ABORIGINAL FISHING

This story came from a friend from Alaska, I am sure that the conservationist have a hard time with this, but it is the Aboriginal way and should be respected. Nothing is wasted and it is perfectly legal. This is the way they feed their families.

It was up in Pt Barrow (furthest north city of Alaska) a couple of weeks ago when they landed 3 bow head whales. They harvested a 40 footer, a 34 footer and a 24 footer. That's a lot of sushi. They used a Cat to pull the 40 footer ashore. It weighted approximately 80,000 pounds (roughly 2,000 pounds a foot). They use heavy equipment to butcher and distribute these. This picture was on the beach about 3 hours after the first was landed. It is almost all distributed, you'll see the 4 wheelers and pickups for hauling it home where it is stacked in the front yard for the winter as it's always below freezing. They shoot any polar bears crazy enough to mess with their stash.
"Now that's fishing ;-)"

MASS MIGRATION

Looking like giant leaves floating in the sea thousands of Golden Rays are seen here gathering off the coast of Mexico.The spectacular scene was captured as the magnificent creatures made one of their biannual mass migrations to more agreeable waters. Gliding silently beneath the waves they turned vast areas of blue water to gold off the northern tip of the Yucatan Peninsula Sandra Critelli, an amateur photographer, stumbled across the phenomenon while looking for whale sharks. She said: 'It was an unreal image, very difficult to describe. The surface of the water was covered by warm and different shades of gold and looked like a bed of autumn leaves gently moved by the wind. It's hard to say exactly how many there were, but in the range of a few thousand. 'We were surrounded by them without seeing the edge of the school and we could see many under the water surface too. 'I feel very fortunate I was there in the right place at the right time to experience nature at her best.' Measuring up to 7ft (2.1 meters) from wing-tip to wing-tip, Golden rays are also more prosaically known as cow nose rays. They have long, pointed pectoral fins that separate into two lobes in front of their high-domed heads and give them a cow-like appearance.
Despite having poisonous stingers they are known to be shy and non-threatening when in large schools.
The population in the Gulf of Mexico migrates, in schools of as many as 10,000, from western Florida to the Yucatan .


