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A boy and his fish …

In creative writing class, you’ll go over the classic sources of conflict in literature. Man against man. Man against himself. And man against nature. This is a tale of Man against Nature. Man won. Big time. I managed to slip away from reality long enough last week to get out on the Gulf of Mexico […]

In creative writing class, you’ll go over the classic sources of conflict in literature. Man against man. Man against himself. And man against nature.

This is a tale of Man against Nature. Man won. Big time.

I managed to slip away from reality long enough last week to get out on the Gulf of Mexico with my good old buddy Wes to pursue the mighty grouper. Nothing like a 70 degree January day to put things in perspective. The waters were Prozac calm, rocking me into a trance as I watched the flash of sinker and bait spinning down through the blue depths, easing into blackness, plunking off the bottom. Each fish strike would jar me back, dragging my mind up out of the depths as I’d start reeling like a madman. We caught a lot of fish, but the catch of the day came when Wes hooked up with a 20 pounder that he managed to drag up out of 40 feet of water.

This wasn’t the grouper’s first encounter with man. We found at least two other hooks in him, and a 6-inch Rappalla lure was lodged in his gut. Each a tale of the one that got away.

After cleaning him, we took him to a restaurant near the marina, where they cooked him up for us. He was good blackened. He was good fried. That big old fishy did not die in vain.

So Wes left Clearwater with a full belly, a fish tale and bragging rights till the next time we get out on the Gulf. It can’t happen soon enough to suit me …

5 replies on “A boy and his fish …”

That poor grouper. He’s been out there swimming around in the Gulf for years, trying to avoid the vile stream of runoff from the development that lines the coast from Pensacola to Panama City; his stomach hurts mighty bad and has for weeks, and when he tries to get something to eat, he gets killed, battered and deep-fried.

I tried to read his entrails, but I kept getting a busy signal. I think we were too far from the nearest cell tower.

Guess I’m no Tiresias …

But damn, that grouper tasted good.

A grouper tested my 20# test oncet. I ate him with some fava beans and a nice chian….er, make that fried taters and an icy cold beverage from the glass lined vats of Old Latrobe.

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