Died and Gone to Heaven

Well, today was one of those fishing mornings that make every fruitless trip worth it. I woke up at an early time, had a great cup of coffee. The temperature was just right, and a nice breeze blew threw the windows and I made my way to my lake. I pulled in and met up with my cousin, who has been away for a year now. We got on the water with the intentions of just enjoying ourselves whether or not we were to catch any fish. However, as soon as we broke out into the main part of the lake, you could see fish breaking the waters surface in search of the morning bugs. No one can pin point the science behind it, but sometimes all the factors involved align just right and it seems as though the fish are feasting as if this meal would be there last. It seemed as nearly every fifth cast met with an eager fish. Sometimes it appeared as though more than one of them may have been stalking the bait and clashed as they lunged for it. Like merry men drunken with our passion, we laughed and cheered one another as we boated fish after fish onto our kayaks. With so many to choose from, we made an effort to be quite selective, only taking what we knew we will prepare for tonight's feast on the grill. I am been known to say I don't like those fairy tale cheesy endings to movies, but as we coasted back onto the lake shore, short of the theme music, I could have sworn we were living one of those endings this morning.

In late summer of 2006, I followed my orders to my next and final duty station at West Point, NY. During the three years there, I took great advantage of their endless lakes which offered wonderful fresh water fishing opportunities. Knowing that I would eventually be done with my service, and that I would return to NJ, I began to research the fish species that were popular in my home state. This is when I learned of the infamous striped bass. Now, many years away had distanced the bond that I shared with my cousin Joey, yet we came to found that we both ended up finding ourselves through fishing, and in sharing this great passion in life, we became closer than ever. While at West Point, I was able to save 60 days of vacation leave, and I took the whole sum at the end of my time there. This was something that I had planned for a long time, to have 60 days payed vacation during the fall migration of the mighty striped bass. My cousin and I were like children in a candy store running a muck for these two months, honing our skill in the surf, and testing our craft at every striped bass hot spot on the east coast. Although I greatly cherished the time in which we bonded, my favorite day of fishing was definitely the first time he couldn't make it down the shore for our daily hunt. He instead was on a terrible and expensive date with a very caddy girl. I basked in my glory while fishing off the Mantalokin Bridge a feeding frenzy, known as a blitz, erupted in the waters below. I placed a pile of pebbles in my pocket, and with each fish I caught, I moved a pebble to the empty pocket to keep count of my catch. Had it not been for the fact that I had to walk every fish down the bridge and jump over the side to the dock below just to pull them up, I think I would have easily caught 100 hundred of them. I did however, make out with 27 catches, and kept 2 of the larger ones. Being the good cousin I am, I was sure to snap picture of each catch before I threw it back, and send it to my cousin, in hopes that he would never choose a ho over his bro again during a fishing excursion. None the less, I sent those two months putting to use all the knowledge I had researched of these great fish. I've included some pictures below of the fruits of our hunt.

Well, its been a rough couple weeks with a lot of work to do as the summer post session comes to an end. Although I haven't had the opportunity to get back out on the water, I never pass up the chance to ensure my gear is in tip top shape and sitting in the garage, ready and waiting to embark on the next hunt. While sitting there in the man cave, I thought about the first time I really had a success fishing trip. I took a two hour car trip with my friends from our base in west Louisiana, down to the shores of a town called Cameron on the Gulf of Mexico. I had read about a large species of fish that is able to be caught on the beach and in the rivers that spill in from the ocean. The hard fighting red drum was our target. We spent the better part of 12 hours racing around to several hot spots that I had learned about online. We finally settled down on a public pier, which we decided would be the location that we would remain for the rest of our trip. At this point, we had caught a few flounder and some other ugly species I had not yet seen, yet still I longed for the sight of the taught line that would give me the fight I was in search of. As the sun began its decent, we began taking turns carrying our equipment to my truck. As I was walking back up the ramp for what would have been the last 5 minutes of our adventure, my friend began to yell. I looked up to see my fishing pole lift off the ground and get caught on the black metal railing that was mounted to the pier. He placed his hand on it so that it would not slip, and I arrived a moment later, pulled the pole off of the railing, and yanked back to set the hook in what felt like a Volkswagon. My heart raced and my blood pumped furiously as the pole was bending almost in half from the struggle of this unknown giant trying to flee capture. My adrenaline was in overdrive, I walked up and down the pier, pulling some line in, then losing some to the mighty fish. We battled back and forth for the better part of half an hour, when finally it broke the surface. It was the biggest fish I had ever seen in person, a giant red drum. My friends lowered the net, and pulled her up onto the pier. Once she cleared the railing, I lost control of myself like a child learning to ride a bike for the first time. My arms were going all over the place, and I began to shout at the top of my lungs. My enthusiasm seemed to spill over onto my friends, and we exchanged grunts and chest bumps in the traditional male ritual of celebration displayed by warriors standing over their kill. If ever there was a moment I would like to go back to, if only for a brief second.

Internet Down

My internet has been down, but I wrote my posts in word over the passed few days and im posting them all tonight from the computer lab.

