I grew up spending my summers at the beach in South Carolina. My mother's great-grandmother bought a place down there, and as a child, my mother would take us there for weeks at a time. My mom's brothers are avid fishermen, and they and my mother taught me how to fish with one foot on earth and one foot in the sea.
My most vivid memory of fish at the beach goes back to age six or seven. One summer, there was a group of men who had a seine. Two of the men would walk out into the ocean with the net and come back with fish. Most of the fish were mullets and whiting. That was the summer my mother taught me how to clean a fish. Looking back on it, I wonder when a boy ought to learn how to kill and dress his quarry. I think it was about the right time. I learned how to cut and gut the fish to take advantage of all that God had made for us to consume. That summer, I cleaned countless fish on the old brick steps in the backyard where many other boys and girls have learned. Scale, cut, gut, rinse.
No, I didn't eat the mullet. After cleaning those, I fed them to an ancient pelican who was just walking around on the beach. It was probably his last meal, but the first time it had been cleaned for him.
I have since learned to enjoy fishing from the surf, which I'll detail later. I've learned that there is a special tranquility when one fishes at the edge of the land. There's a feeling of calm that comes over me as I step onto the wet sand and sip my coffee that can't compare to anything else. I watch the empty shore fill with tourists. I say hello to the morning walkers who always ask about my luck...and I like talking with them. I think there's a feeling of connection I get when I look to the ocean to harvest a meal.
For me, it's more of an experience to wade out into the water and see how far I can throw a chunk of lead. There's a different feeling of excitement when you look at a twelve foot pole bending when a fish is on. It's about instinct, patience, and paying attention to the world around us. It's electricity-free entertainment. And, I have to admit, it's more masculine than just lying around getting a tan.
My most vivid memory of fish at the beach goes back to age six or seven. One summer, there was a group of men who had a seine. Two of the men would walk out into the ocean with the net and come back with fish. Most of the fish were mullets and whiting. That was the summer my mother taught me how to clean a fish. Looking back on it, I wonder when a boy ought to learn how to kill and dress his quarry. I think it was about the right time. I learned how to cut and gut the fish to take advantage of all that God had made for us to consume. That summer, I cleaned countless fish on the old brick steps in the backyard where many other boys and girls have learned. Scale, cut, gut, rinse.
No, I didn't eat the mullet. After cleaning those, I fed them to an ancient pelican who was just walking around on the beach. It was probably his last meal, but the first time it had been cleaned for him.
I have since learned to enjoy fishing from the surf, which I'll detail later. I've learned that there is a special tranquility when one fishes at the edge of the land. There's a feeling of calm that comes over me as I step onto the wet sand and sip my coffee that can't compare to anything else. I watch the empty shore fill with tourists. I say hello to the morning walkers who always ask about my luck...and I like talking with them. I think there's a feeling of connection I get when I look to the ocean to harvest a meal.
For me, it's more of an experience to wade out into the water and see how far I can throw a chunk of lead. There's a different feeling of excitement when you look at a twelve foot pole bending when a fish is on. It's about instinct, patience, and paying attention to the world around us. It's electricity-free entertainment. And, I have to admit, it's more masculine than just lying around getting a tan.
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