My second oldest Daughter, at the age of 21 has developed an interest in fishing. She has a fairly serious boyfriend from the land locked locale of San Antonio that joined us along with the youngest (Bootsie) and the Prodigal Son. Belle and I met the new boyfriend, Rob, a while back for a short period.
First impressions are important. To summarize, I got a good vibe from the young man. ("young man", god that phrase makes me feel old)
When Boo asked if it would be ok if she brought Rob, I thought that would be a good opportunity to get to know him better.
Not so long ago, my teenagers were like every other slacker teenager on the face of the planet. They could kill you at 1000 meters on x-box live when they saw pixelated movement, but spending a day in the heat watching the end of a fishing rod was not their idea of "fun".
They all grew up spending many many weekends on Caney Creek, and they seemed to like it a lot, but they just never had the patience to fish.
Something has changed.
We don't see much of the kids these days. To have this many of them in one place at the same time made me feel like I had guests coming to the creek house.
Saturday morning, we all get up at Dark-thirty. To my surprise, all the late teen and twenty-somethings actually rolled out of the sack.
I'm in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Somewhere between scarfing breakfast and hauling gear down to the boat, Rob tells me he hasn't fished in 10 years. I was not alarmed. Compared to my brood, he's got a leg up.
And so, we head out to the deep channels at the eastest end of East Matagorda Bay. After the anchor is set, we were fishing. Well everyone but me. Rob managed to hook the bottom and yanked his tackle off the end of his line. After that, it got to be a bit of a blur for me. Someone else "lost" their tackle, and then someone else. I tied more seven knots and re-rigged more fishing poles in the first hour than I've done in ten years. Belle commented later that it was like having a bunch of 5 year olds on the boat.
Immediately, after that flurry of lost tackle, the lessons on how to get your hook "unstuck" from the bottom commenced. Shortly thereafter, the seven knot tying lessons commenced.
Somewhere in there, I managed to wet a line. I have a nice fat flounder sitting in the freezer.
Boo's boyfriend, Rob, turned out to be a very quick study. He had a rough start, but he had a real knack for setting the hook. He caught more fish than any of us this weekend. And, he worked his ass off at it as well.
He caught many beautiful baby trout. He got one speck that was just a bit shy of the legal keeper length, so that one was released so I can catch it later.
I hold the weekend record for the smallest. Maybe as long as my index finger, a foul hooked hard head catfish. And to make things worse, the little m'effer finned me in my thumb and index finger and drew blood. Believe me, I know how to hold a cat fish. But trying to hold a slimy and miniature version with two fingers and a thumb is challenging.
I think everyone had a great time this weekend, but I feel like I've been a sole proprietor fishing lodge for a bit over 48 hours.
HossBoss and YeOldFurt had their grandsons out at their place a short while back riding horses and ripping off 22 rounds like they were 12 gage sabat loads. I feel their sweet pain.