FISH ON!

Scott and I are cut from the same cloth when it comes to "diving in head first".  Sure, what we dive into might be different, but we both go about our passions with vigor.  Take fishing for example.  Though he has never been a 'fisherman' per se, Scott has always known that a life at sea would not be the same if one cannot enjoy it's bounty.

So he started fishing.  And then he became obsessed with fishing and the associated gear.

Every land excursion led us to a fishing store for lures, line and tips.  My brother and Scott's god-cousin(?) bestowed up on us rods and reels.  Nearly every day he tried to troll - to no avail.  He was getting frustrated.

We were a little sad to kill him.

Scott had read early on about the "cuban yoyo"* and asked fishing stores down the entire east coast if they had them.  No one seemed to know what the heck Scott was talking about until we got to Florida when he finally got one.  A "yoyo" is a simple hand line wrapped around a giant spool.  It is the most rudimentary of fishing gear, but - so far - the only one to bring anything in for us.

It happened the other night.  Scott had put the "reel" around a winch with a little shrimp lure on it.  We retired to the cabin - he took a snooze, I was reading by my head lamp.  Night was settling in.  

All of a sudden we heard a loud dragging sound on deck, jarring us from our peace.  We looked at each other - listened some more - looked at each other again - when finally Scott jumped up and said, "fish on!".

Sure enough, we caught a fish.  A beautiful skip jack at that.

...but he was good eating!

Taking a life is not easy, in fact - I really want no part of it.  When those fish look up at you with panting gills and big shiny eyes, it literally hurts my soul.  We were going to throw him back because neither of us were hungry and we have no refrigerator to keep him fresh.  But then we saw the hook...waaaaay down his throat.  And it was go time.  He was a goner.

I got the grain alcohol out and poured it down it's throat, and he quickly gave up his fight.  I got sad, Scott got sad - but we realized that we are just part of the circle of life.

And then Scott got to work filleting.

Boy was that fish good.

* Apparently they are also called just a "yoyo" as our friend, Brian, learned when he went into a fishing store and asked a clearly Cuban lad for one, which he replied a little snarky, "You mean, a yo-yo?"  Guess they don't need to be Cuban after all.