Last Dance

So now its Saturday, or the day between Big Friday and Easter Sunday. Possibly the only stretch in the calendar where Saturday is the boring day. You know Wednesday is all "Ha, who's the 'humpday' now!"

Today is fishing day. Seeing how I get seasick in a mud-puddle, I've successfully avoided open water fishing for 25 years. But also seeing how I'm in Belize with my son who loves the water and wants to fish more than breathe at this point, it looks like the streak is over.

We book the trip, but being Colordoans and fish lovers, we make the stipulation that this trip will be "catch and release." This, for whatever reason, completely befuddles the guides (more on the plurality of that word later). Without jumping ahead, the first big fish we caught, the guide looks at me and says, "Soooo now I just throw it overboard?" "Yes" says the wacky gringo. "Ummmm, OK" (toss), and he just watches it swim away. It was like we just found the gateway to the Lost City of Gold and I said, "Now just cover it up. We'll leave it for the next people to enjoy."

But on to the story. Our first guide hurt his back tossing the net to catch the bait fish. He was really hurt, and he took us back after about 45 minutes and a load of fish later. That right folks, the Elliott boys were on fire. I think when fish know that you're going "catch and release" they jump on the line. I guess its their way of promoting the idea.

So we had to hope we could find another guide or that would be our fishing expedition. With little initial luck, and one very sad little boy sitting on the shore looking forlornly at the water, things were looking glum. But then a call came in that a guide was found and we were back in the game. Sort of. I guess the fish were in a seminar or something when we went back out because they weren't biting. I was getting some nibbles, but nothing hooked, and Sander was getting bubkiss. Leading to this conversation. Sander, "Daddy, can I fish on your side of the boat?" Now, keep in mind we're fishing in the ocean. Not a steam, not a river, not a brook, the OCEAN. The difference between "my" side of the boat and "his" side of the boat is all of 6 feet. Me, "Sure, but its not going to make a difference." "Please?" "OK, but its not going to make a, ulp, hold on, got a nibble, rat's missed it, difference." "See." "OK, come on over, but understand that I'm going to catch a fish on your old side." "Why?" "Because that's the way these things usually work out." Followed by perplexed look from Sander and a knowing look from our new guide (I may redub this trip the "The Knowing Look" tour. Belizian boat guides are my peeps). Now ,the only thing I needed for this little moment of fatherly wisdom to work, and wow the boy, was for Sander to catch the next fish. Sometimes you just get lucky. Sander caught a fish, and we were off to the races. That's him fighting one in the first pic. We caught Yellowtail Snapper and Trigger Fish. I call Trigger Fish "English Actor Fish" because they are these beautiful fish, and terrific fighters, but man do they have ugly teeth. They all point forward and they're this dingy brown color, plus they all mangle up over each other. That's our proud little fisherman posing with one in the second pic. To be fair, the guide said they bite and he was very weary of them. He kept saying, "They will bite you, rip your hand all up" then hold him up and ask if we wanted a picture next to it. Sander's no fool.

So we trolled around for a bit, catching fish all over the place (quick aside, Sander and I were talking and what makes ocean fishing fun is that its always a surprise. When something tugs the line, it a genuine surprise. Not just that you caught something, but "what" was it?). Case in point, I asked the guide if we could fish for something bigger, he said "sure, but you may have to wait." "No problem," says I, "What will we be after?" "Ohhhh, lots of things, but you never know. You put your bait down and see what bites it." I try desperately to try to turn this into some sort of grizzled life advice from the weathered fisherman, but everything felt forced, so I punt and say, "Barracuda?" He sighs and shrugs. Definitely feel like I lost a "moment" there. So we head for deeper water (again, feels like some sort of metaphor, but...I...can't...make...it...work). Sander gets all rigged up in this special harness that will hold the rod for him if he get a big one, and we wait...and wait...and wait. As we're waiting my genetics kick in. See I have what you call "greasy skin." And by "greasy" I mean, "can solve current oil deficit" greasy. So long hot days with lots of sweat and sun screen mixing rarely end well for me. If any of that awesome mixture of sweat, grease and sunscreen hits my eyes I feel like one of the Nazi's at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Oh, mama it burns. So, as my eyes start to melt out of their sockets, you guessed it, we got a hit. A BIG hit. But I can't see a thing, my eyes are watering like I've just watched an Old Yeller marathon and the Captain's yelling for me to take the rod. The boats pitching, and Sander's yelling, "I GOT A HIT! I GOT A HIT!" The Captain's yelling, "Its a real hit, its big...BARRACUDA." Holy Smokes! So I grope/stagger my over and grab the rod.

And then begins one of the great memories of my life. Sander and I reel this big thing in together. He's on the reel, I'm on the rod (the rods plugged into his little harness so he can feel the power). I lift the rod, then as I'm done lifting, I yell, "Reel," and as I lower it, Sander reels in feverishly. And so forth. Captain's saying over and over again, "Great Job!" and since I still can't see a thing, its like my other senses are heightened, and I swear I can feel Sander's excitement through the rod. He's spinning that thing for all he's worth. And then he starts yelling encouraging words, "Come on Dad! We're doing it!" We're laughing and pulling/reeling, and its a beautiful day.

30 minutes later we get that big barracuda on the boat, I think. All I can see is something shiny (that's it in the picture). Then the Captain pulls out a club and...WHACK. So much for catch and release. He says the barracuda swallowed the triple hook so there was nothing we could do, and that he's going to eat it. I'm blind, elated and a bit stunned so I shrug and say, "OK."

We head in, buzzed and tired. Grab a quick bite, and get ready for the next trip, night snorkeling.