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Sea Story by Carol Parker

The Old Man & The Sea

I was lucky to marry a man who shares my love for the sea. We pounded the waters in South Florida for many years while a dream lay submerged in my subconscious. In 1982 my father left me some shares in the company he’d retired from. I hung on to them for several years until that old dream resurfaced. What triggered it was something simple: a toilet – rather the lack of one – on our boat. The older I got, the more annoyed I became about the lack thereof.
“This is disgraceful and I will no longer be subjected to such an indignity,” I warned Joe in the middle of Blackwater Sound as he handed me the too-familiar plastic bucket.
That’s when we began searching for a boat with a toilet. We started small but each boat we looked at was larger than the last. Finally I found my dream in a boatyard on the St. John’s river: a thirty-two foot hefty little ship with the undeniable lines of a working trawler. Lots of beautiful teak inside. Heavy wooden doors with brass hinges. Best of all: the bathroom. Not just a toilet but a full shower, sink, large mirror and vanity. We made a ridiculously low offer on it. It must have been destiny because, to our astonishment, we became the proud owners of our own tiny ship.
I was so thrilled with the bathroom (Ahem! – the head), I wanted to rename the boat “Dear John.” But Joe said it’s unlucky to change the name. (Unlucky for him since he’d have to part with the extra hundred bucks it costs to change the name of a documented boat.)
When the “Odyssey” arrived at Manatee Bay Marina in Key Largo a year after we’d begun searching, I knew what it meant to have my ship come in. I wandered through it, marveling at the fully equipped galley, lying on the berths, and staring at my own brass portholes. I couldn’t stop fondling the wood, walking around the cabin to the bow, leaning over the rail. And it wasn’t even in the water yet.
That first day we painted the bottom. The next two days, I cleaned and polished and caulked while Joe installed the marine air conditioner. (I would nap in cool luxury while he trolled for dolphin on that stretch of liquid desert called the Gulf Stream where he’d tortured me for years. And I would delight in making frequent trips to the head.)
The day we launched “Odyssey” and began cruising south toward our dock in Key Largo, my dream shattered. We hadn’t been on the water for fifteen minutes when the boat stopped dead. Joe descended into the bowels of a nightmarish realm called the bilge. A perpetual stream of moans and grunts, clanks and clangs, preceded a sweaty, grease-smeared face that popped up like an evil Jack-in-the-box, sneering something about water in the fuel tanks. He descended again, swearing vengeance on the former owner.
Joe’s knack for fixing things got us underway in an hour or so and my dream revived quickly when I realized one of the select fantasies connected to it lay just around the next bend. There, a sweltering snake of cars would slither to a halt at Jewfish Creek while the bridge opened to let us through. We’d been a scale on that snake’s back for years. I’d watched with envy as the big graceful boats glided through, always wishing one of them was mine.
My heart thumped as I went below, got on the radio (Joe hadn’t installed one topside yet.) and requested a bridge opening.
“Which way are you headed, Captain?” the bridge tender asked, “North or south?”
At the word, “Captain,” my heart fluttered to a stop. So did my brain. I answered professionally as any good sailor would, “Uhhh.”
“Never mind. I see you,” he said, to my relief.
There is no way to describe my feelings, gliding through that bridge opening the first time, waving at all those poor scales in their cars.
We took turns at the helm, learning the feel of it. We arrived at our dock in approximately three hours, doing about seven knots. (Somewhere along the line, the word “trawler” must have evolved from “Crawler.”)
For the next two weeks we worked in anticipation of our weeklong shakedown cruise, one of the best weeks of my life – and one of the worst. “Shake-up” cruise would have been a more befitting word. But it taught us much.
One lesson only took a half an hour: always be sure the door to the main locker is shut before going into the head. The doors face opposite each other in the passageway with room enough to open only one at a time. The open one butts against the other, holding it shut. The locker door is apt to swing open while cruising if not shut properly. I learned this the hard way, in the head, while shouting through the porthole and banging on the overhead, trying to get Joe’s attention.
Another lesson: Never try to grab a mooring buoy while the boat is still moving. I learned this by watching Joe fall overboard while trying to retrieve the boat hook I dropped after it practically wrenched my arm from its socket. But nothing could mar my dream. Not even Joe’s falling overboard a second time for no apparent reason while I tried to untangle the rope from his foot.
We bobbed around in bays and sounds. We meandered through creeks in the backcountry. Schools of porpoise flanked our bow. I hung over the rail, thrilled down to my boat shoes, watching them arch out of the water and beam their fixed smiles at me. We fished. We swam. We watched the sun set from the fly bridge where we danced and toasted each other with champagne. We cooked fish dinners, played cards, and even watched a little TV.
Oh, those magic nights we spent anchored in secluded Tarpon Basin and Buttonwood Sound! I slept like a baby … waking every hour. Each time, I strained my eyes in the dark toward the black outline of islands that seemed to loom closer and closer. Joe was not pleased the few times I woke him to ask, “Wasn’t that boat over there much farther away the last time we looked?” But it wasn’t difficult to drift back to sleep, being rocked in a giant cradle, rippling water lapping a lullaby on the hull.
And those glorious mornings when seabirds called to wake me. We ate breakfast in wonder, gazing out at a paradise of islands where rosaries of ibis and egrets soared from their night roosts. Joe took the dinghy and shopped for supplies and the Sunday paper. I, of course, remained with my ship. By the end of the week, when Joe had exhausted every foul word in his vocabulary, we headed home.
After that week, we began venturing farther and farther away until recently we had the confidence to complete a two-week voyage to the Dry Tortugas. I felt as if I’d stowed away on a ship to exotic ports.
Occasionally a demon still possesses the engine or some other thing-a-ma-jig and Joe has to exorcize it. But when everything’s running smoothly, you’ll find me at the helm of my ship, nudging the islands along the Intracoastal Waterway. And every so often, I can’t resist cruising North to Jewfish Creek Bridge.
Someday if you happen to be waiting there, you might see a little trawler glide through. And waving from the helm, you’ll see a petite chaser of dreams who believes they do come true.

