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More Fishing and Boating

• A not-so-lovely weekend for a regatta
• Seaworthy: Starting the season off right
• Seaworthy: Start the season right

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The phone rang one evening some months back, and as I answered it, I recognized the voice in an instant.

“Gus, you old son-of-a -gun, long time no see! It’s great to hear your voice again. How are you and what’s going on?”

Years ago, back in our former lives, Gus and I were what the world proclaims as one of the best friendships imaginable — we were fishing buddies. It’s a “guy” thing, that bonds two or more males inseparably that is induced by endless hours of togetherness searching for fish that were never there in the first place.

But here was my buddy, after years of only mutual Christmas card communication, on the other end of the phone line telling me he’s headed my way. After years of one line “come on downs” scrawled on the bottom of that annual communication, he was finally picking up the offer.

We spent the next minutes working out the details and timing of his trip down from the heartland. His good wife, Jenny, even joined the conversation that evening as to timing, flights and travel arrangements of Gus’s trip. Gus certainly would be the most welcome of house guests during his long weekend trip.

That evening and in the intervening weeks before his arrival, my memory bank spewed back sweet memories of the times we spend fishing together on the Great Lakes. None of that little perch and walleye for Gus and I, we were big game fishermen — only salmon and lake trout rooted out in the most difficult of circumstances would do it for us.

We both led corporate lives sealed away in the world of bottom lines, meetings and fending off consultants for five long days per week. But for one shining hunk of every Saturday morning, when all the conditions were right, we would escape onto the “Big Lake” for our weekly fishing extravaganza.

But we lived in a megapolis and there were hundreds of other guys on each of those Saturday mornings wanting to do the very same thing. We either sat in a long line to launch our boat at the ramp or beat ‘em to the punch!

So guess what, we started very, very early.

Now launching a boat at a rickety ramp into total blackness can be a harrowing event and most Saturdays it was just that. There was even the morning that we didn’t tether the boat to the ramp properly and recoiled in horror as the boat floated away into the darkness. We embarrassingly found it at first light, on the other side of the cove to a chorus of guffaws from the other anglers.

But, by Jove, we were first; no waiting lines for us.

The first light in the morning sky would find the two of us groveling around in the boat to set up our downriggers to catch the fish, hopefully, napping as dawn broke.

Gus was great company and we’d both laugh at our mistakes and share high-fives on our successes. We caught lots of fish over the years and had great times that only the two of us really understood.

It was great to see him toddle off the plane when he arrived for his Florida visit. He sure looked the same with maybe a little less bounce in his step and a little more sag in his posture. But he was still Gus and we were going fishing again!

It was springtime that year when Gus visited and we had a spectrum of fishing possibilities; one day we would fish inside for redfish and snook and the second day we would work for mackerel offshore and we’d take pot luck on the third. It was just the two of us — just like old times.

But it was different too. Gus legs were a bit unsteady now so he fished perched on the cooler seat where he could still wield a mean fishing rod. But his incapacity annoyed him and he was agitated when a strike got away. He also seemed just a tad forgetful throughout the day, but I just passed that off as some senior moments. Don’t we all have those?

We caught a beautiful redfish that first day and it became the centerpiece for a great blackened redfish dinner, ala Paul Prudhomme, that evening. But the full day on the water had taken the starch out of Gus and the evening ended very early.

The next two days were repeats; with good mackerel action nearshore on jigs the next day and on our final outing we landed several 18” permit on light tackle in the deep backwater cut north of the island. There were several more incidents of little trips, stumbles and inattention over those two full days, which I again passed off as reaction to the heat, humidity and long days.

But overall Gus held up reasonably well during the ordeal and proclaimed “his cup runneth over” as we put the boat away for the last time.

It was indeed a joy to see him and share his company doing something we both loved. As he departed we promised it wouldn’t take another 15 years for us to schedule a repeat.

September, for the charter business, is a very slow month. After you do all the annual maintenance on the boat and equipment you’re itching to get back on the water.

“It’s been a few years since Gus has been down, I’ll ring him up and talk him into coming down for the weekend.”

His wife answered that late afternoon call and after our warm hellos, I asked for Gus.

“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t know but Gus was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about two years ago and has been slipping away pretty quickly these last few months. I’ve had to put him in a care facility.”

You could hear the quiver in her voice and sense the tears in her eyes as she explained the diagnosis and quick onset of Gus’ disease. “He doesn’t even recognize some of the family members now.”

I could hardy speak. Just sat there listening to the tale and trying to comprehend how this insidious disease had taken away my good friend and fishing buddy forever.

Asking if there was anything I could do, Mary softly said, “Pray.”

•••

Name: Blue Runner

In season: Year round. But usually show up as the water warms from winter to spring (70 degrees).

Florida Regulations: None. Blue runner is considered a bait fish.

Habitat: Offshore, nearshore, backwater passes and cuts. Here right now by the zillions. Will hit any bait and give a feisty performance. Look like a small bluefish. Not table fare.

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Capt. Bill Walsh owns an established Marco Island charter fishing business and holds a current U.S. Coast Guard license. Send comments or questions to dawnpatrolcharters@compuserve.com.