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My Advice - Take More Naps in 2007
Warning: the following story involves the real life telling of a man losing his tackle box. If you are not able to handle a detailed description of such a tragedy, stop reading now and move on to the next column.
It had been such a wonderful day. My family and I were enjoying the last hour of a long afternoon on the beach and I found myself resting in a low slung beach chair beneath our big blue umbrella. The hush of the waves and the warm light breeze had lulled me into that wonderful never-never land that is not quite sleep and not quite certifiable consciousness. I was two winks and a nod away from a full scale Pawley’s Island power nap.
But in one final moment of fate I let my eyes drift slightly open to scan the sea before me, and there, out on the briny blue, approximately 50 yards off shore, arose such a fish that I immediately sat bolt upright in my chair. It was a King Mackerel of at least three feet in length that shot up and out of the surf as though launched by Poseidon himself. It’s glistening silver-green body tail-wagged across the top of the water as it inhaled whatever hapless baitfish had been between it and the surface. It was a fish of dreams.
I immediately turned to my brother Randy who had slipped far deeper into la-la land than I had. “DID YOU SEE THAT?!” I yelled.
“Huh? . . . Wha? . . . See? . . .Who? . . .”
“THAT FISH!” I pointed out towards the now placid ocean.
Randy glared at me and put his cap back over his face. “I’m sure it was nice,” he calmly if not irritably replied.
“No, I’m not kidding - it was at least three feet! I’m going after it!” I said.
“Good luck,” came the not very believing response.
I leapt out of my chair and raced for my fishing kayak that was already rigged up and ready to go from an earlier voyage. I dragged it rapidly to the water and pushed hard through the oncoming waves. Within two minutes I was on the very spot where the Mackerel had surfaced and in two more I had a large rubber menhaden-like lure trolling behind the boat. I caught my breath and checked my gear. Everything was right. Now all I needed was a little luck that “Big Wally” or one of his friends was still feeding in the area.
But it was not to be. I trolled for nearly an hour and slowly lost hope as the sun began to disappear over the horizon. “Well, it was certainly worth a try,” I thought. “Good to see they’re in the area – maybe tomorrow one of us will get lucky . . .” I turned the kayak back towards our spot on the beach and began to paddle.
One thing about ocean kayaking that all beginners learn very quickly is that, just like trouble, getting into the sea is a whole lot easier than getting out of it. Unlike entry, coming back through the breakers can be a very difficult task that requires a steady rudder stroke, a good sense of timing and not a little luck.
On this particular day I had the added challenge of some six to eight foot swells that had begun to roll in from the Southeast. But I had traversed such waves before. I calmly positioned my craft about forty yards beyond the breakers and went through my checklist: Lures secured - rods strapped to gunnels – all loose items bungee corded. Check. I was ready – or so I thought. I began to stroke towards the shore as the large waves rolled beneath me, gently lifting and then dropping the kayak like a cork in a tub.
As I did so, I attempted to time the swells in order to rapidly paddle through the worst part of the “break zone.” The waves were breaking even higher and harder than I had realized and I knew I needed everything to go well if I was going to make it through unscathed.
A very large roller moved rapidly under the boat and I made my move – digging hard on both sides with my paddle I raced towards the beach behind it. Everything looked great for a moment . . . until I looked back. There about twenty yards behind me, another equally large wave loomed. I warily measured its height and speed. Was I in the break zone yet? Should I continue to pull hard for the beach or back paddle to allow the nemesis to sweep by? I quickly made two hard reverse thrusts. And then I committed the cardinal sin:
I hesitated.
There I was in no man’s land - the worst possible place to be – damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. The wave came inexorably on and I realized my only hope was to paddle like mad and attempt to ride it out. But the monster swell had me in its sights - it swept smoothly and powerfully in, lifting my little kayak to its crest as a Gorilla might toy-fully balance a twig on its finger . . . It held me there but a moment and then, tipping the boat fully upon its nose, drove me down into the seething tempest below. The pounding water thundered down around me as though the entire weight of the ocean was behind it.
I had about two seconds to think before everything went black.
My first thought was the realization that I was clearly NOT going to be in the boat much longer. This was by both choice and chance as I didn’t want to be caught between it and the seafloor. But as I began to separate from the kayak I noticed to my horror that my tackle box was suspended in the air in front of me. Had I really forgotten to bungee it down? Time seemed to stand still as my mind did a quick inventory of the cherished old lures and artifacts from childhood inside. I made a desperate reach for it, but just as I did the wave grabbed my prescription sunglasses and jerked them from my head. Had I not secured these as well? Guilty. I had been so preoccupied with timing the large waves that I had failed to fully put my ship in order.
I reached for the tackle box . . . then went for the glasses . . . then back for the tackle box . . . then in an instant both were gone and everything went black. My two seconds were up.
The wave had its way with me, rolling me end over end and bouncing me along the bottom like a basketball. A few seconds later I popped up not too worse the wear for my beating, but I was keenly aware that I was not a teenager anymore. I wiped the salt water from my eyes to see the kayak headed for shore – rods attached, thank goodness. But my glasses and tackle box were nowhere in sight. The wife ran out to join me.
“Are you all right?” she yelled.
“Fine,” I responded wearily – the words “Wounded Pride” emblazoned on my head. “The boat and rods are OK, but I think I lost my tackle box . . .”
“Oh no!” she said sincerely. She knew fully what this meant. I probably wouldn’t speak for weeks. There weren’t enough therapists back home to handle this case.
“I lost my glasses too . . .” I added.
“The huge old gold rimmed ones?” She queried with a hint of hope in her voice.
“Yup – my old ones,” I confessed.
“Thank God,” she responded. “I’ll help you look for the tackle box, but not those glasses!”
She always hated those frames.
We never did find the tackle box and I suspect that like any fisherman who has ever suffered such a loss, I mourn it still. But if I’ve lost one thing, I have found another – and that is a keener awareness of the dangers of indecision. The next time I’m between large waves or two things of importance that hang in the balance, there will hopefully be no hesitation, only the kind of decisiveness that’s needed in such a moment.
I was also reminded that “distraction is the mother of disaster” (most far worse than the loss of a tackle box) and that even when the distraction is valid, you’ve “got to keep your eye on the ball,” which often simply involves paying attention to the small details at hand.
And then there’s the final and perhaps most important lesson that my dear brother must have known all along . . .
Nothing beats a late afternoon nap on the beach.
- Stuart