My Quest Part 2

"Maybe that's why" I pondered, envisioning the time on my alarm clock the last time I went to bed. I'd been hitting the sack, as it were, by 9:00 every night since The Incident. The only difference now being I can sleep through the night since they changed my medication. I can only surmise that the crackled musings of a redneck fly shop owner maybe weren't too far from the truth. The positive aspect of going to bed at such an early hour is the ability to get on the water before the sun peeks over the horizon.

It's because of Her.

Why do I think about Her with every cast? Why does it feel like I'm trying to exorcise a demon every time I shoot line across the water? It hasn't even been a year since we used to fish together, her red hair and hazel eyes sparkling like gems in the "magic hour" before sunset, setting the hook on a fish along the seawall like a pro, the smile across her face a testament of joy.

"Yeah..looks like a crab er somethin'...'em boys swear by it down in T-T-Tavernier." That Guy crackled, holding the fly up to my face by the hook bend and smoothing the strange material back. Before I could ask him what it was made out of, he whispered out "...some sorta high falutin', new fangled stuff that ketches th' light and makes it come 'live" he eyed me with one eye again. "Ketches girls too". He then reeled into the coughing/squealing laugh, pulling his grubby ball cap back and revealing squinting eyes and smiling with broken and brown teeth.

He then moved a stack of boxed fly tying material, a few wadded up brown paper bags and a yellowed, month old newspaper, knocking over a moldy coffee cup in the process. Under the debris was an old fly tying vice with a bent hook holder and long ago taped vice tightener. He quickly inserted a large, barbless tarpon hook into the vice and tightened it down, giving it a jerk to make sure it would stay in the vice's grip.

"Ya gotta take a lot of 'em see...he gets his mouth on there an jes' tears 'em up. Even th' ones that git off"

"How bigga leader you usin, boy?"

"80 lb" I said.

"Ya need to use a hunderd" he quipped, "'e'll find the first piece a structure and break ya off wi' 80."

I nodded and listened intently. A lot of the things he mentioned I'd read about, but still paid attention while watching deft fingers wind and wrap the foam and fabric around the thick metal of the hook shank with the tough waxed thread. He was telling me about keeping the engine well maintained and using good gas so that when your buddy has to fire up the engine real quick, it'll start without any problems and you'll be able to chase the fish.

"What kinda engine ya runnin'?"

I pointed to my chest.

He looked me up and down, "I ain't talkin' 'bout no bass fishin' in th' river 'er dip nettin' shrimp down at the pier....I'm talkin' 'bout Kingin'....tarpon fishin'...e'll get ya down to the backin' in a matter a secints an' pull yer arms outta the sockets an' keep on goin'...." he faded off, obviously thinking of a time with the silver king rocketing skyward.

"This is my engine" I said. "My boat is a kayak."

That Guy's face turned serious, sun baked crevices in his skin straightened from north to south lines, to east to west. His eyes glazed over and he seemed to be looking past me, not at anything in particular, just past me. His voice a mere whisper.

"Ya betta listen to me, boy...an' listen good see....Ya know, back in '73, Bobby Wells, big fella, veteran, Kinger, Florida Keys 1972 Tarpon Tournement Winner, th' big 'in, not some asinine thing they put on 'round 'ere. I'm talking 'bout all the big boys, previous winners...an' big fish too. Winnin' fish that year was a State Record....well, his boat was in th' shop. Engine trouble, waitin' 'round fer parts see...back then they didn't have no damned computers and no damned DHL....ya had to call' round to differnt shops ta git parts....maybe he got tired of sittin' 'round waitin' in the middle of tarpon season see so he takes some damn fool rowboat out to git after 'em see...well he found 'em alright. Hot July sun beatin' down....Coast Guard found him 3 days later all sunburnt an dyin' a thirst 'bout 8 miles out....'e says the current pulled 'im out while 'e was fightin' a big fish see, but ya know, I think the fish pulled him further than he thinks see....ya wanna get after a king in a kayak ya'd have more betta luck bein' a half assed Eskimo..... ya's betta think agin....a man does funny thangs when he don't wanna live no more see"

"That's just it" I replied, "Fishin' IS livin' "

To Be Continued....