The day before I left for Florida, I admitted to my therapist, and even more so to myself, that I am very afraid of flying. I'm not sure why I am or when I started forming this fear, especially since when I was a little girl, flying was my favorite part of every trip. All I know is that now flying gives me a lot of anxiety, and no matter what I do, the fear only gets worse. No amount of plane science, common sense, statistics, sleeping pills, anti-anxiety pills, or therapy will probably cure this fear of mine, which makes it that much worse.
Still, I refuse to let my irrational fear get in the way of living my life. The world is a crazy place, and I love to explore it! So, I packed up my bags and headed off to the airport anyway, even though I was already chewing my nails in the car on the way there.
My mom let me go through the airport on my own as soon as we checked in our bags, so I didn't feel much pressure from her (or anyone for that matter). The airport was basically empty, so getting through TSA and to my gate was very easy. I could stall the whole way through. I didn't rush with unpacking my electronics or taking off my boots, hoodie, and hat, which meant I didn't miss anything and could get through quickly and easily. And once everything was cleared, I had a nice conversation with a helpful TSA agent about where to find my plane gate.
I actually had over two hours to kill once I found the gate, so for those two hours, I roamed around the airport, grazing on some food and checking out a few of the shops. Those two hours seemed to go by a lot faster than expected, mostly because I was increasingly anxious about getting on the plane, and anticipation anxiety is really good at speeding up time.
My mom and little brother couldn't help but tease me for being afraid of flying. In our family, teasing is just how we show affection towards each other, which may or may not be healthy. I snapped back at my mom and little brother, and let them know that once we got to our destination, I'd find something to tease them with. After all, Florida is the reptile capital of the United States, and my mom and little brother are both afraid of things that slither and bite. I was pretty confident I'd eventually find something scaly and bitey to chase them around with. I just had to survive my flight to Florida, which, in my anxious mind at the time, seemed iffy.
I was flying on Southwest, which meant I could choose any seat that I wanted. After groups A and B boarded the plane, my group was called. My heart thundered faster and faster the closer I got to the plane. The line stopped moving just as I stepped onto the plane, and I took that time to shake hands with one of the pilots who was talking to a flight attendant. He was kind, and seemed like he knew how to fly a plane, although the flight attendant he was talking to seemed pretty new to the job.
I made my way towards the back of the plane, because almost every seat ahead of and on the wings was full, so I ended up sitting on a middle seat in the very last row, in between two very large and muscular guys. I was just small enough to not have to worry so much about personal space, but I was still very uncomfortable because I didn't have any room to stretch or move around much without elbowing someone. I quietly pulled out a book called Meat Eater: Adventures from the Life of an American Hunter by Steven Rinella, listened to some music, and did my best to distract myself. Perhaps I'd forget that I was on a plane, and could get to Tampa without having to suppress a major panic attack mid-flight.
About 15 minutes after I sat down in my seat, the engines fired up to full power, and within seconds, the plane was headed into the sky. I made sure to buy several packs of very strong mint gum at the airport, so I stuffed a few sticks of that into my cheeks, and used the tingling taste of mint to further distract myself. The plane almost seemed like it was struggling to reach cruising altitude because of how turbulent it was. In fact, to my dismay, the entire 3 hour flight was severely turbulent due to a major storm system that extended from far eastern Colorado to Orlando. Our complementary drinks and snacks were almost canceled due to the turbulence, but thankfully, our pilots found a stretch of smooth air for the flight attendants to take advantage of.
I could sense that I wasn't the only nervous flyer on my flight. In fact, both guys sitting on either side of me had their Southwest apps open on their phones, and were anxiously refreshing the app to see our updated location on the map every few seconds. I forced myself to look away from their apps and tried to focus on reading Steven Rinella's ram hunting story instead, hoping that time would go by a lot quicker if I ignored it. Although, I must admit, I was very tempted to open up my own Southwest app and drain the battery by tapping the refresh icon every three seconds.
I'm not sure how much time passed when the pilot's voice came over the intercom, nearly startling me out of my seat.
"We're about 100 miles from the Tampa airport. Uh, unfortunately we can't get in right now because there is a heavy thunderstorm in the area, and it would be very unsafe for us if we attempted to land right now. For now, we will just have to circle around where we are and wait for the storm to pass, which should be fairly soon. In the meantime, I'll just keep the seat belt sign on because there is a lot of turbulence around here. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the flight to Tampa."