Sea Story by Carol Parker

Beauty And The Boat-Beast


The roar of the motor deafens me as the boat rears up on its prop. I am being hurled in darkness across Tarpon Basin toward Dusenbury Creek. Inertia glues me to my seat. I cast a sidelong glance at the beast that’s driving. He bears a striking resemblance to the loving husband I left at the dock.
A sense of impending doom settles over me as the beast tries to anchor in the creek. Only a numbskull like me couldn’t keep the fifteen-year-old motor from stalling while the beast sways on the
bow, trying to
untangle the anchor line.
“I’d like to get a hold of that ____of a ______ who sold me this ____ing piece of
line!””
I must be deaf too, or I’d be able to hear, and interpret, every vile curse shouted over the motor’s roar: “Throw it in reverse!” “Cut the damn motor!”
The beast is in his element now as he tromps about the boat. “Where the hell is my tackle box?”
I point to the bow.
“It shouldn’t be up there!” He grabs the rods. “Oh crap!” he says, pointing mine at me like a weapon. “I always have to tie your rigs. You should learn to do this yourself! Why do I have to do everything? Snarl!”
So, as always, I watch intently while he ties the leaders, and I say in a pacifying voice, “If you’d let me, I know I could do it.”
“Forget it! I have to do everything! Snarl! Where the hell are the new hooks I bought? They’re not in the tackle box!”
Searching the boat, hoping to calm the beast, I find the hooks in a bag, in the cuddy cabin where he put them last week. He snatches the bag from me like an osprey snatches a mullet.
Finally, the rods are ready. The beast ties the chum-bag and drops it over the side. Dipping into the bait bucket, he swears, “Damn it! That creep sold me half-dead shrimp again. Snarl!” Then, remembering that I won’t plunge my bare hand into a swarm of slithering, snapping sea-roaches, he dips out a sickly one and throws it on the deck. (He has some cut up mullet in the motor-well but I don’t relish its lingering bouquet.) I use a cloth to pick up the shrimp lest it give one last violent snap as I put it on the hook. I finally cast my line toward the middle of the creek
“What are you casting out there for?” the beast bellows. “Why don’t you just drop it over the side? Snarl! Can’t you see where the chum-bag is?”
I know where the chum-bag is, I say to myself, eyeing the beast. Then as I begin to reel in my line, he says, “You might as well leave it there now.”
Suddenly I remember the radio. I place my rod in the holder and head for the cabin. While I’m trying to tune in some soothing music, the beast becomes frantic and yells, “You got a bite! Look at your rod! What are you doing up there anyway? Turn off that damn radio!”
My rod is bent and quivering over the water. I spring from the radio and grab my rod. I tighten the drag and begin reeling.
“Don’t horse it!” the beast yells. “Keep your rod up!”
I reel the fish to the surface.
“A damn catfish!” the beast whines.
I hate to catch them; they’re so cute with those whiskers. And since I can’t get the hooks out of their soft mouths, the beast has to do it. I watch helplessly, hoping he doesn’t hurt the fish. He throws it back. I sigh in relief.
Now I need another shrimp but dare not ask the beast. So I pull the bait bucket up as quietly as I can. Slipping on the gardening glove I keep stashed under the seat for just such an emergency, I feel around in the bucket for a not too live one.
The beast snaps, “What are you doing with that stupid glove? How can you be afraid of a few little shrimp?” He grabs the bucket and fishes one out. “Here!” he says, slinging it on the deck.
He leers at me as I try to pick it up with my cloth. Then as I break off that sharp little horn right between the shrimp’s eyes, the beast howls with laughter. Only a moron would believe that story (told by a neighbor who catches a lot of rather large fish) about how this releases the shrimp’s essence and attracts the big fish. But what the heck, I always think, it’s worth a try.
Right then a fish yanks on the beast’s line. “Oh no!” he groans, storming toward his rod. He begins to reel it in. It looks like a big one. The beast’s eyes are glazing over as he reels it toward the surface. But suddenly the fish lets go. The beast loses his balance and staggers. Then he whirls around, a froth of saliva oozing through his bared fangs.
“If you’d do your own dirty work – snarl – I wouldn’t lose so many damn fish!” His eyes, two slanted slits, he hoists the shrimp bucket again. This time he fishes out three. “Here!” he snarls, pitching two at my feet. “So I don’t have to keep gettin em for ya!” After securing his rod, he rummages in the cooler, craving a beer – the stuff boat-beasts are made of. And contrary to popular belief, this beast thrives on the silver bullet. However, another fish picks that very instant to strike. The beast crashes past me shouting, “Are you blind? Couldn’t you see I had a bite? Get the net! Get the net!”
I stick my rod in the holder and stand by with the net.
“It’s a big one,” the beast says, his voice almost human.
Oh please, I pray silently as he seizes the net from me, let him land it. And please let it be a big one. That would appease him. I hold my breath now as he slops a nice fat mangrove snapper on the deck.
“Heh, heh, heh,” he snickers, the light from the lantern catching the primitive glint in his eyes.
Suddenly, a loud zing! My rod is arching and dancing over the water. I grab it and begin reeling. Without the help of the beast, I manage to land a snapper twice the size of his. That’s when he begins his tirade of excuses: “One of these days I’m gonna get me some good fishin equipment. How can anybody do anything with this junk? Look at this rod! Look at this line! It’s all balled up. Snarl!” His voice grows louder as he thumps his snapper on the deck again. “I can’t even get the hook out of this damn fish! Where the hell are the pliers?”
“I have the pliers,” I say, calmly. With my glove on, I remove the hook from my prize, remembering that this is what makes it all worthwhile. This is why I repeatedly suffer such abuse. Dropping my catch into the cooler, I sidestep the beast to avoid his tormented eyes, lest he catch me gloating and give me the world’s worst hickey. I turn on the radio and tune him out while dreaming of the delectable fish, poached in wine, my loving husband and I will share tomorrow. Tomorrow – when the boat-beast is gone and altogether forgotten.

