Stories for my grandchildren - deep sea fishing

Across the parking lot from one of our favorite sea food restaurants in Port Aransas is the Fisherman's Wharf - home of the Scat Cat, one of just a few boats that charter deep sea fishing trips from that port. I proudly remind  Barb each time we see that boat that I am a veteran of a deep sea adventure aboard the Scat Cat (OK, technically a previous incarnation of that boat). She reminds me that I was green for a week after my "adventure" and that I never wet a line the entire 12 hours we were underway. It's so hard to write revisionist history when the facts are well known.

Shortly after we moved to Austin, I was invited to join a group of adventurous souls on a deep sea fishing excursion. Most of the group were employees of Sweet Publishing or friends from church, and I was invited as Ralph Sweet's personal guest. I thought until then that he liked me.

This was a regular event among this group and the tradition was to leave Austin on a Friday afternoon, traveling in Ralph's camper. The group always stopped for supper at Barth's Steakhouse in Kenedy. We don't go past Barth's anymore on our trips to Port A, but it's still there, getting scathing reviews online; cited as dirty, smoke-filled and smelling of insecticide. Some things never change.

On to Aransas Pass and the ferry (I remember wondering how that big camper would fit on that little ferry) and a short jog to Fisherman's Wharf to board the Scat Cat before a midnight departure. It's a relatively large boat that can accommodate a lot of people, with sleeping accommodations, restrooms and concessions in the inner area of the boat. The drill  calls for an all-night poker party in the sleeping area while the boat makes its way out to the snapper banks, with fishing beginning after dawn and continuing until the return in the early afternoon, laden with succulent red snapper.

I played match-stick poker for a couple of hours and then crawled into a bunk for a little shut-eye. All the bunks have rails around them, and I thought that convenient. Especially since the waves further out tended to rock the boat. A lot. Not only did you need the rails, you needed to put your arms through the sides to keep from being flipped right out of that bunk. One of the guys on the trip proudly showed us the scar on his forehead from a previous trip. I thought it was encouraging that he didn't let a little thing like getting tossed out of a bunk on his head stop him from going out again. Later I learned that his blow to the head did more damage than leave a scar.

Not sure how, but I did fall asleep, waking only when the boat stopped and folks started gathering on deck. I swung out of bed and realized that the floor was going up and down, up and down, and that, my friends was the end of my fishing adventure. I had stoked up on Dramamine ahead of time, just to be sure I was ready, but dear hearts, those little pills were of no use whatsoever. I do remember the big sign outside the head (nautical talk for restroom) that said "Don't put anything in these toilets that you haven't eaten first."

After about an hour I crawled (literally) out the door to the deck area, thinking the fresh air would do me good. That's when I learned the dark, hidden secret about deep sea fishing. ALMOST EVERYONE GETS SEA SICK. They hold on to the rail for dear life, barf awhile and then fish awhile. Rinse and repeat. I participated in this ritual - I just chose not to fish. I eventually found that if I stared at the horizon and did not move at all, I could survive. Oh, and don't look at Manny, the 1st mate, who would carve off a chunk of fresh squid to chew on while he used the remainder to bait hooks. Too late. I looked.

Fishing for snapper stretches the sport  to its most competitive extreme. Lutjanus campechanus feeds near coral reefs at a depth of 200 to 300 feet. To catch them, you man-handle huge fishing rods (that are chained to the rail) so that you can release heavily weighted baited hooks until they hit bottom, then you start the electric reel (!) to rewind the several hundred feet of line and see if there is anything on the hook. If it is a 10 to 15 pound snapper, good. If it is something else - a shark, for instance - you yell for Manny and he steps over and cuts the wire leader and sets you up with a fresh leader and hooks. He will even bait the hooks for you. Just don't look at him while he does it. Uh oh. Too late.

By the time we headed back to port I decided that I might live. I even moved around a bit, to stay in the shade. I don't remember much about the trip home, though. And  it was a long time before I ate sea food again.

But I can proudly say, "Why yes, I've been deep sea fishing. It was quite the experience."