I figured that was a great time to crack open my Mountain Dew, so that I'd be fully awake and ready to get off that damn plane if, I mean, when it landed. I knew I had to carry at least 120 pounds worth in luggage through the airport and to our rental car, which was waiting for us at Enterprise. I'd never been to the Tampa airport, so I had no idea what to expect or how long it'd take us to get from the luggage carousel to our rental car. I just wanted enough adrenaline in my system so I could muster the unnatural strength I'd need to get everything to our rental car.
I probably shouldn't have drunk as much Mountain Dew as I did on that plane. While we made our final decent, we hit some pretty nasty air that rocked the plane side-to-side like nothing I'd ever experienced. Not only was I freaking out inside and had about 10 ounces of Mountain Dew pumping through my system that made my anxiety worse, but the guy sitting to the right of me was just as afraid. I had a white-knuckled grip on the armrest, and a death grip on my book, and the guy sitting to my right pinned my wrist to the armrest and squeezed it as hard as he could when we hit a particularly bad spot of turbulence. Keep in mind, the dude sitting next to me was at least three times my size and made of mostly muscle, so he had one hell of a grip and I'm just glad I have strong bones. Otherwise...
As soon as we got below the clouds, the plane stopped rocking so violently, and the guy let go of me, apologizing profusely for almost shattering my wrist with his involuntary iron death grip. I accepted his apology, even though I didn't even notice him. I was too busy reflecting back on all the things I've been through in life up until that point, and for a few seconds, accepted that it would all come to an end in a fiery explosion somewhere in western Florida.
Fortunately, that did not happen. Instead, we had a rough landing, but the pilots managed to keep the plane from hydroplaning off the runway, and smoothly taxied to our gate. While the plane gently bounced over the asphalt on the way to the gate, a flight attendant got on the intercom and tried to make some witty joke about the rough ride, but nobody laughed. So, in an attempt to kill the awkwardness, the flight attendant went on a tangent about his four college-aged daughters, and bragged about how they were very smart and majoring in all sorts of smart sciency stuff in their pretentious universities. To be honest, that only made it much worse, and I think he eventually realized that and finally shut up. The only people who were slightly amused by him were all of the old people on the plane, which outnumbered people younger than 50 years old about 3 to 1.
Needless to say, I never wanted off a plane so badly before. As soon as the aisle was clear (which took about a half hour), I bolted out of my seat and charged towards the exit to freedom! Only, as soon as I got onto the jet bridge, I began choking on the hot, humid air. That didn't stop me, however. I powered through it, and caught up to my mom and little brother halfway through the terminal.
Getting our luggage was another grueling adventure I was not looking forward to. I was exhausted, but at the same time, adrenalized to the point I couldn't stand still. Turns out, I needed that extra dose of adrenaline my 20 ounce bottle of Mountain Dew gave me. When our bags finally appeared on the carousel, the heaviest of them appeared right next to each other. My vest bag weighed about 65 pounds, and my medicine bag weighed about 70 pounds. I didn't want to let either bag get away from me, so I grabbed them both at the same time, and somehow manged to deadlift them off the carousel and onto the ground at once. How I did it, I'm not entirely sure. It must be all of that wild game, Mountain Dew, and anxiety in my system.
Our other bags weren't nearly as heavy as my medical equipment, and I was surprised by just how light they all felt! Of course, because I am bigger and stronger than my mom and little brother combined, I was tasked with carrying the biggest bags to our rental car. I slipped my old vest bag across my shoulders, careful not to crush my carry-on backpack so I wouldn't destroy all of my electronics. Then, I dragged my medicine suitcase behind me with one hand, and my clothes suitcase with the other. In all, I was lugging about 160 pounds worth in stuff like a pack mule. Thankfully, most of that weight was on wheels. But still, that was not easy at all.
After walking the length of the airport, and riding on a train crowded with nosy old people who asked if I was from Boston because I was wearing my hat I got from Boston, we finally made it to the rental car place. Only, they didn't have any cars available. So, my mom instead got us a huge pickup truck. The woman who led us over to our truck and handed my mom the keys was not taller than 4 foot 11, and struggled to lift my 20 pound clothes suitcase into the back of the pickup. So, yours truly had to toss everything into the back of the pickup without help, using a bale-tossing technique I learned while volunteering at horse rescues for so many years.
