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"Whispering Loud and Clear: Life, Love, Laughter, and the Spirit Among Us"  by Stuart Revercomb

"Stuart Revercomb has a way of looking at the everyday and making it Divine. I recommend him to you knowing that he will make you laugh, think, cry, and reach out beyond yourself."

-Ruth Graham

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The Weekly Fare . . .July 29, 2004

"Lovin The Loon - Part 3"

Daughter Jane (age 7) is nobody's dummy. Not even her dear old Dad's.

Having witnessed her sister Gussies near demise in the breakers heading out to sea in our new "Loon" kayak and hearing my invitation for her own trip, she looked me dead on with her big green eyes and stated flatly . . . (and I quote verbatim).

"No way, no how Dad B not on your life."

"Not on your life??"

Where do 7 year olds learn such language? (Most likely from their Moms . . .)

"Are you SURE?" I pleaded, hoping to get her out for what I knew would be a great experience. "Gussie and George had incredibly wonderful trips Janie . . . Gussie saw Dolphins and Geor . . ."

"Dad," she responded frankly. I wouldn't get in that thing if you filled it with Gummy Bears . . ."

Case closed. If Gummy bears wouldn't do it, nothing would. Besides, Jane hasn't changed her mind about anything since birth. Come to think about it, neither have I. She comes by it naturally, I suppose.

5-year-old Rob volunteered immediately.

"DAD! ILL GO! I'LL GO!! he yelled. No dummy himself, Rob was eyeballing Mom for her reaction, as opposed to the lonely and now all too available boat captain. I too glanced over for the ruling. She pondered a moment and then asked how well his life jacket fit. Rob started smiling immediately. He knew we were "in."

Fifteen minutes and about as many promises of caution later, Rob and I found ourselves out on the deep green Atlantic. Rob was up front with the bailing bucket ready for action. I was captaining from the back with a small tackle box and Zebco rod and reel that I had thrown in just in case we saw a school of baitfish. I had spotted a couple the day before and was hoping we might come across another one making its way down the coast.

Like his sister earlier, Rob picked up immediately on the incredible beauty that lies in the stillness of drifting on the open sea. I watched him as he looked out over the endless expanse of water. He stayed remarkably silent as well - seeming to know that something special and true and good was going on here and not wishing to make a sound to interrupt it. He smiled on occasion but didn't say a word. Finally, after several minutes, he whispered just loud enough for me to hear, "I think God is here . . ." he said.

"Yes he is," I responded as tears welled up in my eyes. "Yes he is . . ."

We paddled south in search of some baitfish. It didn't take long.

"Look Rob!" I yelled, pointing towards the beach, "See that big blue cloud in the ocean and all those fish jumping! That's what we've been looking for!" Rob craned his neck to see but couldn't discern the school at his height above the water.

"Hold on pal!" I exclaimed, as I paddled hard towards the teeming water, "We're going to catch some fish!" It took us less than three minutes to reach the school. I immediately cast a small "Hopkins" lure to the far side and began to reel it in. "Boom" a fish hit it immediately. It wasn't huge but whatever it was was putting up a decent little fight. I handed the rod to Rob."You've got one son!" I yelled. "Reel Rob reel!"

Rob did his duty beautifully and moments later pulled a healthy little Spot into the boat. The intrepid young fisherman was beaming from ear to ear, but he quickly advised me that we needed to be careful not to hurt the fish. Rob is a protector of all life - from ants to caterpillars to creatures from the sea; nothing is to be hurt - much less killed. We quickly unhooked him, and after a close inspection of the "one-directional-ness" of his scales we set him free.

A minute or two later we hooked into another one, but this time as Rob was reeling it in the wind pushed us sideways such that the line was now coming up from behind the boat. As I looked down to reach out and lift Rob's catch I was surprised to see only the head of a fish attached to his hook. I reached down and quickly unhooked it. Rob finished reeling in the now empty lure. "What happened to my fish?" he asked looking puzzled.

"Something very big ate it on the way in," I replied. Rob looked surprised and then very concerned.

"Dad," he said matter of factly. We need to catch that big fish to keep him from eating those little ones . . ."

"Right as rain!" I immediately replied. No sooner had I said this than half the school of fish came rocketing up out of the water to our left. I immediately looked over and saw a large area of deep green water welling up in the middle of the dark blue school of spot. Something big was feeding all right.

Dad's knees began to knock as I reached for the limited tackle kit that I had thrown in at the last minute. I knew I didn't have a steel leader but I looked anyway. No luck. I grabbed the largest lure we had, frantically attached it and heaved it directly into the school that was now leaping every twenty seconds or so. The heavy silver spoon hadn't been in the water five seconds when something took it and took it hard. The little Zebco reel whined under the strain as the rod bent wildly towards the sea floor.

"WE'VE GOT HIM ROB!!" I yelled.

Or he had us. The line was ripping off the reel so fast that I couldn't increase the drag for fear of snapping the relatively thin twelve pound test we were using. The fish was actually guiding our small boat slightly and I had a hard time knowing which side to keep the line on as he raced away somewhere beneath us. Rob sat bolt upright, eyes like saucers with a big smile on his face. He didn't know what we had either, but he was excited about finding out what sort of fish could cause his Pop to yell and pivot and scramble around the boat like he was.

Tarpon? King Mackerel? Bonita? Large Bluefish? Such is the sheer joy of saltwater fishing. The truth is, you never really know - at least not until the critter has broken the surface. The unseen future - the mystery on the other end of the line - the anticipation - the chance to catch something that maybe no one else has . . . Rob and I basked in the glorious glow of the moment. And then "POP!" the line snapped and went slack as fast as it had begun it's marvelous pull.

"Darn!" I said to Rob. "We lost him."

"That's O.K.," he responded. "I don't think we could have gotten that one in the boat."

I laughed out loud. "You're probably right!" I replied.

We are, all of us, most alive in such moments - not necessarily fishing - when the unknown future confronts and beckons us to seek and dream and reel in whatever it is that God has out there on our line. Sometimes we land the beautiful prize such as George had with his Trout a few days before, or we simply behold from a distance the beauty of the creation as Gussie had done that morning . . . and still other times we are left to wonder just what might have been . . .

In any case, if we are brave and wise, we learn to trust, and to eventually turn our wonder to the inestimable future and to just what God might be planning next. The only requirement of us, it would seem, is that we keep doing our part, searching and fishing for the next right thing . . . and to His glory and not our own. Sometimes, in spite of ourselves, and by grace to be sure, it almost seems like we get it right.

And for a moment, at least, we do indeed know that "God is here . . ."

Rob and I continued to go after that big fish. We never did catch him, but we did land some beautiful "Taylor Blues" in the process. I tried to talk Rob into keeping just a couple for breakfast but he would have none of it.

"Those fish belong in the ocean Dad."

I couldn't argue with that.

Eventually the sun rose high in the sky and a lack of sun tan lotion sent us paddling homeward. It was a really, really great day. I love that old Loon.