Doc's Perspective on Fishin' Buddies

You would have thought that it was my first fishing trip. I hit the sack promptly at nine; and I'd layed out everything neatly so I would have little trouble getting a fast start in the morning.

My fishing buddy, Bill Weaver, and I had planned to meet at 4:00 A.M. to head for Ship Island for some early morning trout fishing. By 5:00 A.M., I began getting antsy as the sky began to redden. Then, at 5:20, I could hear Bill as he rounded the corner at Jeff Davis Avenue and Highway 90. The unholy din of grinding, squealing sounds could only be Bill at that hour. Boiling-over radiator, busted trailer fender, and all, he finally pulled into the driveway a few minutes later. "I could have been here on time, but things were kinda' rough this morning," he said as he hoisted the hood to let the engine cool off. A hank of rope managed to quick-fix the busted fender, and we were headed for the harbor.

Once there, Bill backed the twenty-foot Thunderbird gingerly onto the ramp. As the trailer sunk deeper into the water, we expected the boat to slide neatly off its rollers. Nothing doing. In fact, it clung almost tenaciously to the rig, refusing to budge, no matter what. Bill climbed into the boat, kicked the engine into full reverse, and still... nothing doing. A kind-hearted soul even threw his back into the task, and still... the boat refused to budge.

Now, I understand that Bill and Evelyn have had little time to fish since the birth of their twins. And I can understand that Bill has had little time to fuss with his boat in the past twelve months. But there's no reason to nail the boat to the trailer.

After a couple of futile attempts to sling the boat off at the Long Beach Harbor, we headed for Gulfport Harbor where the ramps would be steeper. One try there, and the boat would - well, let's not use the word slide - but rather "POP" off the trailer. By 6:30 A.M. we were finally headed south. . .

With the water slick as glass, Ship Island was only a few minutes away; and, much to our surprise, the rockpile was not yet taken over by hordes of other fishermen. We quietly drifted into the shallows near the old lighthouse site, before finally dropping anchor and climbing overboard into the three-and-a-half-foot water. It wasn't long before Bill connected with a nice flounder, and it didn't take me long to call his flounder and up him a speck. But that was to be it for the rest of the day.

We would fish Camille Cut, South of the island, North Bayou on Cat Island, the Chevron Rig, and countless points between. It would prove to be "just one of those days".

My wife Lynn had steaks at the ready though, adding insult to injury as she said "you never catch anything when you go fishing with Bill". . .

Monkey Bayou... Live bait... Three-foot tides... Perfect weather... We'll show her next time, eh Bill?