We still had a long drive ahead of us, and my fuse was shorter than ever. My mom only dared to ask me one question about how to work the truck, and I about lost it. Through clenched teeth, I showed her how to work the windshield wipers and helped her connect her phone to the truck's built-in Bluetooth. I also had to explain to her that opening up the windows only let in more hot air and humidity which would fog up the windows, which upset her because she was cold, but I was already soaked in sweat from carrying all of our stuff. We finally compromised. I could have the AC on, I just couldn't blast it, and my mom closed all of the vents on her side. It wasn't long before the topic of dinner came up, and within five minutes, we'd pulled into a Burger King. I didn't know that I was hungry, and told my mom that I didn't want anything. But she knew better.
After another 45 minutes of driving in a heavy storm and two wrong turns, we finally arrived at our Airbnb in Hudson, Florida. It was a three-story concrete structure on stilts, built along the saltwater canals just a few houses away from the wide open Gulf of Mexico. It was unfortunately too dark outside to really see much beyond what the street and canal lights lit up, but I could taste the salt in the air, so I knew we were close to the ocean.
As much as I wanted to just get into the house and sleep, I still had to get all of our luggage inside before I could relax. I could hear thunder not too far away, and didn't want our bags to come in soaked. So, while my mom and little brother explored the house and sat down to eat their meals, I unloaded the truck by myself in the dark, while the wind picked up drastically ahead of the approaching storm, choking me with sand. Then, just as I had the last two bags in my hands, the heavens opened up above me and instantly soaked me to the bone.
I finally got to relax, but I was completely drenched in rain and sweat, had itchy salt crystals all over my skin, and sand in my hair. My little brother, who usually loves to antagonize me further when I get upset, left the kitchen in fear the second he noticed me prowl in, and my mom simply pointed to the bag that had my share of food. I don't usually eat processed burgers from Burger King, but I hadn't had a decent-sized meal for almost two days by then, so I didn't hesitate to unhinge my jaws and inhale five double-stack bacon burgers in less than 15 minutes. I knew I'd regret that later, but I needed to eat something, anything, to lift my mood a little.
Unfortunately, I still had work to do. The entire third floor was its own bedroom, and because we were expecting more people to arrive in the next few days, my mom told me I ought to claim the third floor before anyone else did, because that was the only place I could get some actual peace and quiet while our friends stayed with us. So, once again, I mustered up the strength to carry all of my luggage up three stories of stairs. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough energy to make it all the way up at once. I rested at a landing, and over the next several minutes, took one bag at a time the rest of the way.
A bed never felt more comfortable before. As soon as I got all of my bags upstairs, I turned off all of the lights and laid down in the king-sized bed. I was out for the night, and for most of the next morning. I actually only woke up at noon to take a handful of pills, and then passed out again until about 4 in the afternoon.
When I groggily went down to the kitchen on the second floor after sleeping for almost 14 hours, my mom told me that I'd missed the first trip to the grocery store, so chances were she didn't get me what I wanted. She got me some food that I liked, but not much. She went shopping mostly for her and my little brother, and I like pretty much everything they don't like, and vice-versa. She offered to take me to a nearby buffet for dinner, and then the next day we could go to Walmart to get me all of the food I wanted, as well as my Florida fishing license so I could legally fish from our private dock just behind our house.
The buffet she drove me to looked dingy on the outside. It was just an old, weathered building, but there were lots of cars in the parking lot, and it had good reviews online. Inside, it looked pretty unimpressive, until I got to the buffet section. They had everything I could ask for, from unlimited sushi, to steamed snow crab legs, to mutton chops, and then some. I made a bee-line for the sushi and loaded up two plates with raw fish. Then I turned around and noticed they had a bunch of steamed cajun seafood, so I stacked several steamed crawfish and mussels on top of my sushi. My mom walked by me while I was doing this, and shot me a look of absolute disgust.
When she came back to our table, I was in the middle of ripping a crawfish's head off with my teeth to get to the meat, and she refused to sit anywhere near me. My little brother came back with a plate full of pizza a moment later, and also refused to sit next to me. So, I sat at my own corner of our table while my mom and little brother sat together at an opposite corner. In all, I had 6 steamed crawfish, 20 pieces of nigiri sushi, a handful of mussels, a plate of about a dozen raw sea oysters, a plate of grilled frog legs, a mutton chop, several large slices of honeydew, a few chunks of pineapple, some steamed dumplings, and a bowl of ice cream to top it all off. And I was hungry again 45 minutes later, so I cooked two ahi tuna steaks my mom bought for me, and demolished a bag of baby carrots back at the house.
