Secret Aging Man: What a Catch!

It was a dark and stormy night...but at least the redfish was biting!

You won't find redfish in Southern Illinois or Tallahassee (at least not live ones still in the water), and Secret Aging Man was sure chomping at the bit to catch one after our Christmas visit with Daughter and her husband. As soon as we dropped anchor (the Lance camper) at our spot in Navarre's Santa Rosa RV Resort, SAM hightailed it to the end of the fishing pier so he could drop some bait (live shrimp) in the Sound and try his luck. A few other hardy souls (including yours truly) joined him there as it began to rain. The rain held on and so did his luck. He caught the only fish of the evening and asked around if anyone had a cleaning table? No luck there, so he took matters into his own hands and used the bed of the trusty Dodge truck to filet the fish.

After our tasty supper of pan-fried fish, I asked him what he intended to do with the bloody remains on the bed of truck? Surely not let the rain wash it off? This RV resort is kind of classy. We felt like the Jed Clampetts (in reverse) of the camping world with our crater-dashed Dodge truck and little Lance truck camper. I'm surprised they even let us stay, what with all of the fancy rigs parked there. SAM just smirked a little and left me to tidy up our tiny camper kitchen. He was back a few minutes later and assured me that there would be no tell-tale signs of the redfish slaughter for any of the other campers to see come morning. This kind of camping comes with the convenience of a car-washing place nearby. My Secret Aging Man--what a catch!

A view of Navarre Beach from the fishing pier at Santa Rosa RV Resort

Graceful Living on the Gulf Coast: Expect the Unexpected

SAM with lucky redfish (it's not a keeper/outside of legal "slot size," so released) on 11-11-2012, Pensacola Beach Pier

It seems that no matter where you go these days, you are subjected to someone else's taste in music, usually not to your liking. Restaurants, shops, and workplaces want to hurry you along, stir you into a buying frenzy, or lull you into complacency with your lot in life. I usually tune out the tunes I hear. Lately, though, I've been hearing a song played at work that gives me a lot to think about: Tim McGraw's Live Like You Were Dying.

It certainly does not lull me into complacency with my lot in life or anything else for that matter. It's reminding me to notice things--expect the unexpected.

When you live near the sea (or maybe it's when you've lived for more than a few decades), you get used to having marvelous, unexpected things happen. The wind picks up, and the waves crash with increasing intensity and frequency. Life is charged with possibility.

Body of electric ray (?) found on beach near Destin, 11-3-2012

It's been happening a lot lately for some reason--the unexpected, I mean. Most of it has been good, and that's even more unexpected. What have we done to deserve it? Absolutely nothing. Can we expect it (the "good") to continue? Of course not. Life is nothing if not full of grace, even in death....

Several years ago, on a day not unlike Veteran's Day 2012, SAM, son, and I went to Pensacola Beach, expecting to have a sun-and-fun-filled day on the water, kayaking and relaxing on the sand. The wind and waves had kicked up a notch more than we expected. Kayaking in the Gulf was not an option so we relaxed on the beach and watched some adventurous souls venture into the chilly and choppy sea. There were rays of some sort darting to and fro in the water, and some people on the beach were following their progress.

Not more than an hour had passed when we heard some commotion happening nearby. Apparently, some swimmer was in trouble. People were yelling, ambulance sirens announced the arrival of emergency responders, and presently the body of a young man was dragged onto the beach from the crashing surf. We stayed where we were, not wanting to get in the way of some form of help arriving every few minutes from the parking lot nearby. A group of young men fell to their knees and began to pray. What was happening? We talked to some other people nearby who had ventured close to the tragic scene and then returned to their beach blankets, all of them with a stunned look on their faces. Apparently, a young man visiting the beach with a group from a local Christian college had a sudden heart attack and collapsed in the water. We all watched as a helicopter swooped down, creating a sudden, unnatural sandstorm. It collected the body of the young man along with a couple of his companions and disappeared in a cloud of noise and sand.

We could learn nothing more than speculation from the people we encountered as we walked toward the water's edge. The rays were still swimming back and forth along the beach, seemingly more agitated than before, and the swimmers were all beached. No one seemed eager to take a chance on meeting with something else dangerous or unexpected in the water.