FISHING IS GOING TO BE GREAT

We have been having several storms crossing the fishing grounds, although we can not go out right now, when we do the fishing should be great. We need the southeast winds to bring in the weed. The storms are bringing weed and the upwelling bringing in the nutrients for the fish to eat. I need to find some people who want to split a tank of gas, so I can get myself out to the ocean and bring in some dolphin. The freezer is empty except for some lobster tails.

Looking for some people who want to get out to the big blue and catch some fish.

GAS PRICES

I just haven't had anymore fishing stories to report due to the gas prices. I am not the only one with this issue. I have been talking to my boating friends, very few are venturing to the big blue. My family won't let me go out by myself, for fear of the unknown. Ever since the incident that took the lives of 4 people off the coast of Florida, they fear for me. I admit taking a charter with anyone I don't know would be a very scary thought and then I would be armed. Doesn't seem like any amount of money would be worth my life. Anyway, even my friends who go out with me regularly even feel bad about going out because of the gas prices. What do I do? I personally don't care, because to me there is no price high enough to stop me from enjoying one of my biggest pleasures in life. I hope that my friends and family realise this and I can begin to report soon on my next big catch.

The Fish Whisperer

This one isn’t about me, but about my husband. Since a friend and I were witness to it, both of us boobed, I figured it was ok to share here.
We head out on a beautiful south Florida day. No wind, no clouds. My first time fishing in the big pond. I was excited to say the least. We wound up trolling ourselves all the way to Bimini without so much as a bite. So much for a day of fishing.
How could I really complain though. The water was amazing and the company was grand. I announced as we approached the island that we would simply fish our way back home later. We spent the afternoon playing around Bimini and then packed up and began our journey home.
About 4 miles off the coast, we saw birds. Birds, I learned are my friends greatest friend when it comes to fishing. She gets all sorts of excited when she sees them. Especially when they are diving into the water. The funny thing is, they got me excited too because she shared with me her love for the diving birds. Diving birds = FISH! Lines out, we slowed down and suddenly we actually SEE dolphin. A whole school of them. Stop the boat, toss out the rest of the lines and we had fish on literally everywhere. There were only 3 of us on the boat BTW.
As fast as we could drop one line in, we were pulling another out of the water with a fish. They were small, but hell, I didn’t care, I was catching fish in the big pond. At one point, my friend and I each had fish on. Each holding a pole, my friend trying to net one of the two fish so we could get them in the boat when suddenly, a dolphin jumped into our boat. Yes. Right out of the water and onto the deck. My friend and I stopped in mid net and completely were baffled. “Holy crap, the fish are jumping INTO the boat” Until she noticed the line in the jumping fish’s mouth. This one belonged to my hub. Who was quietly fishing off the other side. We look over to see him, rod in hand, staring into the water trying to see under the boat. “Ummm babe, no need to look for it down there. We have it over here with us.”
That was a fishing story to beat all fishing stories. He not only caught them, he trained them to jump into the boat on their own. If only we had left the fish box open, the hard work would have taken care of itself.
Happy Fishing.