My mom told me I needed to slow down, and that I wasn't gonna starve to death. She wasn't used to seeing things disappear from the kitchen so quickly. At home, I have a huge freezer full to the brim of all of the meat and vegetables I could ask for, so my eating habits rarely get in the way of everyone else's. But when we travel, my mom's bank account (and mine too) definitely feel the impact of a 6,000-calories-a-day diet.
I was really excited to get my fishing license the next day. That meant I could catch my own food and not hear my mom complain about my eating habits so much. But the night before, I read online that there aren't a lot of good fish to catch in saltwater canals, and the only fish that really bite in the canals are saltwater catfish. Saltwater catfish are very overpopulated in a lot of saltwater canals surrounding the Gulf of Mexico, but they are also a very flavorless fish and are only decent if fried. A grilled saltwater catfish only tastes like the spices that are added onto it. I cannot digest fried food very well, or process too many spices at once, so saltwater catfish just aren't for me to eat. However, I did read that saltwater catfish are really good bait fish because of how strong their flesh smells. So if I caught a couple and cut them up, I could use them as bait for bigger, more flavorful fish.
That morning, while my mom went to the food section at Walmart to fulfill my list, I went to the fishing section to get my fishing license and all of the necessary cheap fishing supplies I'd need. I picked up a basic fishing pole with a spincast reel that I wouldn't feel bad about leaving behind at the Airbnb, and a handful of different sized hooks, sinkers, bobbers, and rubber lures. I also found a very cheap and durable filet knife as well as a nice pair of polarized sunglasses. Finally, I headed over to the check-out counter in the Outdoors section to get my fishing license and pay for all of my fishing supplies.
The man working at the counter was older and had a very thick southern accent. I told him I wanted a ten-day fishing license, and he got right on with gathering all of my information to process and print out a fishing license for me. While we waiting for his computer to process everything, he started telling me fishing stories. At first, they sounded pretty mundane, until he pointed to a scar across his forehead.
"I got this scar 20 years ago after I caught a huge swordfish. It sliced my face with its sword while I was trying to get the damn thing in the boat!"
"You serious?" I asked.
"Yup. Them swordfish are something else. They're delicious and worth the fight, but if you catch one of them, stay far away from its head. One of my buddies lost his eye to a swordfish."
"That's... Terrifying." I admitted, "And I thought getting bit by a large northern pike was bad."
Before the guy could tell me any more fishing horror stories, my fishing license finally printed out, and I wasted no time signing my receipt and stuffing my license and debit card into my wallet.
"Now you be careful out there." the man warned, "The fish out here ain't like the ones you're used to at home."
For the rest of that day, while I waited for the sun to sink below the Gulf of Mexico, I did some research to see if that guy was bullshitting me, or if he was really serious. Turns out, he wasn't bullshitting me. There are countless stories of people being injured and even killed by the swordfish they'd caught, as well as many, many more saltwater fishing horror stories involving other deep-sea fish.
I started having second thoughts about going on a deep-sea fishing trip. But, I decided that if I felt something was very wrong, I could just let go of my fishing rod and be done with it. But, it would be stupid to give up such an awesome opportunity because of the small chance of catching a dangerous fish. Plus, I wouldn't be fishing alone. I'd have plenty of people around to help me out if I found myself in trouble.
That night, I gathered all of my fishing gear and stumbled outside into the hot, humid air. It wasn't unbearably hot, but I was still quite uncomfortable even in my basketball shorts and T shirt. Nevertheless, I swung my legs over the side of our private dock, let my bare feet dip into the warm saltwater, and cast out a hook with a rubber worm wrapped around it.
For quite a long time, I sat completely still in silence under the stars, listening to the frogs and crickets chirp along the banks of the canals. Occasionally, the ambiance would be interrupted by a passing sports car on the main road or the sound of a fish jumping out of the calm water. But, nothing seemed to be interested in my line. I started reeling it in, hoping, but not expecting, a fish to grab it as I was reeling it in. I was pulling my line in pretty fast, and I had no plans of slowing down. I only stopped briefly to stand up so I wouldn't snag my line on the seaweed that grew in thick tall clumps around my dock.
