Gone Fishing
Jack grew up in a mostly rural town in the Philadelphia metropolitan area. His childhood home was built in the early 1800’s. His parents grew up in New Hampshire and Rhode Island.
Throughout his teen years, Jack worked and played at Marsh Creek State Park. He rented kayaks, canoes, sailboats and other floatie things to patrons. Although, I’ve never witnessed his surfing any place other than the internet, I’m told that he was quite the windsurfer.
Drinkwater
Jack has saltwater in his blood. His paternal lineage can be traced back to the Mayflower. The family is related to Peregrine White, the first known English baby boy born in what was then called “the New World." As the tale is told, Peregrine was born while the Mayflower lay at anchor in the harbor at Cape Cod.
A raconteur, albeit a repetitive one, Jack is proud to share his family’s legacy. Get him going and he’ll regale you with some family history. If you’re at my home, he will inevitably pull out his prized copy of A Seafaring Legacy, written by a very, very, very distant cousin, Julianna FreeHand.
The book portrays the lives of nineteenth-century sea captain Sumner Drinkwater and his wife, Alice.
The middle name “Drinkwater,” is that of my father-in-law, my husband, and my stepson, Andrew. The name is a notable one in Maine, specifically, in the town of Yarmouth. Drinkwater Point is a stretch of land that juts out into Casco Bay. The point, and nearby Drinkwater Point Road, are named after early 19th century sea captain, Theophilus Drinkwater.
I confess that I’ve thumbed through A Seafaring Legacy but have yet to read it… Maybe I’ll do that while on this sabbatical.
“Jaws”
From 1975 to 1987, four Jaws films were made. I am one of the children who Steven Spielberg scarred for life. I have never comfortably swam in the ocean.
In contrast to Jack, I’m from generations of landlubbers.
My parents would drive us to the Jersey shore for a Saturday at the beach. It was a treat for my grandparents to take us to the boardwalks of Asbury Park and Long Branch on a Wednesday afternoon. A high school friend’s family had a summer home in Spring Lake. However, we spent more days sunbathing on their back deck than we did on the sand.
Don’t get me wrong. I love being around bodies of water. Give me a book, a bag of bocce balls, or just a beach towel and I’ll spend hours admiring the ocean waves. A day cruise on a sailboat or motorboat out on Casco Bay? I’m all for it, but, only if I can comfortably see land ... even if I wouldn’t be able to swim to safety.
You’ll never ever find me on a week long cruise (see The Poseidon Adventure and Titanic).
Why can’t sharks be cuddly like E.T.?
From Dead Sea to Red Sea
I have been out of my oceanic comfort zone a few times, though. My life has taken me across the English Channel. I was ferried from Athens (Piraeus) to Santorini, taking in the stunning blue Aegean Sea.
My greatest fear-facing water adventure was in 1997.
It was my Spring Break from teaching at The American School in London. I was planning one of my final “big trips” during my two years living and working abroad. My friend and travel buddy had convinced me that Israel was where we should go. Her rationale was that the 5 hour flight from London to Israel was no big deal compared to the 12 hours it would be from New York.
Truth.
I wanted a “spa” vacation complete with massages, mud baths, and maybe a visit to a historic site of museum. She wanted an “adventure” vacation with hiking and who-knows-what-else.
We split the difference.
Our first five days were spent decompressing. We floated in the Dead Sea. We had massages, pedicures, and ate lots of fruits. We took a day trip to the majestic Judean fortress, Masada and another excursion to Jerusalem. We placed prayers in the cracks of the Western Wall, walked the path of Jesus on Via Dolorosa, and this “recovering Catholic” made a pilgrimage to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The Dome of the Rock made for a stunning view. The culmination of religions and cultures in this birthplace of civilization was not lost on us.
He’s (or She’s) Laughing at Me
Satisfying my vacation To Do’s, it was my travel companion’s turn to get her vacation checklist ticked through. Thanks to her, I completed adventures I’d never imagined.
Remember, I’m not a “water” person. I do appreciate the beauty and power of nature. The Coral Coast Nature Reserve in Eilat is almost indescribable. The colors of the fish and the reef were a strong enough pull to put my fears aside to don a scuba suit and dive into the Red Sea.
There are several options for tourists to view that which lives under the surface of the Red Sea. We chose an outfitter who provided one-on-one guides to explore the reef. This was great for me because I was scared shitless. I didn’t want to hold my friend back from exploring the depths she was willing to go to.