Shelah Davis
Head Chick in Charge
www.Queeniesplace.com
"where sarcasm and humor go hand in hand"


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CAPSIZE IT

My name is Zelda and I live in the Florida Keys, this day was a day to remember. A beautiful day down in the Keys as it is in Paradise. A couple of friends and myself set off to do a little dophin fishing. Out pretty far in the shipping lanes where we finally hooked a good one. I founght the dolphin for over an hour until I finally landed it and brought it into to the boat. A 48 pound bull dolphin tucked away in the fish box, one for the trophy wall.

Satisfied with the days catch, it was time to head back in and get cooking. Well as it sometimes happens we couldn't get the boat started, with all the distractions we never looked around us. Coming toward us was a freighter, we got on the radio and tried to call them. Then it was time to shoot some flares, well that didn't work, tried to shoot one across the bow as the freighter came closer and closer. Nothing was happening but all we knew was it was too late for them to turn the freighter now even if they did see us. Grabbed some life vests and put them on made our last frantic call to the coast guard. Jumping in the ocean and starting to swim as far away from the aproaching freighter as we could get.

Closer and closer we were screaming at them and didn't see anyone on deck as the freighter passed the boat so close that it capsized!!! I can tell you it was a scary sight, bad enough our legs were dangling with a couple thousand feet of water under us and now almost run over by a freighter, they wouldn't have even felt a little bump had they hit the boat. All the panic over with, all I could think about was my fish in the fish box, what can I do? I swam up under the boat and unlatched the fish box grabbing my prize dolphin, nearby was a life vest. I put the life vest on my fish so that we were all neatly floating and waiting for our Coast Guard rescuers.

After floating for over an hour the Coast Guard arrived to rescue us, coming over quickly thinking we had a child with us, but it was my fish in a life vest. The officer told us that they wouldn't be able to let me take the fish. I simply told them to forget it, because I am not loosing this fish after all that work, I will swim back. The officer called the boss and we all got rescued.

What happened to the frieghter, well the Coast Guard finally caught up with it in Lousiana, and there was nothing they could do to them. The boat, well the tow service came out and called it a salvage job, for 12 thousand dollars we could have it back. All I know is I have a beautiful trophy on my wall.

MY ROD LUCKY

This is not really a fishing story, but a story about a fishing rod. What you say! Well about 20 years ago I was living in Key Largo and just taking the boat out through Adams Cut, the water was very clear that day and I noticed something on the bottom. Jumping in to retrieve what happened to be a rod and reel. Not too crusty, I began using it, did a little bottom fishing and caught a few fish. After that day I named my rod Lucky.

Years passed and Lucky continued to perform well, the reels broke down and had to be replaced but Lucky was still intact. I went fishing with my husband and we got into a large school of dolphin, frantic as they are, so my husband became, we were fishing 2 and 3 rods at a time. I yelled to my husband "don't you dare use Lucky and put him down" The reason for this is Lucky has a short handle and will fly out of the rod holder. As soon as I could get the words out Lucky flew off the boat. I was too busy with fish on my line to throw my husband over-board, so we continued to fish. Pulling in our lines, fish on, fish on, pulling up the last line and discovered that the line seem to be tangled in another line. This was strange considering we were in over a thousand feet of water. Grabbing the other line and low and behold it was Lucky with a fish on. Gives a new name to Deep Sea Fishing.

Lucky went with me on a charter and since I wasn't really fishing we stood by and watched. A school of dolphin were now around the boat and my green anglers were having a problem. I told the guys you catch these fish with a booger, at the same time I picked up Lucky and threw the line in, no bait, no booger, fish on. Tell me that isn't Lucky.

To this day Lucky goes on all my fishing trips, my grandson Max is the one who uses Lucky now and he catches far more fish than anyone on the boat. I know that everyone has a favorite lure or rod you call Lucky, but mine really is.

HOOKED ON FISHING

Just another Mother-Daughter day, we head out on the boat, a perfectly beautiful day, but the fishing was not good. I got a call from my brother who was just coming out, I told him that we were heading in and would meet near Fowey Rocks. I told him that the fishing wasn't good, he simply asked if we had beer on the boat. My reply was "no we sure don't". At that point it was apparent to me that we couldn't possibly catch fish because we were missing a key element.

