Fishing Tales

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December 25th, 2018
Back Fishing Tales

I received a beauty the other day.

A female poker player from Savannah, GA. who happens to play at BestBet, and some of the other Florida casinos wrote:

'Dear Geno. Just a note to thank you for your persona stories about writing, gambling and poker. But I have a question for you. Aside from those three avocations, what do you enjoy doing most and do you have some good stories about it? Smiles, Carolyn B., Savannah, GA.'

While I have not met Carolyn in any of my favorite card rooms, I love her question! And here is my answer:

It's fishing.

Now...

...before you groan and say, "How boring,' let me clue you in on a couple of facts:

I am NOT talking about lake fishing, or even fly fishing in a stream. I am referring to deep sea fishing and going after the denizens of the deep.

Ernest Hemingway was a deep sea fisherman, and so was western novelist Zane Grey - who owned a mountain cabin near Payson, AZ. Both of them went after sharks and trophy fish in the warm waters of the Caribbean and Mexico.

My first deep sea fishing experience was in Guaymas, Mexico. I had won a poker tournament in Las Vegas and, feeling in a benevolent mood, had invited Dean and Juanita Freed to be my guests on a weekend in Guaymas.

Freed was pastor of a Free Methodist Church in Phoenix and was near retirement. I knew he would appreciate a couple days away from the rigors of his job, and he immediately accepted my offer.

We crossed into Mexico at the Nogales, AZ. port of entry. The drive took nearly seven hours, and we stopped to eat some authentic Mexican food at an adobe restaurant along the way.

Pastor Freed was very careful not to drink ANYTHING but bottled water, and his wife made sure he stuck to that formula!

'Now Dean, you know how sensitive your stomach is," she cautioned. "You don't want to have to be going to the bathroom every five minutes."

We pulled into the sleepy, but charming city of Guaymas just as the sun began slipping down beneath the horizon. I stopped at a couple of hotels, before we found a charming and comfortable hacienda. The room rates were refreshingly low-price, and I paid for our two adjoining rooms.

That night our sleep was interrupted several times by knocks on the door. When I drowsily responded, a male voice would ask, "Is Maria there?" I would say NO, never heard of her, and the voice would leave.

In the morning my pastor and his wife met us for breakfast. He had a smile on his face.

"Um...ah, were you awakened last night by strange visitors?," he said.

Juanita jumped into the conversation. "We certainly were all night long," she said. "Men would knock on our door and ask for someone -- what was her name, Dean?," she asked.

"Well, there were a couple of them, Dear. I remember Alicia and Juanita."

Oh, boy! , I thought.

"Yes, we were awakened, too. They were looking for Maria.'

There was a pregnant pause. Then we all burst into laughter.

"I won't tell the church members what kind of hotel we stayed at as long as we catch some fish," the minister said.

After a scrumptious breakfast, we headed for the wharf and met Pedro Martinez. He owned a trim fishing boat and offered to take us on a half-day trip for just $60.

"I will take you to where the fish are big and plentiful," he promised. "You can count on that." I paid for the trip and we boarded the vessel.

Gonzales eased the boat into the harbor. He had an assistant named Chico who efficiently set up our reels and baited our hooks.

"We troll on our way to the fishing grounds," said Chico who looked to be about 19. "Maybe you hook a shark or a tuna."

About 20 minutes later, I got a strike. The fish hit my line so hard, my glasses flew off my face and nearly went overboard!

Pedro shouted something at me from the cabin and put the boat into a u-turn, so I could fight the fish without jamming my line. As I battled the fish, trying to gain some line on it, Pastor Freed was giggling and slapping his hands.

"Fight him, brother," he yelled. "Bring him in!"

I battled the monster for nearly 30 minutes without seeing it break the water. Then suddenly...

...my line went limp. I pulled it in, and discovered the fish had broken the line.

Pastor Freed was still laughing when suddenly he had a strike. He nearly fell down when his rod bent double. Now it was his turn and it was wild to watch.

He didn't catch the fish. It broke his line just as mine had been broken.

Pedro said, "Sharks probably. There are a lot of them out here. Too bad you didn't catch them."

When we arrived at the fishing grounds, we were the only boat in the area. Almost immediately the fish began hitting our lines and in less than three hours, we caught over 60 fish. They were trigger fish, yellow tail and red snapper.

"This is wonderful," said the pastor as the two crew members packed the fish into our ice chest. "We'll hold a fish fry at the church." And we did.

I lived in Naples, FL. and worked as a reporter for a daily newspaper for about a year. Naples had a wooden pier that stretched out into the water. For a small fee you could fish from the pier and the fishing was good.

One morning my line was hit hard and went straight out to sea. A fisherman next to me said calmly, "You just latched onto a shark."

He was right. I battled the fish for about 20 minutes before pulling in a hammerhead shark. It was four and a half feet long!

As I stood there excitedly, a voice behind me said, "Take a good look at it, Son. Then cut it loose."

Cut loose my shark?! I felt like Walter Matthau in the movie, "Grumpy Old Men," when Ann Margaret cut loose the big fish he had caught while ice fishing on a lake."Too dangerous to bring a shark on the pier. Sorry, son. It's a beauty."

I cut the fish loose.

Right now we are living in Charleston, S.C. about five miles from Folly Beach. I am planning on buying some fishing tackle to fish from the wooden pier. Stay tuned for more fish stories!

“my answer: It's fishing”

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