Last week was a mixed bag of great news, some good news and some okay news. Georgia is clearly the highlight of my world right now. The little dear is beginning to show her personality, and much of it is through her new radiant smile.
The knee is improving and Wyoming appears to be on. Too bad my knuckleheadedness resists similar improvement. That extends to fruitless fishing, too. So far, Ellen and Reid have politely withheld comment.
June 15, 2015
Ellen/Reid: We are beginning to bake down here. The temps peaked in the mid to upper 90s both days this weekend, and if it wasn’t for liquid yesterday on the golf course, we would have wilted like day old lettuce. That’s when it gets unbearable down in these parts. If it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. We could use a little rain, too.
The knee is feeling better day by day but not fast enough for me. Reid, the workouts must resume. I’ve lost more than a week of training but will force the issue starting tomorrow or Wednesday. No sense in going to Wyoming out of shape. If I can recoup conditioning starting this week, there will still be a month to get the wheels back in shape. The issue came up when I took an ill-advised stance when my ball settled down in an unraked footprint high up on the face of a bunker. That was the precise moment that caused the issue. But I can bend it more now so that’s progress, albeit slow.
Ellen, the shots of dear little Georgia starting to smile are just too precious. She is a little wonder. How are Emma’s swim lessons going? She’s got to be like a fish in the water. You really can’t send enough photos of those two goofs.
At the last moment, it struck me on Friday that it would be fun to go fishing (and to test the knee) so the kayak was loaded onto the Camry. I hit the road for Charleston about 4:50 Saturday morning and Reid, after hitting Crosby’s Bait Shop for some cut mullet and mud minnows, was on the water about 9:10 and paddled straight to the barge. It was a beautiful morning. A couple beat me to the punch and had anchored their boat on the far side but they motioned me to join them. They’d been getting some sheepshead and black drum but nothing keeper size. Their stated goal was to catch something for dinner. I must be the kiss of death: the couple had never been skunked in 15 trips this year – until yours truly shows up. Figures.
Of course, they were using live shrimp and gently advised me this was the time of season when live bait, mostly shrimp, ruled. But the bite stopped when the tide changed. All I caught were six tiny sharks, one butt ugly thing whose species remains unknown, and a small flounder I didn’t even know was on the line until I reeled in to check on my bait. The sharks were interesting. No nibbling for them. It’s down the hatch with the bait, and their hide is so tough it makes removing the hook a chore. The real fun was watching dolphins as a coordinated unit herd mullet onto the muddy banks at low tide. The dolphin make frequent noises through their blow holes, which must frighten the bait fish and the bigger mammals work in unison to push the 12” fish onto the shore.
The dolphins are in hot pursuit and go completely out of the water as they pick off the mullet one by one. It’s so cool. That must’ve happened 10 or 12 times.
The worst part was after I reluctantly decided to head back to the docks. At least the tide was sweeping me along. But my wide brimmed hat blew off and went with the flow at the very moment one of my trolling hooks snagged on an oyster bed. Almost instantly about 100 yards of braided line stripped off the reel and I couldn’t paddle fast enough, now against the very strong tide, to salvage some of the braid. So I had to cut it and raced toward the bobbing hat, which was now 250 yards away. I ended up retrieving it, but now had to paddle 500 yards against the tide, which felt akin to river rapids. I got the boat finally stowed and went upstairs to the Bowens Island Restaurant for a cold one. There were 15-25 people waiting in line for a table. It’s a seedy place but always packed. I dodged the long line and zipped to the bar for a porter. Lots of ‘necks in this place (what is it about fat Southern men and sleeveless t-shirts?). Several displays of the stars & bars, which I don’t care too much for, but I downed the beer and scrammed out of there. Had a good drive home, and pulled in about 11 p.m. The non-catching doesn’t bother me a whole lot. Can’t wait to go again.