Sunday, August 15, 2010

Shark Week-end.


It doesn’t much matter that we never caught a fish or a shark. Or that the guy there before us caught a flounder and something else very large (about ‘this big’) and impressive inside 10 minutes’ time.

We were at Cocoa Beach at dusk and we’d come in hopes of catching something … anything, really … some fillets to make fish tacos out of the following day, perhaps. Instead, there was casting and re-casting; sometimes I was up to my neck in sea waves while I did it. The heavy clouds finally sprung their leaks and, while some escaped (the cowering women & children, yes), we prevailed, hoping a 5-footer would bite into our half a chicken or half a dead fish. There was a break to run spontaneously along the coast, barefoot, in a shower so hard and thick that I could only vaguely see the sand in front of me. The adrenaline speaks and I follow.

The thunder came closer and disappeared and came back some more. The lightning lit up all we were doing; mostly sitting in low lawn chairs as foamy waves came searching out bare feet. We laughed about our large umbrella getting struck like a lightning rod. We were happy we were in FL tonight. We were as warm as we were carefree, even if our only set of clothes had been drenched in the storm. Even if there weren’t any towels. And even if we only went home with a single fillet, care of our luckier friend.

This will happen again. That much I’ve decided. And we might catch something then, maybe. Again, though, and a reminder: catching a fish is not the point. It never much was. And, if you think differently, you haven’t been paying very close attention.

A shark did taste our fish-as-bait, by the way. One taste, though, just won’t do.

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