When I began reeling in again, my line refused to come in. After a few gentle tugs, I figured I'd snagged my line on a rock, and I needed to cut it. As I was reaching for my knife, which I'd clipped to my shorts on my left side, I noticed that my line seemed to be moving around. I figured it was the current just pushing my snagged line around at the surface of the water, so I ignored it. But, just as I got my knife into my left hand, my line took off, and the force almost pulled my rod out of my relaxed right hand. I instantly let my knife drop onto the dock, and grabbed a hold of my rod with both hands before it could be pulled away from me. I braced myself on bent legs as I began fighting with whatever had a hold of my line. Whatever it was, it was huge and very aggressive, and it was not gonna let go!
I watched as my line slowly got closer and closer to me. It darted left, then right, then left again. As I struggled and pulled some more, I watched helplessly as my line got wrapped around the neighbor's dock. My line, which was designed to withstand up to 100 pounds of force, snapped with ease when I gave it one final pull. Whatever had been on my line was lost forever. However, I was much more excited than I was disappointed. At least I knew there was something alive in those waters, and there was always a chance I'd catch it again.
I quickly reeled in what was left of my line, and worked on getting another hook and lure tied to it. As I did so, I saw something huge jumping out of the water by the neighbor's dock several times, but as soon as I had my line back in the water again, that fish stopped jumping. It was silent again, except for the crickets and the frogs, but I didn't let my guard down. Not even for a second.
Almost as soon as my line relaxed after I cast it out, I felt something tugging on it. The tugging wasn't nearly as strong as it was previously, so this time, I thought for sure it was just the current. Just to be sure, however, I gave my line a small tug, and instantly, something started pulling it further out. While it wasn't a very strong force, I still had to keep a firm grip on my rod to keep it from getting away from me. I fought with this new fish for about minute and then heaved it onto the dock. It was a good-sized saltwater catfish. Not good eating, but still good for bait, and I was doing the ecosystem a favor by getting rid of such an invasive and destructive fish.
Instead of going through the trouble of ripping my line out of the catfish's stomach, I simply cut the line with my knife and tossed the fish into the bed of a paddleboat that was parked on my dock. I put another hook and lure on the line and cast it into the water. Almost immediately, something grabbed a hold of the hook and started hauling ass towards the center of the canal. I quickly and easily pulled it in, and discovered it was another catfish, about the same size as the other one I'd caught. This one didn't suck my hook down into its stomach, so I got it off my line with ease, tossed it into the boat next to my other fish, and cast out my line again. Not a minute later, something grabbed my line again, but unfortunately got loose just as I was heaving it out of the water towards the dock.
By then, it was well past midnight, and I could feel myself getting tired. So, I gathered up my fishing supplies, and then the fish I'd caught, and brought them to the back porch to be cleaned. I left the fish on the warm concrete while I went along the dark side of our house to find the hose. The hose was tangled around itself on a cheap plastic spool, and it was difficult to untangle it in the dark. I had to untangle it mostly based on feeling. After several long minutes of struggling, I finally untangled the hose. I turned the knob to let the water run, and brought the gushing hose into the light of the back porch.
Both fish were still very much alive. I knew killing them would be a messy job, but it had to be done. Catfish have very hard heads, so I couldn't put the knife through their brain like I'd do with other fish. Instead, I took a catfish, flipped it onto its back, slipped the knife in a weak spot just below its jaw, and pushed it all the way through. Then, once a big enough hole was made, I took the knife out, held the fish by the head with one hand, held the body of the fish with the other, and twisted in opposite directions like I was wringing out a wet towel. Just as I was doing this, my mom came outside to see how I was doing. I don't think I've ever seen a person run away so fast in high heels before.
I just shrugged it off. If it was urgent, my mom would've yelled for me from the second-story porch above me. And the last thing I wanted to do was come inside with bloody hands and further traumatize my mom. I didn't want to put my fishing license at risk by antagonizing my mom. She would've totally thrown it into the canals if I wasn't careful. So, I finished cleaning the first fish. I took out its guts with one handful and put them in a plastic bag along with the catfish's head, then de-finned and skinned the fillets, and moved onto the second fish.
