s easy to steal fishermen’s by-catch. The pamplet said to leave the area immediately if Flipper starts hanging around the boat. I’m good with that.

I pulled the trailer around to load up the boat just as the Greatest Show on Earth had started.

A handsome tan man wearing a bunch of gold bling and driving a black Mercedes sports utility vehicle had just backed in his shiny new speed boat. When pulling out he decided he was going the wrong way, which he wasn't, so he tried to turn around his rig. I was first in line from one direction to be blocked by his side show and eventually trucks and trailers were backed up in both directions as this guy did a five minute ten point turn while jackknifing his trailer several times. From my front row seat I saw him dent both sides of his bumper and I’m sure damaged his tongue on his new trailer. On his ninth try he paused and motioned for me to pass on through. I took off passing him down to the next dock where my wife and kids waited at the boat. As I started to back in, a horn blows. The ass clown in the black Mercedes did not recognize the angling of my truck and trailer to mean “I’m backing up to get my boat.”

He just laid on his horn, so I put it in park and raised my arms as if to say I got all day and I ain’t moving. After about a sixty second stand off, he put it in reverse. He only needed to travel about 6’ straight back for me to pass, but instead he jackknifed his trailer…again.

My wife was just shaking her head the whole time and laughing. After loading and cleaning the boat, we past by his now parked black beauty to find two notes stuck under his windshield wiper. We just had to know what they said. The first said “Nice 10 point turn, you idiot” and the other was business card from a local boat trailer repair shop.

This was a Perfect Day for both the offspring and the parents.

The kids have been asking all week when can we go out again. Sunday at the Florida Aquarium, Ella asked if we could bring our rod & reels to catch these fish. I promised both of them that someday we will catch all the fish in the Aquarium, even "The Man in the Grey Suit."

I will keep nudging them forward, with entertaining baby steps in the hope that the "Salt Life" will forever be an important part of their existence.

I will also teach them the significance of boating safety & etiquette, plant & wildlife conservation and especially the intricacies of backing a boat trailer into the water.

A few other pictures from our Perfect Day:
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Touch Down, Gators!
Ghost crab hole
Ella pulling on Daddy's shirt & Fisher pulling down my shorts
I can't get enough of these

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