My much anticipated fishing trip turned out to be an epic battle, not between man and fish, oh no my friends, that story has been told. This engagement was between stomach and sea. What was at stake included the following: Tasting breakfast once, or twice. Possibly having to swab the deck, or basking on the deck in glorious victory. Enjoying the spoils of the catch, or spoiling the catch with my spew. Landing dinner, or "landing" last nights dinner. The seas at time had the upper hand. There were moments when I took off my glasses and hat, hunkered to the side of the boat and showed obvious signs of retreat. But the sea never saw my white flag. And I returned to shore having given nothing to the sea.
The trip was great. At times on the boat we were all miserable. I was with three good friends and we were determined to make the most of the situation. Eight to ten foot swells with heavy rains attacked our equilibrium constantly. One of my friends did happen to feed the sea gulls with his breakfast. But no loss, he had already tasted it twice. I am not sure of the quality of that meal by the time the sea gull got his share. The captain, yes the captain had his bout with the vomit. In a fit of graceless convulsions he threw his bran flakes at the sea with disgust. At this moment fishing took a back seat to survival. We did manage to catch a few grouper, but this was the consolation. Land was the true prize.
All in all, I can not wait to do it again.
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