Unfortunately, there's no easy way to kill and clean a catfish. Catfish are some of the toughest fish out there and just refuse to die. Several years ago in North Dakota, my grandpa and I caught several decent catfish near the Garrison dam during a dry period (not much water was flowing which allowed a lot more fish to hang out there). My great uncle Delton filleted one of them alive, while me and my grandpa just stared in horror at the scene. Even though its insides were completely exposed, the catfish was still very much alive and literally swimming around the flooded gravel driveway after being filleted and de-finned, because its head was still attached to its vital organs. That scarred me for life, and is why I'll always behead every catfish I clean as soon as possible, even if that makes the job messier. At least it doesn't suffer any longer than it needs to.
I took all of the useless parts of my catfish, wrapped them up in a few plastic grocery bags, and threw them into our outdoor trashcan. Then, I rinsed the blood off the concrete porch and into the canal, cleaned any blood and debris off the fillets, and brought everything inside for the night. I carried the cleaned, skinned catfish fillets up into the kitchen, where I found my mom. She yelled at me for traumatizing her the second I came into view, even though I hadn't even called her outside, or even knew she was still awake. I ignored her, and instead proudly showed off my pretty catfish bait fillets, which by then looked like store-bought tilapia fillets. My mom was not impressed, but felt better now that those fillets didn't have a face.
I couldn't find any plastic ziploc bags to put the fillets in, so I just wrapped them up in plastic wrap and put them in the freezer. Meanwhile, my mom, part jokingly, part seriously, whined about how I "murdered the innocent catfish". I replied by saying her opinion was invalid, because she had chicken for dinner that night, and shrimp for lunch, neither of which she killed herself. If anything, I had the moral high ground, because at least I had the guts to kill my own food, and the money I spent on my fishing license and supplies went to the conservation and management of endangered sea-life. And, the catfish I killed that night were part of a much larger overpopulation problem, and would've further contributed to the destruction of their local ecosystem if it wasn't for me.
She just smirked and admitted she had nothing to say to that. She never admitted that I was right though. She still won't.
Shortly before I began the cleaning process, I set up my phone and recorded myself posing with my catch for a few seconds so I could then screenshot everything to send to people. I knew my mom would refuse to take pictures for me, so to prove I caught catfish to the people in my life who always say "pics or it didn't happen", I had to get creative.
A couple days later, our close family friends arrived. Priscilla and her daughter, Layla, are not big into hunting and fishing. But Priscilla's son, Christian, who is my age, and her husband, Sean, are very much into hunting and fishing. It didn't take much to convince them to join me on the deep sea fishing boat.
The morning of our deep sea fishing trip, Sean and Christian teamed up to wake me up at 5:30 in the morning, by violently shaking the bed and ripping off my covers. Obviously, I shot up confused and afraid, and swung a blind fist through the air in an attempt to fend off my attackers just as Sean flicked on the brightest set of lights in my pitch dark room. They laughed at me while I rubbed my eyes and growled obscenities at them under my breath. I was not amused.
It took less than 10 minutes for me to get ready, and I was actually the first one in the car. I already had an adrenaline rush equivalent to ten Mountain Dews in my system, so I left my soda in the fridge. Instead, I planned on buying breakfast on the boat, which I learned through their website had plenty of food for sale aboard.
It took us about an hour to drive to Clearwater. There wasn't too much traffic, although everyone on the road was in no rush to get to their destination. Sean weaved through the traffic the best he could, while Christian and I sat in silence listening to music on our phones. While Sean drove, I checked up on the forecast to see how quickly I'd die of heatstroke on the boat. Thankfully, I learned that while it would be sunny at sea, there'd be a strong, cool northwest wind and increasing clouds through the day. I still needed to load up on salty snacks, Gatorade, water, and soda though, if I was gonna survive the day at sea without getting the coast guard called out to rescue me.
That wasn't hard at all. As soon as we got our boarding tickets, we found a convenience store right next to the harbor our boat was docked at, which had everything I could ask for and then some. Breakfast for the day consisted of Mountain Dew, beef jerky, and gummy bears. I also bought two large bags of pretzels, several more beef jerky, and plenty of fluids to get me through the rest of the day. Our boat departed from the harbor at 7:30 in the morning, and wouldn't return until 12:30 in the afternoon.
The boat was called the "Super Queen" and was part of a decent fleet of boats, though the Super Queen was the largest boat out of the fleet. The Super Queen had two decks. The bottom deck had a large, air-conditioned cabin in the center of the boat, and the rest of the deck was uncovered. The upper deck had a much smaller cabin for the boat's driver, but was otherwise wide open and exposed.