The young man who was airlifted to a nearby hospital was never revived, we later found out. We have often wondered what could have happened to him. Finding the body of an electric ray (at least that's what we think it was) on the beach last weekend brought to mind the young man's demise. Somehow the connection of rays and a young man's sudden death made sense. Really? Death makes no sense. Neither does the wind, nor do the waves. Grace is nothing if not full of life, even in death.

Teach a Grandson to Fish and Get Hooked on His Lines!

Walk2Write and I head to the far reaches of the western Florida panhandle for another much anticipated weekend at home. Son, grandson Micah, and I plan a fishing trip for Saturday morning. For me and the better half to get our weekend fix of the grandson, we offer to keep him for a while Friday afternoon. During our time together, Micah finds out it is my birthday next weekend and immediately proclaims, “Grandpa! I know what I want for your birthday! I want a party barge with brownies and cupcakes and lots of fish everywhere!” Who knows where he came up with that concept, but it sounds like a good deal to me.



Saturday morning, I meet son and grandson at our usual boat launch, where a nearby meandering tributary of the Escambia River flows into the bay. For the first hour, we do only fishing and no catching (my normal modus operandi). Finally Micah convinces his dad to bait his Diego fishing pole (a kiddie pole about two feet long with four pound test line) with a stiff, long-dead minnow, one of many saved by Micah from a previous fishing trip, and bagged in a zip-lock baggie as a precious commodity. After a few minutes of trolling, the pole jerks a few times and Micah starts reeling it in as quickly as his little hands can create a repetitive, circular motion. He cranks and cranks on the tiny reel, and within less than a minute we spot a giant redfish on the end of his line. It takes out line a couple times, but amazingly he hangs onto the pole and continues cranking. We see the fish about three feet from the boat; it’s large, estimated 22-27 inches (the fish, not the boat). The net is readied by son, and we think this river monster is destined for the frying pan just before the 4-pound-test line breaks. Grandpa and son are more disappointed than grandson. Micah just smiles and exhales a big “Whew!”





Another dead minnow is acquired from Micah’s zip-lock treasure bag and baited on a jig head. Son rigs the tempting morsel on a sturdier grown-up pole, equipped with 40 # braided line and 30# mono-leader. Within a few minutes of trolling, the pole starts its up-and-down dance and Micah tries to pull in the fish but can’t handle the larger rig. Grandpa takes over the task with grandson’s robust approval, and within a minute or so a 22+ inch redfish is ours for the keeping. After landing the catch, Micah excitedly exclaims “Grandpa we had teamwork!” and we give each other a high five. A few more nice size speckled trout are landed, but the redfish have gone back to sleep; no one is disappointed, especially grandpa.



Micah looks up at the sky and says, “Grandpa! I see a dolphin in the sky. Do you see it?” I scan the shapes formed by the clouds, but have to honestly reply that I really don’t. Micah says, “I can see his face!” I have to think we may have a little artist on our hands. The clouds dissipate, but Micah’s enthusiasm doesn’t.

After a long period of trolling, Micah puts his Diego pole down on the bow of our little plastic boat. Son uses his fatherly voice and says, “Micah, put it back in the rod holder. A fish could pull it right out of the boat and into the water.”

Micah matter-of-factly states, “No Daddy, they’re not so strong.”

Son reiterates with a little more emphasis, “Micah, put it in the rod holder. A fish could pull it in.”
“No daddy, they’re not so strong.”

“Micah, do it now! You don’t know what size fish you might get. It might be small or a really big and strong one that can pull your pole in the water.”

“No, they aren’t so strong, daddy.”

Grandpa interrupts the dialogue and addresses son, “You know that you are getting payback." Son looks puzzled.

“What do you mean, payback?”

“I mean, your three-year old son already knows more than you do. Sound familiar?” Son just grins.






Back at the ranch (house), Peanut enjoys a peek and a sniff at the catch-of-the-day. Can we keep it? From the way she licks at it, you'd think she's either made a new friend...or developed a taste for sushi. Paws up and step away from the fish, cat!