by Lee Powell
I woke up early on Saturday morning, and Thomas promptly came and picked me up to drive to the river. We got to his cabin about mid-morning and then took his boat to the ramp to put in. The scenery was beautiful there, with marsh lining the river and pine trees lining the marsh. This was backwoods low country. Just looking at it made me want to stand around a fire eating a fish or oysters.
We drove the Tideline back to his cabin while Thomas’s dad drove the truck back. Thomas, Charlie, and I then unpacked, settled in, ate lunch, and relaxed. We decided to spend the afternoon trying our luck fishing off the dock and wakeboarding, but I was not very lucky in either pursuit. As the afternoon waned, we prepared for bull drum fishing. We loaded the rods and other fishing paraphernalia onto the boat, and Thomas, Mr. George, Mr. Collins, Charlie, and I climbed on the boat and once again departed from the dock.
The beginning stages of evening were in place as we drove to our destination with a beautiful storm thundering in the distance. There is something about seeing an impending storm heading towards me while the sky above me is still clear that is surreal. Not long after we got there, we got a bite, but it shook off the hook soon after. As we waited, we ate fried chicken and saw the sun dip below the horizon.
After a short while, we drove to a second spot known for bull drum. The sky was a faint orange to the east and a light purple to the west. There were stars above us, but in the distance, closer than before, the storm blocked them from view. As the night took over, we still waited, and still caught nothing.
As night completely engulfed the day, we had moved to a third and final destination. It was deeply quiet; the only sound was the water licking the hull of the boat and the occasional chatter. When we did talk, our voices were low and restful, as if we didn’t want to wake the sleeping water. Mr. George quietly pointed out that the water was phosphorescent. We gently waved our hands through the water and watched a faint glow of yellow appear where it was stirred. It was similar to moonlight, but the moon had been subdued by the storm.
After no bites, we began to head in. Though she was not a menacing storm, she caught up to us on the way back, and it began to rain. When we arrived back at the dock, the storm had passed. We tied up the boat and began to fish off the dock at the greenlight, which is quite literally a green light placed in the water about five feet from the dock that attracts small, skittish, fish.
We cast in a line with a ridiculously small artificial minnow and pulled in a tiny puppy drum. All the other fish had swum away because of this. We threw it back and waited for the others to reappear. During this waiting, we had the idea of throwing some bigger rods out further in hopes of pulling in a bull drum or stingray. By the time we had finished, the small fish had returned to the greenlight. We all cast in a small bait and we all reeled in puppy drums and perch. Again, we threw them back, and waited for more to regain their bravery. While waiting we rebaited the big rods who had lost their bait due to crabs.
The other and had gone to bed in the cabin, but Thomas, Charlie, and I stayed at the dock repeating this process countless times; we were having a good time. We were talking about God- knows-what when Thomas heard one of the big lines start singing: it was letting out line to a large fish. We rushed over to it, and Charlie started reeling. Thomas and I were standing next to him waiting for it to get close enough to net it. Charlie seemed to be reeling in dead weight, which told us that a stingray was hooked.
Eventually, Charlie hauled it close enough to the dock for me to net it. Once it was on the dock, we carefully took it out of the net, one of us standing on its tail and the others removing it from the net. We then took a picture of Charlie with the ray, and carefully flipped it back into the water. We all sat down, took a deep breath and continued our conversation form earlier. At this point, we were only fishing as an excuse to not go to sleep. It was a half-hearted effort from here on out to catch fish, for the main focus was whatever we were discussing at the time. After some time, we decided that were tired and walked back to the cabin. We collapsed on our respective beds, couches, and sleeping bags, and with heavy eyes, quickly fell to sleep. I remember my last thoughts as I went to sleep, which I still think about today: in fishing, catching a fish is a bonus. It is always worth it to be there, regardless of what is reeled in.
Comments