Thanks Dad!

Reflecting back to my first GreenWater experience would have to be the memory of my dad and I fishing offshore in the Gulf of Mexico. I do believe that this is why I became a fly fishing guide in Texas, and enjoy it so much today. I remember my dad leaving on Saturday mornings before sunrise and not coming home until after dark when he would go fishing offshore. I would always be waiting for him to come home with a big fish, and when he did, all my friends would come running down the street to see the catch of the day. When dad would go bay fishing I got to go with him as he taught me how to catch sand trout, croakers and speckled trout, but these were not the same as the big fish that would catch in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. I always asked if I could go with him, but the answer was always the same “not until you are bigger”.

Then the day came in the summer of 1960; my dad came home on a Friday from working at the refinery and that night at dinner he asked if I wanted to go offshore fishing with him the next day. “YES SIR!!” My reply was immediate. I couldn’t believe it, whit a grin from ear to ear, I was going to the Ocean, the Big Lake, GreenWater, The Gulf. As I glanced towards my mom, she must have seen the smile on my face and the desperate look of “please let me go” as she nodded her approval.

After dinner, dad and I started getting the boat ready for my first offshore trip, putting rods, reels and all the essential tackle on the boat and hooking it up to the truck. That night, the anticipation of how big a fish I was going to catch was like trying to sleep on the night before Christmas.

Before we got to the boat ramp we made a stop at the bait camp as you cross the bridge to Galveston Island. I still remember the stench of dead fish that hung in the air as I walked in wiping the sleep from my eyes. As dad was going to pick out some lures and ribbon fish, he asked me to grab something to eat. I didn’t realize how well you eat when you go offshore. I walked up to the counter with a couple of sandwiches and chips; dad began to chuckle and asked “What are you going to eat son?” Apparently, I did not quite understand what all day fishing offshore meant. “Follow me” he said, and with my arms cradled he started filling them up with vinnie winnies, sardines, crackers, and cookies until I couldn’t carry anymore.

When he cranked up the old 60-horse SeaKing and the fresh salt air hit my face I knew this feeling would be in my blood forever. As we ran the 5 miles across the bay, the excitement ran through my body. I was six years old and ready to catch the biggest fish in the gulf. Dad put the boat into neutral and asked if I wanted to drive the boat. Another first! “Who me?” A “yes” came out of my mouth before I could even thin. Barely able to see over the bow, I took the wheel like I had practiced so many time sin the driveway of our home. With the boat heading east, the compass pointed the way as I watched the sun literally rise out of the water. At the sped of maybe two miles an hour (wow!), dad set the rods out and stowed everything in its place. Eventually, he took the wheel from me and explained my job.My job was to watch the rods and when something took the bait I was to yell out “FISH ON” so dad could slow the boat to set the hook. Trying to watch all the rods can be hard on your eyes. I watched until my eyes started watering from not blinking. It was like having a staring contest and first to blink loses. The rod won. An hour went by while I wondered about when we were going to catch a fish. Then hours went by without even one strike. This is when I learned why dad took all that food; you eat when the fishing is slow. With my sandwich just about finished, I noticed that the rod looked like it was going to be pulled out of the boat. My job was finally here! I yelled out, ‘WE GOT A FISH, STOP THE BOAT, DAD FISH! FISH!” I am sure at some point I would have got “fish on”, but not this time. Dad grabbed the rod out of the holder, set the hook and handed me the big fiberglass rod and said “Hold on!”.

I had my Moby Dick on the end of my rod and it was him or me. The instructions from dad were to not reel until he stops running. Dad stood behind me to hold me in the boat, I think we were both a little afraid the fish was going to pull me overboard. As the fish started to slow down I started to reel in line as my dad had taught me the night before by pumping the rod back and reeling as I came down with the rod. Five minutes, ten minutes, my arms quivered live Jell-O. Fifteen minutes later (it felt like hours) my dad was grabbing the gaff in one hand, the leader with the other in one stroke he gaffed and lifted Moby Dick (aka king fish) into the boat. Just when I though my eyes could not get any bigger, they did. My first king fish was big as me, my little arms ached, my heart raced and I could not have been prouder.

Arriving back at the boat ramp I held the boat while dad backed the trailer down the ramp to load the boat. I reflected back on the fish we had caught that day, and as we started home I was already thinking about the next rip offshore, and my new found  admiration and love for my dad. After falling asleep in the front seat of the truck, the next thing I remember is dad waking me as we pulled in to the driveway. “Would you like to go again next Saturday?” dad asked. I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth fast enough “YES SIR!”

Thanks dad.