Mark and I set out at 5 am. He liked to be the first one out there and always called it “prime time.” The swells are usually calmer in the mornings and I'm prone to seasickness, but that wasn't going to stop me like last time. I watched the watercolor sky filled with oranges and pinks turn to blues and yellows as we went out through the fishing port and past the seawall. The white triangles of far off sailboats evanesead over the horizon as we rounded the point. The roar of the engine came to a soft hum.
“Isn't this new lure a beauty?” croaked Mark. I couldn't tell if his hoarse voice was caused by the morning or cigarettes. I held a thumbs up out of the beach towel I covered my head in from the bow, my eyes still sensitive to the sunlight.
“Why don’t you come cast your line Grace? Do you want to learn anything or not?” he asked. I knew it wasn't a question though.
“Coming,” I yelled as I stumbled from the bow. “Dibs on the automatic!” I said, even though I knew he would give me the automatic reel anyway. I had only been fishing on the ocean once before and we left empty handed when I got sick. Plus my scrawny arms didn't do much good when it came to reeling in. I approached the rods and tackle box in the stern and smiled excitedly. Mark's eyes lit up as if his life was fulfilled by teaching his fiance's niece to fish.
“So the line is already in for you, but we have to attach the lures. Do you want the pink or the yellow? I'll give you the pink, it's the better one. So you hook it here, and then you attach the weight so it sinks...” His rambling faded as the smell of the engine became stronger. The smell of exhaust and gasoline from the running engine made my stomach churn. I couldn't make out what Mark was babbling about. I could feel the color melt from my face and pool in my throat in a ball that made it hard to swallow. The constant rolling of the swells didn't help my queasiness.
“Grace? Earth to Grace. Are you okay?” Mark asked as the color rushed back into my face.
“Yup, I'm fine. Ready?” I responded with the fakest smile I could muster. I did not want to upset Mark and make him take me back to the beach house. We had only been out an hour and I wasn't going to be a baby about it. I wanted to catch a fish by myself.
I sat in misery for hours, nodding off every minute or two with the rocking of the waves. Mark reeled in fish after fish after fish. Nothing too good, a flounder and a couple blue fish, but it was superior to my zero. Not even one tug on the line. I could see in Mark's eyes that he felt sorry, but I didn't want anyone's pity. So I sat, my hand on the reel, and I wasn't moving until I caught something.
Around one, Mark made me move so I could eat. I stumbled up to the bow as the wake of a nearby boat rocked the boat. I took out my now warm and soggy turkey sub and gagged. I tied the towel over my face and ripped the sandwich in half. I threw one half over the side of the rail and stuck one back in the bag. I sat with my head between my knees trying to regain control of my stomach before I got sick.
Mark came up to the bow. “Wow, you ate that awfully fast, I should have pulled you away for lunch sooner!” He smiled and walked back to the stern. He hummed the tune of Chicken Fried along with the radio as I sat back down in my spot.
I sat for what felt like another 3 hours but was really only 20 minutes. The swells were calm now. The waters surrounding us for miles were tranquil and flat. I started to feel better as Mark started to pack up the tackle box. He pulled the pink lure out of the box that was supposed to be on the end of my rod. As he began to question if I was listening while he explained earlier, my rod began to spin as fast as the propeller of the boat.
“Fish on! Fish on!” I yelled, “Fish on!”
“But how,” Mark said thinking out loud as he walked over to help me reel in the massive fish on the end of my line. After waiting hours sick to my stomach, using just a line and a hook I reeled in a two and a half foot striped bass. If only I had used the pink lure. I might have caught an even bigger one!