Cork the whine…


Although I’m not sure I fit the description of a serial whiner (friends on the golf course may disagree) I have my moments.

A couple of those were chronicled in last week’s letter to the kids.

———————–

September 15, 2014

Ellen/Reid: I think I’ve finally figured out that, at a basal level, I’m just not real good at fishing. Something isn’t resonating for me. Either the fish aren’t biting or I don’t know how to do it. The suspicion here is that it is the latter. This weekend at Charleston, or, more precisely, Mt. Pleasant, the  habitat was as good as could be found. Deep grasses, plenty of water flow, etc.

This is my kind of beautiful morning near Charleston: hit the water early and see what's biting.

This is my kind of beautiful morning near Charleston: hit the water early and see what’s biting.

Exactly the place you’d expect to get sore arms from the reeling in of pounds and pounds of fish, but no. One speckled trout – and it hammered my plastic Gulp seconds before I was about to pull the lure out of the water so that was sheer luck. But in my defense it was 15” which was over the legal limit.

This handsome speckled trout represents the second leg of the Big Three of fish I aim to catch - flounder, speckled trout and redfish.

This handsome speckled trout represents the second leg of the Big Three of fish I aim to catch – flounder, speckled trout and redfish.

No other real bites. It has to be the fisherman rather than the fish, although a friend of mine said the redfish are either on or they’re off – there’s no in between. I think I am in between the off and the very off. I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for the guide I keep yammering about. I was texting with Tim during the lull while I sat moping in the Ocean Kayak – all my fishing seems to be a protracted lull – and he said I’d learn more from a guide in one day that I’d learn in a year of fishing by myself. There’s no mistaking that Tim is right. I’ve just got to suck it up and pay the man. All in all, Charleston seemed a much better spot than Oak Island. Guys were taking their outboards several miles away to catch fish but I simply can’t get that far in a kayak but for crying out loud, you’d think a guy could catch even a stupid fish.

But enough whining about fishing. Let’s move on to whining about golf. Actually, there’s not much to whine about. I bought a new driver and three wood and I like them but they don’t really like me back, yet. They will soon enough. My golf group’s championship weekends begin this weekend and it should be fun. There’s only about 25 signed up for the tournament which is surprising to me. Maybe people are leery of competition. We’re playing some pretty nice courses. I played in a couple’s tournament yesterday with a woman from my golf group and we finished second to another couple from our group. We mopped up vs. the competition. I enjoy that for a change.

It really cooled down yesterday. Hardly got into the 70s which is brisk by local standards. Even saw someone wearing a jacket. That’s still shirtsleeve weather up where you are.

I find there’s a little anxiety about retirement. Not so much buyer’s remorse but more ‘what am I gonna do?’ with all that free time. It would be nice to keep doing something for a bit of pay. Enough to pay for golf and fishing. I suppose I’ll volunteer a tad more through Caldwell and keep plugging away on behalf of my golf group. But we’ll see. The thought rushed over me the other night and it was a little unsettling but that too shall pass.

I traipsed around Charleston after fishing and saw some nice developments down there that would be in the affordable range. At first glance there didn’t seem to be many, if any, single level units with minimal square footage plus a covered garage. Those would be hard to find. Lots of people in my age category must be on the prowl for those, too.

Tori Furstenau stayed at the house on Friday night. She made a slight mistake in a plane reservation which led to an overnight in Charlotte. I was gone long before she arrived but left out some amenities for her (she could flip the switch on a fresh pot of coffee plus snacks and fresh fruit) travels which, coincidentally, were also to Charleston. It was nice to have a visitor for a change and I think she appreciated the stopover even though my spot can be hard to find. I sent a few text photos so she’d have at least a visual idea of where the house was. But she found it. I told she and her dad that they were welcome anytime. She left a nice note of thanks.

Okay, this is over and done with. Talk, or at least text, to both of you soon.

Love, Dad

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