Meeting up with my brother, we approach each other and hand off the beers, both of us with our trolling lines behind us, his line was coming over the top of ours so I had to grab it to untangle it, at the same time he was trying to stop due to my dilemma, the problem with boats are they don't have brakes. Some how I got a hook in the top of my hand, as I was running across the deck I ran out of boat. What do I do? Well the choices were go swimming or pull the hook out of my hand, I took the hook out, with a swift yank, out it came. My daughter was freaked by the whole thing, since I always seem to get into a little jam every time we go out. Well all that out of the way, it was time to resume fishing, our last chance to catch something before going home.

Less than a minute passed my brother still looking on from his boat and our line starts screaming off. There must be something to that beer on the boat theory. Just like that thing with the bananas. All I know is we brought in a beautiful dolphin and happy with our catch we headed in for the day. My brother was not so happy, he told me that we took his fish! How does that work exactly. I reassured him that he did indeed catch something, it was me. That's bigger than anything he ever caught.

THE FLY GODDESS

Joni said...
I am so jealous! I was on the ocean for a Red Snapper Trip off the coast of Texas. The minute I couldn't see land, I was blowing chunks.I laid down for awhile and then got up trying to keep my focus on the horizon. It was a CHOPPY day Argh!I did manage to land one good sized snapper before blowing more chunks.7 hours out to sea and all I could do was sleep, but, I think I would do it again in a Heart beat.LOVE BIG FISH!Fly Goddess
June 9, 2008 8:37 PM

FISH ON AND ON AND ON AND.......

It started before the trip months before, my son Jason's college buddies were constantly making fun of him for hanging out with his mother all the time. So we invited the guys out for a trip we went to Bimini and slammed the fish over there. Lots of variety and good fun.

I get a phone call out of the blue that Doc and Pete would like to go fishing they were in town for a wedding and thought they would book a charter. They didn't mention their best friend Jason wasn't invited. Off we went without Jason, he was busy working that day. It was a holiday so there was a lot of boat traffic, we hooked one or two dolphin, every time we did this a load of boats came over, we were nearly run over twice. Doc said "My favorite number is 27", so we headed out to sea 27 miles off shore, to get away from the boaters that couldn't find their own fish. In the distance I noticed a couple of birds, I followed them with my eyes and noticed they were heading to another group of birds that were actively diving on the surface of the water, we dropped the trolling lines in passed through the area. FISH ON...from that point on we were bringing them in the boat. This was the last day that my commercial fishing licenses was valid. We were so exciting, I was using 3 rods at a time. The guys were on the other side of the boat doing what they could. After some time Doc asked for the net and Pete said "there is fish in it", the boat was covered in blood and the fish filled the boat to our shins. Other boats came by to try to steal the school, none successful. For two hours straight we brought in dolphin, finally exhausted and the fish box full, we left the school to keep growing. By the end of the trip FIIIIIIIIISH OOOOOOON was slow and slurred without any enthusiasum. By the time we got back to the house with our catch Jason was there, and he was pissed. Well, can't forget to mention that his college buddies never made fun of him again for fishing with his Mom.

MOTHERS DAY CELEBRATION

We have a special ritual every year on this day. It's the day for us to go fishing, Myself, daughter and the kids. This particular year the weather was just fantastic and like every other year, there are only a very few boats on the water. In Miami that's amazing, I figure all the guys are stuck home with their wives or taking their moms out to eat. That's why this is the perfect day to be on the water.

My daughter, Monica hadn't yet caught her big dolphin, it seems that both my children have this list, the fish they want to catch, they check it off one at a time. The list will get shorter for Monica this year. It seems like we were trolling for quite awhile, couldn't get out early, the 3 kids are hard to wake up and get ready, but they love it. Anyway, time passed and now lunch time was approaching, I stopped the boat so we could grab something to eat, the trolling lines behind us slack. Monica picked up a piece of cold fried chicken and without even taking her first bite the rod started screaming. Monica still had the piece of chicken in her mouth when she grabbed the rod. The line was still peeling off, I went ahead and pulled in the other line and Monica screamed for the fishing belt. I wrapped it around her and she placed the butt of the rod in. Had to take the chicken out of her mouth too.

Really couldn't tell what we had caught yet, but then a jump and we saw a pretty good sized dolphin. The fight was on, for some odd reason Monica thought she was bringing this fish in quickly. She said "Mom get the gaff", I laughed and said you have some time before we need that. Nearly an hour had passed and Monica was exhausted, finally the fish near the boat, I pulled it in the boat. Monica was so full of excitement for this was her biggest dolphin. Check that off the list.

