The woman with a thousand faces

I am sure I am not the only person that has periods, that for whatever reason, thoughts about your own mortality creeps in and hangs around like a skipping record. I am not trying to be morbid but simply stating a fact. When I was twenty, I never thought I would make it to thirty, and when thirty rolled around, I never thought I would see forty. On and on this “decade” strangeness kept popping up and now that I am in my sixties, I have finally realized that it is not worth fretting about. My new philosophy is “it isn’t how long you live; it’s how you live the life you have.”

Looking back, I have had more than my share of stumbling blocks but in just about every case, one thing got me up and running again and that is the ocean. If you thought “fishing” would be my answer, fishing is just a bonus that the ocean hands me every time I ride along on her maze of currents. I cannot think of any two times I have been out there when her face has looked the same, maybe similar but not the same.

Remember the book “Sybil” about the girl with sixteen different personalities? Well, if Sybil had sixteen, the ocean, which I regard as being of the feminine persuasion, has so many personalities they can’t be counted. And talk about being able to switch personalities in the blink of an eye, she can be as calm as new born kitten one second and just as quick turn into an angry lioness defending her cubs from a pack of hyenas. It really is amazing.

Two trips out on the ocean this past week serve as a perfect example of the ocean’s effect on me. I am not sure why, but I was kind of down in the dumps so II decided that I would look to “her” to once again pull me up by my bootstraps.

The first attempt occurred when a man I had fished with often aboard his 36’ boat and a friend of his came down from Atlanta with hopes of getting in on what I had heard was a hot bite that had developed in the Gulf Stream. Just so you know, I spend many hours prepping for such trips. It’s not like hopping in the boat to go catch a redfish, there are so many things that need to be just right when you are heading 70-80 miles out. Fuel, tons of ice, rigging, bait, life raft, food, well you get the picture.

Then there is the weather. I swear you would think in this century that meteorologists could agree on forecasts, but no two sources ever agree on anything. It’s the only occupation I know of where you have a fifty/fifty chance of getting it right. The Gulf Stream current is like a snake, always undulating never staying in the same place for long. For instance, when we have north winds, it will blow the Gulf Stream further offshore while south or east winds push it closer. I go to extremes to get a clear picture of what to expect including thermal satellite imagery. Even with all of that there are no guarantees.

That proved to be the case a couple of weeks ago. Loaded for bear, as soon as I hit the ocean I knew this fickeled lady had pulled out yet another personality so half way there I sadly told my friend the Gulf Stream was a no go due to huge seas. Luckily though, I have learned to expect the unexpected from the ocean, so I had also brought along bait and tackle for bottom fishing. Instead of an 80-mile run for pelagic species, going bottom fishing it is but a fraction of that distance but even then, that lady can make getting there a test of wills. Not only was she angry, at the same time her tides were abnormally high and ridiculously low causing currents that makes staying on top of fishing spots a matter of seconds. I prefer drifting over my fishing spots rather than anchoring so I knew my work was cut out for me.

Knowing that grouper season was open, we pounded our way to my spot. It was like the ocean was testing my will power against hers. It was like a heavyweight fight, but it was a fight I needed to pull me out of my slump. Arriving beaten and bruised I turned to see my friend struggling to hold the rod that was bent at an impossible angle.

A relative novice to bottom fishing, he finally gained some ground on the fish and up comes a beautiful gag grouper. Stepping away from the wheel it was my turn. Using a live pinfish, it didn’t take long before I tied into something hefty and it’s another fine grouper, this time the finest eating grouper there is, a scamp grouper. Along with numerous big sea bass, vermillion snapper and some huge triggerfish we actually limited out on grouper. For me at least, it was just what the doctor ordered.

I better clarify that statement a bit because mentally it was what I needed but physically, I truly believe a Mack Truck could have hit me head on and I swear the pain it may have caused couldn’t touch the back pain I endured for the next three days.

I wish I had enough space to tell you about my more recent Gulf Stream trip when the ocean actually let me make it there. All I can say is the ocean must have had pity on me because her face was beautifully serene on that trip providing me with healing thoughts along with some fine blackfin tuna and wahoo.

Sure, she can be a bitch but no matter what face she decides to paint on, she has served me well more times than I can possibly count.

Collins Doughtie is a 60-year resident of the Lowcountry, is a sportsman, graphic artist, and lover of nature. collinsdoughtie@icloud.com