You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Catching a shark.
I’m on Panama City Beach. The sun is a ball of orange, whispy and alive, slowly lowering itself into the sea.
The sky is swirling pink with fluffy clouds that hover in the air like balloons in an ethereal art gallery.
The Gulf of Mexico is calm. It’s blue – green waves slowly rock to shore.
The sea calmly rolls over the sugar white sand like a warm blanket being pulled up to your chin.
The layer of quiet water reflects the golden light illuminating the beach like a gigantic sparkler.
I am standing on the shore. I have a fishing pole in my hand.
The air is warm, but the sun setting into the sea seems to push the sky gently, forcing a breeze on shore that cools my skin.
I look at the 11 story building behind me. The balconies are dotted with beach towels. The sun paints a fiery reflective ball in each window.
The building looks like a monstrous transformer with multiple fiery eyes staring down upon the Gulf.
I gaze down the beach. The air is turning pink to purple. There is a white family nearby. They appear to be freshly bathed. They are all wearing white shirts and posing for a picture in front of the prancing sea.
A grandpa is in the middle of the group. The youngest member of the family, a little boy runs around the elders. His diaper pokes out of his khaki colored shorts. It is a moment that will be preserved forever on the family’s wall.
I am kneeling in the soft sand. I have a slice of processed squid. I am cutting it into two equal chunks.
Behind me I hear the unmistakable squawk of gulls. They eye me suspiciously, looking for an opportunity to strike. These flying thieves look cute, but their predatory thoughts are calculated, malicious. They think with their stomachs and a primordial need to steal. I’ve been their victim before. Turn your back for a moment, they’ll swoop in like an aerial cat-burglar. They are aggressive, precise as they peck open your bag and steal your bait.
“Get outta here!” I holler.
They ignore me, pretending I am not a part of their plans.
Bird liars.
I pick up the icy squid, just pulled from the freezer. It has the consistency of frozen jelly. It is disgusting to the touch. My immediate thought is to wash my fingers. But I draw upon my caveman self and let the gooey substance fill my palm.
I grab the barbed hook. I imagine it going through my finger as I carefully push the razor-sharp metal into the meat. I double the hook back into the fleshy chunk and tug on the line.
I stare at the slowly undulating sea and gather the moment.
The sun is kissing the ocean’s surface. Birds sore on the violet horizon. I sense swimmers to my right. I don’t want to jeopardize their safety, so I veer to the left.
I stroll into the ocean. The water is bathtub warm. It is inviting. I feel minnows tickle my feet as I push forward to my knees. I have just entered the food chain, I think to myself.
I have my neon yellow pole over my head. I make sure to keep the line free in the spool. As I push into the surf up to my waist, I look back at the shore. I am a hundred yards off shore. I am leaning forward against the current, bobbing with the slowly rising waves.
“How far out do I gotta walk,” I say over the ocean’s buzz.
I am now up to my chest. Each wave makes me push-off my toes to rise with the water.
I time the tide. I reach back with the pole. The water rises, I push, and at that moment, as I ride the crest of the wave, I throw the 2 ounce sinker and double hook full of squid into the purple hue.
I watch the line fly forward. The rig spins like a whirly gig and lands in the dark green water.
It’s a good cast!
I leave the spool open, covering the line with one finger. I turn and begin pushing back to the beach. I am 150 yards away. I see families meander down the beach.
I see the 11 story monument of relaxation rise out of the sand. It is a barrier of site, an architectural oddity. It fits into this seascape like rap music in church. Though I am staying in this building, though it affords me the opportunity to be in this moment, fishing pole in hand, surrounded by a warm ball of sunshine, I am saddened. The building is an execrable reminder of man’s need to build at the edge of something beautiful.
I get to the beach. My heart is pounding. I have pushed forward against 200 yards of liquid resistance.
I feel the cool breeze pushed forward by the setting sun. It is welcome relief to my skin.
I push the pole into the rod holder. I tug on the line making sure it is taught.
I follow the almost invisible filament into the shimmering, undulating water. It disappears into the glassy smooth reflection of the day’s last gasp.
I imagine my chunks of squid beneath the surface signaling a dinner bell.
My hooks are waiting, my line is tight, I will be ready here on the shore, 200 yards away when the fish strikes.
To be continued….
Life’s Crazy™