July 6 – “Galveston Red Fish Day Care Center”

I went fishing this morning.  It was the first time since Hurricane Ike that I have ventured into the Gulf waters in front of WalMart and cast out a line.  I have missed it.  Not as much as I miss Chris, mind you.  But I have missed it.   I woke up, wide awake at 5 a.m.  Now that has happened before, so it's not all that unusual.  I like mornings anyway.  However, I also woke up undecided.  I did a lot of work yesterday and into last night, so I could have today open to fish.  But then I heard we were supposed to get thunderstorms.  I checked the Galveston.com webcams to see what the water looked like.  If it was too rough I knew I wouldn't go.  Hard to see at 5 in the morning.  It was still dark.  There didn't seem to be too many whitecaps, though.  I loaded up the car and went to get some bait, my final test.  If live shrimp were available, I would go, even if it was just in my uncle's canal at Spanish Grant.  First bait shop wasn't even open.  Not a good omen.  At the next one a guy was walking around outside, but no lights on.  The third one was obviously open, but no white flag flew (that's the indicator that they have live shrimp).  I was just about convinced that there would be no fishing today.  Two more options and I'm back home.  Sure enough, number four had no white flag.  One more place.  If they didn't have any, I refused to go off the island to check other places.  A good sign as I pulled in.  A truck hauling a boat was in the lot.  And a white flag was flying. I casually got out of ht car and got my bait bucket.  Success.  The only thing the guy said was, "How many?"  We're on.   I approached my "usual spot" with fear and trembling.  The tide was up, so the water was crashing over at least one row of granite boulders.  There may even be another row hidden beneath the deep.  But I was determined, so I trudged on.  Miraculously, I made it to the sand without falling on the rocks.  Always my fear.  They hurt.  After two years.  I was finally back.  What would my catch be?  Anything?  Trash catfish?  Who cares?  I was fishing again.   First cast I caught my first fish.  A catfish.  I almost went home right then.  But it was early.  And I had live bait.  Catfish usually prefer dead bait.  Before long I had my first keeper, a nice sized speckled trout.  My favorite fish to catch and eat.  And the rest of the morning I got at least a bite on just about every cast.  Ended up with two of those big specs.  Also kept 3 whiting.   But the real excitement came when I somehow stumbled onto the Galveston Red Fish Day Care Center.  I have caught reds before, but today I started hooking them one after another.  The vast majority were way too small to keep, but I did hang on to 5 red fish (I thought that was the limit, but I found out after I got home that the limit is 3.   So what do I do now?)  I actually caught 6 or 8 other red fish, but they were of the fishy day care variety.  Very small.  I only kept the big guys.  Oh, and somewhere in there was the proverbial one that got away.  Don't know what he was, but he fought hard.  Then he let go before I could land him.   Finally, around 11:30, I was pretty tired, the rest of the bait was dead, and I knew I had to clean the fish when I got home.  So I packed up my gear and headed for shore.  Now came the final challenge of the fishing in front of WalMart experience – getting out of the water.  The tide still covered what I knew to be at least one row of those granite boulders.  I cautiously approached as the ever-strengthening waves began to crash all around me.  It looked so easy.  Just one quick step up and I'm out.  Of course that one quick step had to include the bait bucket, the dip net, my fishing pole and a net full of rather heavy fish.  Cautiosly, cautiously.  Until I was about where the rocks should begin.  One more step. One more step, up went my leg.  And just then another particularly large and angry wave appeared, crashing against my back and knocking me off balance.  My other foot suddenly slid into a hole that held none other than another granite boulder – the hidden extra row was making itself known.  Unable to control my balance, I twisted and fell onto the hidden rock.  The waves continued to pound me over and over.  For a very long few seconds I was on my back, pummeled by waves and desperately grasping my fishing equipment – and my catch.  I was tossed against the rocks, barely keeping my head above water.  But I never lost my grip on my fishing pole.  Everything else was attached to my fishing belt.  Slowly I managed to pull myself up, up onto the nearest flattest boulder.  Finally, I was able to stand.  The waves continued their relentless attack, but now I was in a position of strength.  My catch was tossed between some rock, but I managed to secure it and pull it to higher ground, all the while grasping my fishing pole.  I couldn't lose it.  The reel was special.  It had belonged to my father.  It was not going under.  Nor was I.  A brief respite from breaking waves gave me all the time I needed to gain control and pull myself completely out of the water.  Drenched, but secure, I headed for home and the task of cleaning the catch.  Ah, fishing.  How I have missed it.  When can I go again?   Matthew 4:19-20 says, "'Come, follow me,' Jesus said, 'and I will make you fishers of men.'  20 At once they left their nets and followed him."   Father, thanks for the fish.  Amen.