The dolphin landed on the boat and as you know they bleed like crazy. The kids in the meantime were watching the whole event. The fish jumping around the back of the boat, while I am doing everything I can to get it under control I get slapped by its tail right on the inside of my thigh, ouch! Suddenly Max the youngest one starts crying, and Sam the older, starts to get sick. It never donned on us that the sight of all that blood would bother the kids. Sorry, about that guys.

We caught a few more fish but nothing as memorable as our Mother's Day catch. Till next year.

NEVER LEAVE A GUY IN CHARGE

I went fishing on a friends boat, first we had to clean the boat before we even left. Our goal was Wahoo fishing. Trolling along and we got a hit, I grabbed the rod and began to fight the fish. Attempts were made by men anglers to adjust the drag, to grab the rod out of my hand, because the guys didn’t think I could do it. The fighting resumed and I fended off the men anglers. I brought the fish very close and to my surprise, it was the biggest Wahoo I had ever seen. Looking for someone who had the gaff, as I turn I see our friend grab the wire with this giant Wahoo on it and begin pulling this fish over the side of the boat. While I was screaming wheres the gaff, the face of this six foot giant with mouth wide open was looking straight in the face of the idiot who tried to wire a fish as big as this. Well, the rest of the story is a tragedy, the weight of this fish snapped the wire and nearly in the boat the fish jerked its way to freedom.

COSTA RICA FISHING

Both widowers, my father and I set off to Costa Rica, spending our time as tourist and enjoying the wild. I have always wanted to fish Quepos. Hours of horrible roads, but pleasant company we arrived at our fishing boat. A small crew, but a good one. My father and I asked our guide what he would be doing while we were fishing all day, he said “I will wait here for you”, we invited him with us. It took awhile to get to our destination, about 35 miles from port in only 100 feet of water. The Pacific Ocean came alive, as we approached our fishing area. Sailfish began jumping on all sides of us. It was exciting and wonderful at the same time. Our guides caught some live bait, within minutes we were fishing and hooked our first Sail bringing it in quickly. It was a good size, releasing it after some photos. Then Dad hooked himself one, he was so exhausted, he took a nap. We continued to hook sails, sometime 4 at a time, which would have been impossible to bring them all in at one time. Our guide caught one by the tail. It was like fishing in a bowl, it didn’t seem real but it was indeed a fishing dream.

AFTER HURRICANE ANDREW

Well Ladies, this is designed just for us. Giving the female angler a chance to tell those outrageous stories. I want to start back in time to 3 days after hurricane Andrew hit South Florida. Always knowing I was more patient than men, a group of us went down to the Florida Keys, gained access because at that time I was a resident. We set out for a spear fishing expidition. Not your standard fishing, but what it? The men which had all the fancy equipment set out on the dive ahead of me and my girlfriend Barb. Barb had no experience in this sport, I gave her some short lessons after the men departed into the water. Before they went into the water I told them that their cooler was not going to be big enough. Well, they laughed and began there hunt.

After a short lesson, Barb and myself entered the water, slowly and calmly we entered the newly refreshed crystal clear waters of the Keys. Within minutes I saw my first target and being calm the grouper which was a 25pound black came up to me with curosity, he was shot with a perfect kill shot and never even blinked, that is if fish blink. Barb watching and learned, smiled, a few minutes after that I shot another grouper of 22pounds.

It was Barbs turn, she spoted her prize, aimed and shot, not familiar with her weapon shot the grouper in the stomach, which is not good, he broke the shock cord that connects the fish to the gun and swam under the hull of a wreck, shaking madly the spear came out. Observing the whole thing and watching my partner stunned I swam over grabbed the spear and physically stabbed the fish, another 25pounder. We figured we were done, no need to be a pig about it. Our time down we never did run into the guys, buy the time we arrived at the boat dragging almost 75pounds of dead weight we were exhausted and I handed the end of the stringer to one of the guys. I said “Hey how about a hand the catch is too heavy for me”, more laughter persued, but he finally grabbed the line and much to all the guys surprise, my original statement held true, “The cooler is not going to be big enough” and yes ladies I have proof, I have photos that rival envy. Not to mention the guys never went fishing with us again. Lets hear your story and don’t forget to embelish a bit, even though my story is true and accurate!