Bay Fishing Expeditions
Oyster Bay
Is it possible for eight fishing rods to remain untangled during an afternoon's fishing excursions in Bon Secour or Oyster Bay? With sunburned noises and bleached out hair, we summer cousins somehow managed to keep corks afloat, tempers of fishing territories low, and the casting of the lines in a calculated and proper geometric form. From shrimp to squid, the bait would often change, and the line's depth wavered between the questions of bottom fishing or mid depths. Many a catfish jabbed and stung a less experienced hand, and many a catfish fork, flipped those pesky and snarling cats back into the Bay. The croaker fish caught remained on board only to eventually croak themselves to death in a luke warm water bucket. The whitefish and mackerel often schooled themselves into our casted death traps, and a rare flounder, feeding itself on the bottoms, would bring claps and shouts, especially from the cook, Mymommie.
As the afternoon wore on, the sun no less hot and the air no less humid, Mymommie would begin her early supper routine. A melody of grease popping and the sound of burgers and fries hitting the hot skillet caused the stomach to talk and the smoke from the skillet would billow out of the galley's screened in windows. Burgers on the boat, anchored in the bay, a Grandmother's happy chore.
I do not recall many Bay fishing expeditions that did not at some point in the day find us unconvinced by an unnoticed sand bar at which time meant all hand off deck and into the Bay's warm waters. Wooden poles worked with the submerged bodies below. All pushed and worked until the cruiser was released from its bellied embarrassed position and off of the hidden sandbar.
Motor pens were sheared, propellers bent, nets tangled, diesel tanks flooded and anchors lost, but all and all, no problem ever conquered the ability or the spirit of the crew. Each incident added to the day's adventures, and never with fear, but a youthful sense of excitement. These thrillful thoughts walked off the boat and into a secret page in our own individual story where we were the hero of the day and the king or queen of the Bay.
