The Big Catch… Fruit of Patience and Perseverance

Three days, three early mornings lugging deep-sea rods and tackle down the half-mile pier. Three days of constant casting in the Florida sun. Three days of water logged cigar minnows removed and replaced with fresh ones. In three days of fishing I had only hooked one, a bonito, which promptly stripped my line straight out to the end of the pier, past the other fishermen who had no desire to reel their lines in as a 9-year-old boy weaved under and over their lines to reach the far end of the pier. I never made it. The line tangles put too much pressure on my fishing line and it snapped, after so many days of getting skunked I was nearly done, just ready to spend the day at the beach. For several years growing up a family friend let us use his Pensacola, Florida, beach house for vacation. We’d sometimes team up with another family or I’d get to drag a friend along and we’d cruise down I-55 through Mississippi, cross through a bit of Alabama, and hit Florida. Different than most folks we knew, the beach would not be the sole activity each day. The guys went fishing, everyday, from morning till early afternoon. We’d always go to the same pier in nearby Navarre, to cast cigar minnows and hope for a big haul. Dad had once caught a monster King Mackerel on that pier, so I’d always dream of following in his footsteps. When I was little, I’d drop the line from my little Zebco 202 with chunks of meat on the hook and catch Triggerfish galore, even caught a Lionfish and a puffed up Blowfish that I thought would tear the gears in my reel before I managed to get it up on the pier. But this time was different, I was fishing with the big boys now. No longer would I be catching “bait”, I was going for the big fish. Dad taught my best friend and me how to throw the huge, double-handed deep-sea rods and how to bait them with the frozen cigar minnows. We casted for two days while watching the fishing demigods at the end of the pier lift doubled rods high as fish after fish bit their line. The end of the pier became a place of arrival, a bastion of the great fishermen, and I wished with all my might that I might go there. We both had our chance when I hooked my Bonito and my buddy hooked his, but they both ended in tangled, broke lines and frustrated people. After that, nothing, not a bite, nibble, tug, nothing happened. It was an angler’s desert, and the sun baked us. I baited halfheartedly, my dad having tied a trailer hook because of periodic chomps of the back half. I didn’t believe it would work and I began to think that all I wanted at that moment was the beach. I casted my line, sat down the rod, and grabbed a cold soda. As I drank, I spotted my rod over the rim of my can, the tip bounced, then bent, then the rod seesawed on the rail. I grabbed it and set the hook and the reel sang. It whined, the line rolling off the spool and the fish turned, instinctively heading out to the deep, which meant I had a long run to the end of the pier. Folks were a lot more accommodating this time, some reeled in and stepped out of the way while other guided me over their rods or under them to guard against tangles. I rushed to the end, scared I would only lose this one as well. Finally, the singing stopped and I started the heavy work of pulling and cranking. Dad stood behind me and coached, encouraged, and the fish would answer my cranking with extended stints of heading back out. It was tug-o-war, cat-and mouse, but I felt like I was the mouse. The fish seemed tireless and my arms burned after nearly 15 minutes of fighting. Some of the greats at the end of the pier sat down their rods and watched me fight. Many offered advice, others cheered me on, and finally one spotted the beast, “Shark! It’s a shark!” The blood drained from my face. Less than 100 yards away was the creature of my nightmares. I had seen Jaws and wouldn’t venture in the surf deeper than my knee and now one was on the end of my line. I had been fighting this thing for nearly 20 minutes and the news was too much. I asked Dad if he’d take over. “No, son,” he replied, “You hooked this fish, you gotta land him.” Later, I heard him tell folks that after all I’d fought for, he couldn’t live with himself if he’d lost it for me. I had to reach down deep and muster the strength. As I pulled and cranked, I spotted it; leopardy spots dotted its light blue-grey skin. The shark was hardly swimming, worn down from the fight. Finally, I held it steady directly under the 30- foot high pier as another fisherman lowered his extra large gaff to lift it up on the decking. Once he hooked it, I cleared out of the way and watched as it snapped and swayed its way over the rail. It was a full-grown leopard shark, measuring 4 ½ feet long and weighing 33 ½ pounds. It was as long as I was tall at the time. The folks at the end of the pier clapped, cheered, shook my hand, and took pictures. Dad determined to get that thing hung on the wall no matter how much the cost. We dragged the shark down the pier with it sticking halfway out of a cooler and threw it into the back of our van driving for an hour looking for a taxidermist. Once we dropped the shark off and then headed home a few days later, Dad wrote a little play by play on the catch and sent it to both city newspapers. Months later, after the shark arrived in a wooden crate that resembled a small wild-west coffin, Dad had the clipped articles and put them on a plaque with a shark jaw I’d bought at a souvenir shop and hung it alongside the catch. Of all the animals that hung on my parents’ wall, that shark is the only thing that made it with me down to my home here in Texas where it rests on my sons’ wall. