Typical Day on a Boat

To get out to the wreck nearest our county, a boat must travel at least an hour and a half. We wanted to get past the West Florida Shelf toward the deeper water in the escarpment area. There are many areas with wrecks, man-made reefs, and even a WWII ship out there, great havens for tons of fish. These areas are about 2800’ deep, and that’s where the more decent dinner fish are- grouper, amberjack, mackerel, and dolphinfish (also called mahi mahi). I joked that I’m only there to catch the bait fish.

This family outing began with my brother who owned the blue and white boat named The Delgado. My dad, my aunt, my other brother Mike, and I made up the rest of the crew. The Delgado was an 18’ nondescript boat with a Bimini top that my brother loved to go fishing in. We brought our little canvas bags out, the coolers - one for fish, one for our drinks – and bags for sandwiches. Del had all the tackle and fishing poles, and my dad brought the bait of shrimp and squid. We were all seasoned fishers and crabbers, so none of this was new to us.

The trip took a full two hours past the shore, that Evinrude going all the way. The water that day was a bit choppy, and the boat would hit those waves with a hard bump, one after another. This part of the ride involves just sitting down and holding on to something permanently attached to the boat. The temperature was exceedingly warm for early summer; since we all lived in Florida, this, too, was nothing new. We didn’t wear fancy fishing clothes; Columbia and Guy Harvey brands were not to be found anywhere on this boat. T-shirts and bathing suits were it.

We found one fishing area which looked good. Del had what I called a cheater, a brand-spanking-new GPS fish finder. On this little gizmo he could see the electronic fish swimming underneath. It looked more like a primitive video game than anything trustworthy. We dropped anchor and prepared to fish.

I helped my dad because his vision was getting a little hazy. I cut up the squid and baited his hook on that thick fishing line. Now that I think about it, it might have been because he didn’t really like many types of fish, just the excitement of catching something on a hook. Everything he caught, I had to take off the fish. If it wasn’t a keeper, I’d toss it back. When he lost his hook, I replaced those for him, too. I aimed for the little fish nearer the surface, and we’d use those for bait. Fresh fish in the water brings the grouper out, and that was our supreme prize.

Not that I’m a bad ass by any means, but I can bait a hook with one hand and eat a sandwich with the other. Nothing out there was gross to me; bait fish, fish guts, my brother, etc. It was soothing to look out over the water and see the reflection of the sun in the tiny whitecaps. We spotted a sea turtle swimming by the boat, not paying attention to us at all. There aren’t many sea birds out there because they have no place to land; the shore was completely out of sight. It was quiet, and Del had some 60s music playing in the background; I was taught that talking scared off the fish. More likely it was a concentration thing. When fishing, it’s important to recognize the pull or tug of your line to determine if you hit a rock and you have a fish. We didn’t say much at all as we fished.

Over the starboard side, Del pointed something out. “Oh, look. A waterspout.” And we looked. My aunt freaked out first: “THAT’S A TORNADO!” I was not calm, either. We’re in a boat, with water twister moving back and forth in the distance. This, too, is not uncommon either in Florida waters. Storms pop up almost any time of day, rain themselves out, and disappear. They’re not usually dangerous on water and harder to track.

A while back my husband was on a fishing trip with a friend of his on a bigger, newer boat. They had gone out farther south in the next county, and one of these storms appeared out of nowhere. The storm, however, was faster than the boat. The captain had the boat going full throttle as waves were crashing into the boat. They both had the PFDs on and were ready for the absolute worst. Lightning zapping the water around them, thunder booming. Hurricane Godzilla from out of nowhere was relentless. When they got safely back to land, they were shook. No better way to phrase that; both of those mature men, responsible boaters, were reluctant to go back into the water for a while after that incident. My husband said he had never been so scared in his life, and he’s not afraid of much.

On The Delgado, we were still watching the water tornado dance in the distance. It seemed to be going further away, so all was good. Then another popped up on the port side. That one made my DAD panic a little, but all was good. We pulled up our lines and anchor, and Del sped off in a different direction to get away from the whirly danger spouts. More of the choppy waves hitting the bottom of the boat felt like going over constant speed bumps. Eventually we found an area free of waterspouts and waves and starting up fishing again, the little fish-finder fibbing on the fish. I baited my dad’s hook, and we were off to a good restart.

A feeling started growing inside of me. It wasn’t a stomach issue, so that was a good thing. It was an unusual, weird feeling. I was cold, maybe nauseous? I couldn’t identify this feeling at all. Maybe my blood sugar was low; I checked it with my glucose meter, but the number was fine. This feeling continued. I told my dad about it, and Del overheard. He started laughing. “Ha ha ha! Barb’s seasick!” According to him, my face was pale, and he could tell in an instant what was up. He kept laughing because, well, he’s my brother. I’ve been on boats and cruises, and I’d never been seasick a day in my life.

My other brother said, “I heard if you jump in the water, the horizon levels out, and being in the waves will get rid of that instantly.” I didn’t hesitate; I threw off my t-shirt and jumped in the water with my bathing suit. Mike was right; the feeling completely disappeared, and all was good. When Del said, “Ok, it’s time to move to another spot,” I looked at him and said, “No.” I didn’t want that feeling coming back.

“No, really, we gotta go.” I refused. If this was what morning sickness felt like, there will be no babies in my future household.” Del knew I wasn’t getting out of the water voluntarily. That’s when he did the unspeakable – he threw chum into the water, left-over fish guts and tails. “Ok. Now you have about two minutes to get back on board before the sharks or barracuda come.” He threw chum at me! What a cabrona!

The Olympics should have a new event called “Speed Ocean Exiting,” because that’s what I did. I’m not a fast swimmer by any means, but the speed with which I covered the five or six feet to the platform at the back of the boat was pretty impressive. I reached up for the aluminum ladder that Del put down, and I pulled myself up and leapt back into the boat. I stared my brother down. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“I know,” he said, “but you wouldn’t have gotten out of the water any other way. Am I right?” He tossed me a towel, probably a bait towel, but I didn’t care. He was right. I did not want to leave the relief and warmth in the water.

I dried my arms and hands with the towel, and then I heard my Aunt Cookie exclaim, “Hey, Del! What’s that?” In the water where I had JUST been, was a fin. The bits of chum were disappearing.

Del looked overboard and said, “Just a blacktip shark, maybe 4’ or so. They don’t bother people. Much.” He looked at me and said, “Good thing it wasn’t a bull shark; those will eat anything.” He pulled his line up, then the anchor, and said, “Then I’d be stuck with Mike.” Mike turned around and threw a piece of squid at him.

I thought about where I was just in the water and promptly heaved overboard. After releasing my lunch, I sat back down and chugged some water. When I was younger, I saw Jaws with my cousins at the drive-in. For the next few weeks, we were terrified of swimming in the small lake behind my aunt’s house. The worst thing there were big bream. I looked around at the size of the Delgado and could hear Richard Dreyfus’s voice: “We need a bigger boat.” The waves of the Gulf weren’t bad at all, and I could still bait my dad’s hook when he needed me to. I just no longer felt like fishing that day. Being seasick in the middle of the Gulf, with waterspouts and sharks around me was enough adventure for the day.