Fishy Stories

It was a typical spring morning. As usual 5:00 a.m. came way too early, as last night’s shenanigans were a bit much. The plan for the day was to head offshore with my buddy Daniel in hopes of finding fishy flotsam. As luck would have it, I glanced at the palm trees outside my window and immediately concluded the winds were too stiff to even think about breaking the inlet.

It had been years since we've last seen each other. Johnny and his fiancé moved to South Carolina to start a family away from the hustle and bustle of South Florida. I relocated to California in search of greener pastures and Andrew was living the dream—fishing nearly every day. Andrew had just repowered Unforgettable and was itching to make a crossing to the islands. Somehow Johnny got permission from his fiancé to take off for a few days and I had nothing better to do, so we planned a quick trip in search of wicked wahoo.

A recent family dinner at a local Chinese restaurant was abruptly disrupted when my sister exclaimed a crude remark. "Garrett, you are a pig!" Though taken aback by the proclamation, I was relieved my brother was the target of the verbal assault. Without thinking twice I returned my attention to General Tso's Chicken.

Wattered and faded by the passage of time—nearly five decades—the labels on the pill bottles not only revealed the man's name, but also detailed his affliction and dosages.

"Snyder Bros. Quality Druggist: Take one at 9am, 3pm and 9pm. For stomach ulcers."

There's an old saying suggesting multiple methods for skinning a cat. I have no idea how this grotesque adage originated, or more importantly why anyone would want to skin a cat. But apparently, several options exist.

Although I am not privy to any cat carving techniques, like every offshore fisherman I am well aware of the fact that there's more than one way to hook live bait.

When my late, beloved grandma made a meal that she did not like, or that did not meet her expectations, she dubbed it as being for the birds. As a child I remember finding the expression confusing, as I recognized a negative connotation that didn’t seem to fit with the delicious dish that everyone else was thoroughly enjoying. Nonetheless, as with most things that my grandma did or said…I latched onto the expression and repeated it constantly. Everything was for the birds, whether it was school, homework, broccoli, or bedtime. Everything except fishing that is.