UP & DOWN, UP & DOWN

The story of our one and only ocean going fishing trip while vacationing during the Christmas break (1991). Published in 1992 The Times – OODs.

Ponce Inlet, Florida

Any similarities between actual people and those described in this article are purely co-incidental. Names have been mainly altered to protect the innocent.

Yet another weather front was moving in and the breakers were crashing ashore mere metres from where our veranda overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. Ponce de Leon had come to Florida in search of the Fountain of Youth; we were merely seeking sunshine, warm weather and a break from winter. And who, after travelling so far, could resist sampling the fishing?

I had made arrangements for our party of nine to go deep sea fishing. The day was pleasant and so with much enthusiasm we broke out the clothing trying to decide what to wear. Shorts? No, the pros wear long pants and so would we. The girl with whom I made the arrangements said that out at sea it was just like onshore – windy but not too cool. So, obviously, I rejected my winter parka. Perhaps a sweater and a windbreaker to layer. If we were too hot we could strip down one layer at a time. Confusing the issue were pictures in the brochure of a bikini-clad young damsel with a huge fish. Marketing? Both were easy on the eyes. Heck we hoped that we wouldn’t suffer too much of that blazing sun.

We ate a very light lunch – partly due to our excitement and partly as a precaution. We hesitated to say ‘the word’ (seasickness) as we might become jinxed.

Our boat, the Sea Love, moored at Ponce Inlet. We arrived half an hour early before the scheduled departure time. Everything that we would need to fish was to be provided – bait, a heavy action six foot road and level wind reel similar to those that we use when steel lining for lake trout. We weren’t the only ones on board and as the departure time approached more people arrived, some carrying large coolers of food and refreshments. Pelicans were everywhere. Reminded me of the poetic  limerick – A funny old bird is the Pelican, His beak can hold more than his belly can, Food for a week, He can hold in his beak, I don’t know how the helican?

They landed on the pier pilings posing for pictures. With a little imagination and good timing one could get them to sit, photographically, on a person’s head or shoulders.

Being total strangers everyone stuck to their friends maintaining a dignified aloofness trying to remain inconspicuous yet slyly sizing up the competition.

“Say, they have left and right handed reels,” I exclaimed to a fishing buddy. For a moment I had him fooled. In fact it appeared so because some reels were resting in the up position, others in the down position. Really they were all right handed. Well this one lad who wasn’t fooled at all gave me a glance that wondered what tree I had fallen out of. Naturally, I didn’t mention that I was from Bancroft.

The crew ushered us aboard with a “watch your step; watch your head” command as everyone ducked and groped aboard. We were ready for those big fish in the brochure.

 Conditions were ideal. The ocean was calm, the sun shining. Our little group headed for the starboard bow which proved a good move. As we moved out of the river we passed a flotilla of small fishing boats, like we use locally, anchored on the QUIET side of the breakers.

As we watched the ocean crashing over the breakers one of our party proclaimed: “Things are going to get better.” Until then I never regarded my friend as a cynic.

Imagine yourself riding a roller coaster for 17 miles or one hour and a quarter. That might give you an idea of our trip out into the Atlantic. Those on the port side were soon soaking wet as our craft crashed through huge rollers throwing up a salty spray. Rain gear would have been a good idea. On the starboard side we remained relatively dry.

   Being up front at the bow left us with no idea of what was happening elsewhere on the boat. The first indication we had that all was not well occurred in the form of a man, on all fours, crawling to the bow heaving along the starboard rail chumming the waters. This was not a good omen.

Let me suggest right here that should you go deep sea fishing do all of your kidding ashore about ‘chumming the waters’ because once you are at sea it “ain’t as funny”. Remember the essence of humour is timing. Under such circumstances people at sea become VERY serious.

As the poor man was lying there, head hanging over the side, one of the boat crew dumped a bucket full of chopped up squid (the chum bait) right in front of his face. Psychologically it was not a good move toward rehabilitation. At the same time the Sea Love was the scene of such similar action wherever you went. Once one started others followed suit. The power of suggestion runs very deep. Time would take its toll. There was no shortage of chum.

When we finally anchored the hoped for reprieve from crashing about was not realized for now, instead of swaying side to side we began s dip, dive and rise motion. Up and down! I visualized a basketball court as we regularly rose to ‘slam dunk’ the ball before driving to the bottom of the trough again. We learned to use our knees for stability (like riding a horse) and freed our hands for fishing. Well, some of us fished. Some, as it turned out, paid in order to abuse themselves. They never wetted a line. Looking around it seemed that people either suffered, or didn’t. Some stood there feasting on roast beef sandwiches while others imitated an active volcano. Of course some had prepared by taking gravol.

“Where you’all from?” one fisherman asked the Resident Wife who was along without choice because this was a Christmas gift.

“Bancroft” she replied.

“Where’s that at?”

“In Ontario.”

“Wouldn’t be near a place called Denbigh would it?” he asked.

Now how, wondered the R.W., would he know of Denbigh and not Bancroft? Then, looking at his jacket she read, “Renfrew Golf Club.”

He thought it funny to see so many sick people. His big complaint was paying to come fishing and freeze. Secretly I was wishing that I hadn’t been so quick to reject my parka. I also wished that the bikini-clad gal from the brochure was here now. Boy would she be covered in goose bumps. And, it would serve her right.

The cold in combination with the rocking boat did a lot of people in. I believe if people had been dry and warmer so many wouldn’t have succumbed.

The first fish caught was a shark. Some of us caught remora, a sucker fish that sticks to the blue shark feeding on the shark’s parasites. They were poor to eat and so we threw them back as we did the many other small fish. Other species caught included drum, blues, grunts (they had a beautiful fluorescent coral coloured mouth) and perch. Unbelievably several people caught bottom. More unbelievably – I didn’t. Paulo Freymond had a solid strike and the battle was on. Turned out he had caught the lure from someone fishing the other side of the boat.

On the return trip to harbour we saw dolphin jumping off our port bow. (We had seen some also from our verandah.)  By the time we docked hypothermia was becoming a distinct possibility. Of interest one of the boat’s workers said that when the temperature dips below 60F he freezes. He also told us that it had been a relatively calm day for this time of the year.

Would we go again? On that the jury is still out. Time has a way of altering opinions. We would certainly be better prepared the next time.

Once back on solid ground, terra firma to some, we headed for the cars and turned on the heaters full blast. After several hot baths we all went out for a pizza supper. Some had nothing on their stomachs and were rather famished. Humans, it appears, are very resilient.