And then there was that time a HUGE fish got away. Alright, I am getting ahead of my story. A distant uncle of mine was insisting that he once hooked a great moray eel twice my height (I’m 5 feet 10 inches tall) and around eight finger-breadths in diameter. The clincher was, it got away. Well, we all know how fishermen sometimes are. Even I have been guilty of an overly active imagination when it comes to fishing. Since we will be staying with his family for two days, I decided to run down his story.
“Kid,” I called to my nephew after my uncle has strayed far enough, “will you take me fishing for moray eel?” The 12 year old rascal flashed me a toothy grin along with a chirpy nod. So off we went. It was midmorning by then with the blazing sun at 10 o’clock. The kid handed me a paddle and motioned for me to follow him. It’s been like a quarter of a century since I last used a paddle so I spent the rest of the morning refreshing my skills. By midafternoon, I was red as a lobster from the waist up.
After a practice run of a mile up and down the coast, the kid was finally satisfied I won’t turn around in circles or capsize the frail little craft they call an outrigger canoe. Very well, I can already paddle and we can go catch a mighty eel. “We’ve got to find some nightcrawlers first,” quipped the kid. Gee, the sun was still out and what in heaven’s name are we going to do with worms?
Okay, in order to catch an eel, we need fishes for bait and we need the worms to catch the fishes, sixteen in all. A bit confusing but that’s the way it goes. Why sixteen? Because there are sixteen large wicked-looking hooks attached to a length of fishing line. It’s not a fishing line really but a small diameter nylon rope and the hooks were attached to it with thin wires.
We marched to a little creek after digging-up half a can of worms, the kid up front and my precious 7-year-old trailing behind me. Now, I’ve got to stick a tiny hook into one of the slimy, wriggly creatures. After three passes and a near prick, I was finally able to bait my line. I threw my line, holding on to one end of course, into the creek and slowly reeled it in. Then snap! I felt the teeny tug and gave my line a deft pull. A shiny silver fish four finger-breadths in length was yanked out of the water, flew through the air, and flopped to the ground, with my daughter squealing all the way. I got the hang of it pretty easily and soon we have the requisite number of fishes for bait.
We quickly marched back to the house where the kid expertly impaled the fishes on the hooks strung along the fishing line for moray eels. The sun was already low and tinting the horizon a ruddy red when we set out on the frail craft. Don’t get me wrong, I love the sea but only when I’m out of it. We were venturing into the deep and my imagination started working overtime. First I peered down through a greenish haze into a sandy bottom, and then the water turned a deep blue-green, finally, nothing but the dark blue deep. I swore strange creatures lurked beneath our little canoe. I didn’t want to look foolish to a 12-year-old kid so I just stared ahead and kept paddling until he motioned for me to stop.
Seemed like that we have reached THE spot. Why that spot was different from all the other spots in that vast expanse of water was beyond my comprehension. Like a meek puppy, I just sat nervously gripping the side of the canoe, fearful that my slightest movement would tip us over into the waiting jaws of any monstrosity loitering underneath. The kid reeled out the line while I held my breath and silently called on all saints to keep us steady. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the kid threw out the floater — a large piece of Styrofoam, settled himself in the prow, and nodded for me to turn our craft around and start paddling for shore. I was often accused of being a laggard but not this time.
I tried to remember everything I’ve read about focusing chi and I imagined every ounce of mystical energy in my body going down my two hands and into the paddle. My concentration was total on making swift but graceful strokes and soon the water turned from dark blue, blue-green, and, finally, sandy bottom. We reached the shore just as darkness blanketed everything and the first stars timidly blinked high up. It was a long night of anticipation and apprehension. There was also that nagging thought on what if the tide or waves carried the floater away, taking along the fishing line?
The following morning, we were up just as the sun was about to great a new day with his dazzling smile. Everybody was caught up in the excitement of a huge catch. Even our little tot was already up and clambering about the sand. We lost no time in dragging the canoe out into the water. Again, there was greenish sandy bottom, blue-green waters, and the dark blue deep. The kid caught the floater and reeled in the line.
The first hook appeared with the bait intact, then the second and the third. Farther down the line, the baits showed marks of being grabbed and eaten but every empty hook we brought in waned our excitement. Finally, the final hook was in view with no moray eel in tow. However, the bait was stripped from this one with the wire loosely wound in a circle. The kid remarked that something must have fought hard to free itself from the hook. It must indeed be an immense slimy eel, I imagined.
This time I slowly paddled back to shore, disappointed that we didn’t caught even a teeny eel to brag about. That feeling was overshowed by the relief that we didn’t have to deal with the monster that got away. At least, I’ve got a story to tell.