The Skipper, a guy called Larry, was a huge dude, standing at over 7 feet tall and had biceps bigger than my thighs. Even though he was definitely intimidating, he was one of the kindest guys I've ever met. His deckhands, Mike and Tim, were much less intimidating. In fact, they were rather scrawny and didn't stand taller than 6 feet. I never met the driver of the boat. While Larry was the skipper, he hired someone else to drive the boat for him, so he could help out his guests on the deck.
There were about 30 other people who joined us on the boat to fish, but the boat was so large that it didn't feel crowded. While most people chose to fish off the side and back of the boat, me, Sean, and Christian decided to fish off the bow. Not only would we be completely exposed to the wind so we wouldn't get too hot, but chances were, there would be more fish there since they may be startled by the boat's shadow everywhere else.
We set our bags of food down inside the boat's bottom deck cabin, and Larry gave a quick orientation to make sure everyone knew what to expect. He told us that if we got sea-sick, we could come inside the air-conditioned cabin for treatment. However, if anyone had to puke, they needed to puke over the side of the boat, preferably over the bow, so more fish would be attracted to the boat (bad joke, still funny though). Then, Larry showed us how to use his fishing reels which were designed to handle fish up to 250 pounds. However, chances were, we'd be catching fish no bigger than 30 pounds that day, so we shouldn't need to worry about being pulled overboard. Finally, we learned that we'd be fishing about 25 miles off-shore. It would take us less than an hour to get to the fishing reefs, and less than an hour to get back to shore, which meant we had a little more than 3 hours of fishing time. There were well over a thousand different kinds of edible fish to catch from those reefs, ranging from barracudas to common grunts.
Christian and Sean joined me at the bow of the boat as it gently coasted through the Clearwater harbor. I flipped my hat on backwards, and told Christian to do the same, but he shrugged and said we weren't going very fast. Obviously, we weren't going very fast then, but we definitely wouldn't make it 25 miles off the shore in 45 minutes going the speed we were going through the harbor. As soon as we drifted into the open ocean, the boat driver gunned it, and Christian lost his hat. I laughed at him as he chased it down the deck, and he pretended he didn't hear me when I yelled after him, "See, I told ya so!"
The seas were very choppy further out. I kept my knees bent as we bounded over the waves to keep myself from falling over. Occasionally, sea water would spray up into my face, though it was never enough to get me wet. Every now and then, flying fish would jump out of the water just ahead of the boat, and glide for almost 100 feet before diving back into the water. Christian was absolutely shocked by this! He thought flying fish were just a myth. He never once believed they actually existed, until they started gliding ahead of and alongside our boat.
Aside from flying fish, there wasn't actually a lot of sea life to be seen on the surface. There were plenty of clumps of seaweed and kelp, though I couldn't see anything living around them, even through my polarized sunglasses. For the most part, the only living things around us were other people, flying fish, and the occasional sea bird. Everything else was deep underwater, hiding away from the heat of the Florida sun.
Halfway to our destination, I turned to look towards Florida and saw nothing but ocean below and sky above. We were too far away from Florida to see the western coast over the curvature of the earth. In fact, we were too far away to see the other boats that were skipping along the waters by the coast. We were completely alone, charging over a choppy, navy blue ocean under a cloudless pale blue sky. It was actually kind of eerie. At the same time, I was excited that we'd be fishing away from the rest of the world. We wouldn't have to worry about getting our lines tangled with anyone else's, or someone chasing away the fish, or anything like that. It seemed like we had the whole ocean to ourselves, and I loved it! If only I had the whole prairie to myself while hunting last year.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the boat began slowing down. A few short minutes later, the engines cut, and we were allowed to bait and drop our hooks into the water. We were told to let our hooks drop until our lines stopped reeling out. Most of the fish were at the very bottom of the ocean where the reef was, which was almost 200 feet below the surface! I had about 500 feet of fishing line in the reel that could withstand over 250 pounds of force. I'd either get pulled overboard or lose my fishing pole long before the line would break, so I better be ready for anything and hope Larry was around to save my ass if I needed. Since no anchors would be dropped, our boat would drift along with the wind and the current, allowing us to move along with the fish rather than staying in one place.