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about life, it’s that patience and perseverance succeeds. In fact, all of life is about making the choice of instant gratification or waiting for the best time; about fighting to the end or quitting. Patience and perseverance have become as rare as a herd of buffalo. Society demands instant and easy, we want it now, nobody wants to pay their dues. For instance, the town we live in is pretty well-off, which is what my mom would say if it was going overboard to say folks were rich. If you drive through the high school parking lot, you’ll see brand new, top-of-the-line sport cars, and jacked up, decked out pickups. Many parents here have bought these vehicles, which are way better than mine, and their kid doesn’t even work to put gas in it. They have the best, they have it now, and they didn’t have to struggle for it. The result is an attitude of entitlement. I see it all the time, kids have come to the belief that they should get what they want, when they want it, and they shouldn’t have to work for it. They are entitled to it because that’s what parents do for kids. Yet, I know that one day momma and daddy won’t pay for little Jimmy’s Diesel and he’ll be left to the real world; a world that takes advantage of impatience (by ripping you off) and is cruel and tough and demands perseverance. In the outdoors, especially, if you are fishing and hunting, impatience is probably the number one reason folks don’t catch fish or kill a deer. You have to wait for the animal to show itself or the fish to bite; you have to hang in there and not give in to the voices that tell you, “There ain’t no fish in this pond.” I learned that lesson that day with my shark. By day three of catching next to nothing, I was ready to give up and hit the beach. I lacked the courage to tell that to my dad and I’m now thankful for that fear. That time that I sulked, Dad thought, and his idea for the trailer hook is what actually caught that shark. Also, I’m thankful that Dad refused to help. He told me later on that he wasn’t trying to be mean, he just was scared to death that he’d lose it for me. After I watched the men heave that trophy over the rail, I was so glad Dad had refused because I eventually landed that fish and the self-confidence from that event has impacted so many facets of my life ever since. Some Practical Dad Tips… When you start taking your kid into the outdoors, know that they will get bored. I love being out, but even I get sick of nothing happening; and it will happen. You will have days where nothing touches the line or not even a squirrel scampers in the trees. But don’t let that keep you from taking your kid. Just have a plan in mind before you go. If your child is young, plan short trips of an hour or two. Don’t cut out earlier than that, just know that if you get on the water at 8, you plan to be done by 10. If you guys start really catching, be flexible enough to stay as long as your kid wants. In Florida, Dad had planned for us to fish till near lunch, then we’d head home, but we were well past lunch after I hooked up with the shark. Just know that the more in in the woods and water, the more chance you’ll have for success. Go often and grow your time out there. When your kid struggles, resist the temptation to intervene. My dad was a master here. Everything we did, he’d eventually say, “ok, bud, take over” and I was left to do the deed myself. If I struggled, he encouraged. If I failed, he encouraged, but rarely ever did he ever intervene. The helicopter parents today that call college deans to try to legislate for better grades would have burned my old man in effigy. I know it’s hard, especially if your kid has a monster on the end of his line. You see the end, the photos and the bragging sessions, and yet, I learned how to grow up, learned how to fail, and I eventually I learned how to hang in there and never, ever quit. Eventually, your kid will develop a tolerance for a long sit in a duck blind or in a bed of lily pads and eventually, they’ll get the thrill of their life, but more than that, they’ll develop a patience and endurance that will serve them not only in the wild, but in the modern world where their willingness to endure and wait will put them ahead of nearly everyone around them.