My guide was tall, blonde, and confident. He explained the hand signals we would use to communicate under water.
OK sign from the guide is asking how I am.
Thumbs up means… I’m good.
Pointing from the guide means… go in which ever direction he points.
Thumbs down means … I’m about to freak out.
Pointing up from me means… get me the hell out of here.
My guide took my hand and we started our descent. It took me a bit to adjust to breathing with the tank. My fear initially distracted me from the enjoyment of the experience.
My guide looked at me and flashed me an “ok” sign. I went rogue and gave him a “so-so” sign. He pointed to the reef, following the fish who led the way.
Unbeknownst to me, there was a photographer down there taking “action shots” of us tourists. He would offer pictures for sale at the end of the day. I refused to purchase mine because all that I noticed from the photo was that I was squeezing my guide’s hand so hard that you could see the whites of my knuckles and him making more grimace than grin.
I couldn’t relax but I was still able to take in the view. My guide lagged just over my right shoulder so he wouldn’t be in my direct sight. It was then that I felt a tap in the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades.
I looked to my right, expecting to be flashed an “ok.” Instead I saw a finger pointing left. At that moment, I felt a tap on my left shoulder, clearly NOT my guide.
Turning my head to the left, I was face to face with a dolphin. It swam just past and back. I stroked it’s smooth and elegant side. It turned around again. I swear on a stack of bibles that it laughed at me before jetting away.
Magical.
I haven’t ever gone scuba diving again. Why would I?
Fishing
I’ve come to learn that Casco Bay, and most of Maine’s coast, is popular for catching striped bass, also called the Atlantic striped bass, or “stripers” for short. It’s a favorite pastime of my husband, his father, his brother, and my step-daughter, Courtney.
My first memory of going fishing with Jack was in 2017. It’s not that I hadn’t been invited before. I simply didn’t have an appreciation or interest in fishing. I also had associated fishing with being out on a boat in the middle of nowhere. Uh- no thanks!
One Saturday, Jack offered to take Courtney (Courtie) and me to fish from a beach. He packed up two rods and some gear. Off we went.
I don’t know much about fishing. Courtie, though, seems to be a natural at it. Although her middle name isn’t “Drinkwater,” my guess is that she, not her brother, will carry on the seafaring traditions of Jack’s lineage.
Courtie is a young woman who has been a keen observer of wildlife since I’ve known her. She notices the direction of the wind and how it effects the trees and water. Courtie seems to understand that if you choose the right spot and the right time, that you just might catch a fish.
An Aside… Stupid COVID
I’m in my pajamas. I’m sipping iced coffee. It’s noon. It’s a Wednesday. (I know that in spite of Survivor being on summer hiatus.)
I should be writing this entry while on a flight to Seattle. Instead, I’m in my kitchen.
My dear friend was exposed to family who are sick. Due to an overabundance of caution, and a road trip starting in 7 days, I cancelled. Poo!
Casting
Yesterday, upon the realization that I wouldn’t be going to Seattle, Jack asked if I wanted to go fishing. I know he wasn’t trying to cheer me up. I do know he thought a change of scenery would do me some good.
It was nearing 4:00 pm. We could make it to Higgins Beach during the change in tide. It was a beautiful afternoon.
The fishers (fishermen or fisherwomen), like Jack, find a spot that they deem promising for a catch. The spot is chosen based on science, such as the historical population of fish, the season, the weather, tides and so on.
Where the Spurwink River meets the sea, I picked a stretch of shore. I chose this one because the water cascading over my feet wasn’t terribly cold, I could see ducks preening on rocks, and it was a downright gorgeous view. I was several feet away from all other fishers.
For me, fishing is about the experience not the catch. Maybe that explains the lack of fish I’ve landed. But, I really mean it.
I’m beginning to understand the allure (pun intended) of the simple act of casting.
Casting is about taking a leap of faith. One puts their bait and hook out into the depth of the sea or pond or lake. You cast again and again. With each cast, you have hope.
One cast may result in a tug or a pull. Turn the reel with the right pace and you may have a fish hooked. Hesitate and you may come up with nothing other than seaweed. Either way, keep casting.
I didn’t catch anything yesterday. In fact, I have yet to catch a fish. But, I’ll go out again and again. There’s lots of fish in the sea and there’s one just bound to find me.
Since I’m not going to be in Seattle, perhaps this week will be the week for me and that fish?
More to come…