We just got back from the beach, in case you were wondering why there've been no new posts lately. You know how it is - first you have to spend all that time getting ready for the beach, then an equal amount of time at the beach and recovering from the beach trip.
There's the requisite fourteen bottles of sunscreen to be purchased, plus a new float for wave surfing guaranteed to last all of five runs before being punctured by a sharp shell or a wayward sandburr. But I digress...
The theme of this year's trip was appearances and second looks. For example, we spent hours waiting for a storm to pass that sat just to our south and finally skirted around us, passing innocently off to the west. I paddled my arms off trying to get back to shore from one mile out in the sound when it began thundering out of a clear sky. Turns out it was the sound of several military jets booming along on practice runs.
Then there was the shark.
We had just gotten back from a long walk around the lower end of the island. On our return, we passed my stepdad Lawrence fishing in the sound near the house we were renting. He already had half a dozen nice-sized spots and pinfish in his bucket and reported they didn't show any signs of letting up. I decided to grab my gear, load up the fishing kayak, and join him.
The house we rented was right beside the sound, so it only took me a minute to get home and get changed and outfitted. I had just gotten my tackle box and bug spray when my phone rang. It was my mom, calling from the sound. Probably Lawrence wanted me to bring him a drink or a snack. "Hello?" I answered, holding the phone in one hand and tugging on my fishing vest with the other.
"Lawrence needs help! He's caught a shark!"
This is not as uncommon as you might think. Sharks are part of sea life, and since they have to come from somewhere, it's not unusual to catch a baby shark or two if you fish much at all. They're about 18 inches long and look like miniature versions of their parents. And like their parents, they can bite and should be handled with care.
But catching one hardly called for tone I heard in Mom's voice. This tone gave me visions of Lawrence standing hip-deep in the water, holding a nearly-doubled over rod, struggling to keep a razor-toothed monster off a nearby group of swimming preschoolers. Just how big was this shark?
"I dunno! It's got a lot of teeth and a broad flat head! It's a sand shark or maybe a tiger shark. He needs help!"
Shoot, if Lawrence needs help, it must be a helluva fish. The man worked as a meatcutter for Kroger's since God stopped wearing short britches. He's big and he knows his way around meat. What the heck was going on?
"Does he not have his glove or pliers?" I asked Mom. Every fisherman knows you keep a leather glove handy for dealing with ocean fish, since unlike their freshwater cousins, they tend to be toothy and bristling with sharp parts. Pliers are recommended for removing hooks in order not to lose digits in the process.
I got no reply from Mom and the long silence sealed the deal. "I'm coming down!" I said.
"Okay!" Click.
Immediately, my priorities shifted. I was no longer going fishing. This was now a rescue mission, a matter of public safety and family preservation. I left behind the kayak. There was no way I was getting in a boat with a shark in the water, even if we got the bugger freed successfully. I got my tackle box, checked my vest to make sure I had my pliers, glove, small knife, big knife, really big knife, and phone. I briefly considered bringing along a shovel in case we needed something to move the guy back out to sea with, or maybe to stun him with if he started thrashing. Then I remembered that many shark species are endangered and thought maybe it wasn't a good idea to bludgeon a threatened species on a public beach. Should I call the cops instead? Or maybe the Sea Turtle Hospital people? They were just up the island... But they weren't open and did they even deal with sharks, since sharks can eat sea turtles and wouldn't that be some kind of conflict of interests to rescue them both? I pictured a sea turtle and a shark in adjoining tanks, glaring at each other.
I realized I was wasting time. I decided to go and see for myself before calling out the cavalry.
When I got to the beach, there was a small cluster of people around my stepfather. His fishing pole was pointed at the sky, the line slack. I thought for a moment the shark must have gotten away. But no, there were still people here like there was something to see. Where was the darn thing?
"It's right there in the water," Lawrence said, pointing just a few feet away at the water's edge.
I followed his line with my eyes to where it met the surface, then peered closer into the crystal clear water. Nothing. "Where?"
He wound in his line and I saw it as it broke the surface, a slender brown torpedo-shaped abdomen with darker vertical stripes running its length, scimitar-shaped fins that gleamed in the sun. It sported a wide mouth, stretching from one side of the head to the other, filled with several dozen needle-shaped teeth. It was no shark, but it was clearly a lean, mean, carnivorous machine. It also was about 11 inches long.
"Lawrence, that's a lizard fish," I said with a sigh.
"A lizard fish?" he asked. The people standing nearby echoed the name. "Lizard fish," they said to each other, nodding heads like, "Yep. That's a lizard fish. Knew it all along. Gotta watch out for them lizard fish."
"They live on the bottom," I told him. "They're ambush feeders, like a flounder. They wait for things to swim by and grab them. They're like oyster toadfish; they'll grab your bait as you move it along. Just kind of pesky, more than anything," I finished as I reached in my vest for my pliers and glove.
I took the fish in hand and began working the hook loose. Still, I wondered. "Lawrence, why didn't you just unhook it yourself? Why'd you call me? Do you not have your pliers and glove?"
"Are you kidding me?" he replied. "Look at those teeth! I'm not sticking my hand near that mouth!"
It figured. "But it's OK for me to do it, right?"
"Absolutely!"
I wiggled the hook out, dropped the line, and placed the fish back in the water, swishing him back and forth to get water moving through his gills again. "OK, buddy. You're good. Live long and prosper." He slithered out of my hand into the green depths and vanished in a flash. I chucked the pliers and glove back in my tackle box, snapped the lid shut with a flourish, and stood up. Mission accomplished. The crowd began to move off, disappointed at the lack of a shark but pleased to have seen something toothy and scary nonetheless.
Just another case of mistaken identity, all the way around.
No comments:
Post a Comment