A Bonding Experience

As I mentioned in my first post, my military experiences had the profound effect of distancing me from my family. There were two young boys, in the prime of there learning years, who needed guidance and confidence. It tore me up that I could not get past the barrier which they had set up in wake of my hardened soul. I was sitting out in the garage one day when my younger son walked out and sat down in a chair. He just sat there and watched me reline my fishing pole, with the most intrigued look on his curious little face. One of the times I peered up at him, our eyes crossed paths. I gave him a wink, and a big smile stretched out between his cheeks. Without words, he got up from the chair, walked over, and positioned himself with his back facing me. He put his little hands into mine and said, “Can you show me how to do that.” Together we finished the task while we exchanged question after question for answer after answer. I told him that my favorite fish was the mighty striped bass. He looked up at me and asked if he could come with me next time I went fishing. I stood up and took his hand, and we went right then. That first time we fished, I instinctively felt that I needed to be right there helping him with every step, until he sighed and said, “Daddy, I won't catch anything if you keep talking.” After calming myself from a good laugh I slid over to give him room, and watched him test out his new skill. After a few moments past, my eyes were fixed on the water while I pondered over the flood of thoughts that filled my head. Then with a loud shriek he exclaimed, “I caught a giant striped bass,” at which time I looked over to see the sight that is in the picture above. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he caught more bait. His eyes were full of pride and his feet floated on clouds. This was the first of many experiences between him and I, as well as with my older son, that taught me about the kind of father and the kind of man I wanted to be.

Invisible Rewards

The alarm clock rang out at 5 am yesterday morning. I struggled with the notion of rolling over and going back to sleep. Somehow I managed to peel myself off of the cozy warm bed and stumble towards the coffee maker. After grabbing a steaming cup, I wobbled like an old rickety man out the front door to inspect the sky and the potential weather. It was cloudy, and possibly going to rain. However, I was already up, so I took the drive over to my secret lake, launched my kayak, and fell into my trance. I paddled through the thin stream that spills out into the main lake. The morning air was fresh and cool, and birds were chirping. A rabbit sat on the bank and watched me float by. I threw some bread to a goose, who then chose to then follow me in hopes of more. I even took a few moments to open my bait bucket and watch the minnows dance around one another in the water, even though I would soon send them out as bait. As I broke into the main lake, I observed several mother ducks, whom had gathered in a cove, instructing there ducklings on bathing techniques. I get a stupid little smile on my face every time I get out there. I paddled over to my favorite spot to try my luck under a dock where the fish usually hide amongst the pilings waiting to attack their pray. A man was walking around the dock and near the woods with a camera, looking for the perfect scene to take a picture. We smiled and nodded at each other, and although no words were spoken, we both knew we were out there for the same reasons.
I spent the next 6 hours spanning the lake, only to end up with one fish. In the eyes of an onlooker this would seem to be a failure in my quest. That is exactly what I want them to see, because the wealth that I gain from a day like this is invisible to the naked eye. The rewards do not come in the physical materialistic form, from which most people gain there temporary excitement. This bounty is much greater, and longer lasting. It is something you have to feel with your soul.

The Beginning

In the Spring of 2004, I was faced with adversity. Once again I had to lace up my boots, gear up, and sling my rifle. I was boarding a plane for the second time to head off to battle to fight for my country. I held my head high with pride and wiped away a tear as I looked back to see my 2 year old son and newly pregnant wife standing hand and hand waving me off. Once out of their sight, I let my head sink a bit, but tried to remain strong despite the realization of the pain that await me.

A year passed, and I emerged from the plane a changed man. I discovered that I had matured. I had grown. I had expanded my views on life and the world. I had become a better person, and made a difference, yet I had grown distant from my friends and family. I had faced things I would not soon let go, let alone even have the strength to face. In burying it deep inside, I closed off a part of myself, and my loved ones suffered.

I had hit bottom and was numb to life. I couldn't remember the last time I felt an emotion of any kind. Then a couple southern boys in my unit took me out fishing one day, and from there on my life would head in a new direction.

I discovered the meaning of the word passion as I found that fishing was more than just sitting on a dock watching a bobber with hopeless patience. It was a science. I embarked on a journey in which I learned where the different species of fish lurk at different times of the day as well as the year. What they eat, and when they eat it. Do they hunt or do search the bottom for scraps. Where do they live, and where do they feed. How does the water quality and underwater terrain effect their behavior. In an essence, I pulled my feet out of the water, stood up from the worn planks on the end of the dock, quit waiting for the fish to come to me, and I began the hunt for them.

In the process, I began to feel again. I felt many things. I felt joy when I succeeded, and aggravation when my prey got the best of me. I felt a sense of accomplishment when I walked past a group of empty handed anglers, parading my stringer loaded with my catch. I was good at something again, and I was hooked.

These feelings stimulated my soul, and I became myself again. I became a better father, husband, friend and person. All I had learned during my time away was now showing its true colors and I felt on top of the world.

In My Element