I took some time off and let Alan write for me this week.
As he worked the jig on the end of
his line back toward the bank, I chuckled. Reminding me of a funky dance move,
his twisting jerk would have made Chubby Checker proud.
Winding our way through the edge of
the spartina cordgrass, we were proud to trot the wild horse trail. No, we
hadn’t saddled a steed -- we were lugging our tackle like pack mules. And if
you have ever pulled prickly coastal pear cactus from your flip-flop clad foot,
you too appreciate a well-established marsh path.
You see, the night before, we had
tided off our boat in a remote saltwater creek. Miles from a floating dock, we
drifted up to a ridge at high tide, trimmed the motor high and secured her with
rope to an oak tree. On the rare chance a late-night rogue would pilfer through
our stuff, we carried our poles and tackle with us.
The tides of the Georgia coast
normally fluctuate six feet twice daily. We knew she would be sitting high and
dry when we returned. So we planned to fish the incoming tide and untie when we
could.Our target was flounder. But William wanted to explore first. So he marched off downstream along the edge of the marsh, and I eased between casts back toward the ocean.
Without finding one strike, I heard
William sloshing up behind me. Turning around, I was greeted by a big smile.
Our 8-year old son was caked in mud from the waist down, holding his
flip-flops. “Boys will be boys,” I said to myself as I bit my lip and asked him
to follow me. I reached a patch of white sand and instructed him to scrub off
the pluff mud with sand.
Understanding he was getting a pass, he did this very
quickly and efficiently.
I returned to the boat and tied on
a jig for William, who joined me in the pursuit for supper. After watching his
technique for a bit and laughing, I realized I still hadn’t landed one fish. In
fact, I hadn’t even gotten a bite.
As I turned around to cast, I heard
the water break and then flapping on the bank. Spinning around, William was
really dancing now with an 18-inch flounder at his feet. After a big hug and
several fist bumps, we were back fishing, and within minutes he landed another
doormat. And then another.
At the end of the day, William had
skunked his dad for the first time, and I grew up a little, too. Maintaining
patience is paramount, especially when your focus is fun. And again, I was
reminded, children are our greatest blessing.
Some days are better than others.
(Alan NeSmith is publisher of The Northeast Georgian in Cornelia, Ga. Email him at
anesmith@thenortheastgeorgian.com.)