For the first 20 or 30 minutes, nothing seemed interested in anyone's lines. In fact, the only thing I was successful in catching during that time was a rock. That rock almost ruined my day. Thank God Larry was around to cut my line before I lost my fishing pole! I was really starting to panic for a minute, especially when my feet started slipping on the metal deck as the boat drifted away from the rock, but my line refused to budge. I put a new hook and piece of bait on my line, and dropped it in again. This time, I moved it around more to prevent it from snagging on a rock. This also enticed more fish to take my bait, and it wasn't long before my fishing pole bent down towards the ocean.
Whatever took the bait was a decent-sized fish, although it didn't put up much of a fight. In fact, I stopped reeling in a few times just to see if I could still feel some actual weight on the end of my line. I brought in a decent-sized Sheepshead Porgy. Sheepshead Porgy can come in a variety of different colors and sizes, but they almost always have a mainly silver body and are usually no bigger than 10 pounds. The stripes along their body can come in almost every color of the rainbow. Mine had beautiful blue stripes running down its body that changed shades based on the lighting that hit it.
Larry took my fish off of me and put it in a cooler tagged with my group's number. About the same time, Sean caught something, though I didn't have a chance to see what it was. I was too busy baiting and dropping my hook back in.
I did a pretty lousy job of baiting my hook that time. I felt a very strong tug on my hook almost as soon as it reached the bottom, and that was that. I reeled in my line to find my hook empty. So, the next time I baited it, I made sure to secure the bait on the hook so the fish would have to work for it.
The next fish that bit my hook was a very big and aggressive fish. I successfully reeled it up to the surface, but I only caught a glimpse of its long, silver body before it broke free and dove back into the water.
"Goddamn it!" I shouted, "It got away!"
"Just like your hopes and dreams." Christian smirked.
"The hell you just say?" I growled while I baited my hook again.
"Uh. Nothing." Christian lied.
"That's what I thought." I snarled.
I dropped my baited hook into the ocean once again, and within minutes of it reaching the bottom, I felt something tug on it. This time, I wasn't messing around. I gave the hook one hard tug towards the surface, and the game was on! Whatever was on my line was a fighter! However, the closer it got to the surface, the less it fought.
Christian peered over the bow of the boat as I pulled in my fish, and he shouted for the whole boat to hear, "She's caught a pufferfish! And it's big!"
"A pufferfish," I thought, "Are those things even edible? I better check Google once I have this thing in the cooler."
I got the deflated pufferfish onto the deck just as Larry came up to us.
"Oh, that's a nice puffer!" Larry smiled as he cut it off the line, "They call these things Chicken of the Sea, because when you cook them, they look like a drumstick and taste like a fishy chicken. They're my personal favorite!"
"Oh, so they are edible? That's exciting!" I said.
"They are delicious!" Larry shouted, "By the way, you wanna see something cool?"
Before I had a chance to respond, Larry put his mouth to the side of the pufferfish, just ahead of its pectoral fin, and blew the thing up like a balloon! I instantly burst out laughing harder than I have in a long time! Out of all of the things I thought I'd witness, seeing a man blow up a pufferfish like a balloon never once came to mind. Larry then handed me my inflated pufferfish, and used Christian's phone to take some pictures. He even encouraged me to toss the fish back and fourth with Christian like a baseball, but Christian backed out of it. I figured it was time to stop torturing the poor pufferfish, and handed it to Larry so he could deflate it and put it in our cooler.
I stopped fishing for a bit to make sure pufferfish, more specifically, my pufferfish was edible. It was, but only its tail. The rest of the pufferfish is extremely poisonous, and if you eat anything except for the tail (which must be properly cooked), you can suffer from severe, long-lasting diarrhea, severe bouts of puking, temporary partial or total paralysis (including of internal organs, so chances are, you'd suffocate to death), internal bleeding, numbness, cold shivers, cold sweats, and many other horrible things that could easily kill a person, all the while being completely conscious of your experience. Basically, eating the wrong pufferfish would give you a lethal case of ALS in 3-6 hours. Out of the thousands of people who eat pufferfish every year, about 50 of them die from it. But being the adventurous eater I am, I decided to throw caution to the wind, and eat that fish anyway. If I died, at least I went out in style!
Christian and Sean both thought I was insane for wanting to eat such a dangerous delicacy, and even tried to convince me to feed the thing to the seagulls instead, but were otherwise impressed by my bravery. If I ate that fish and lived, I'd be a legend. If I died, I'd still be a legend, but for other reasons.
While I impaled a new piece of bait on my hook, Christian finally caught something and started acting as if it was his biggest bite yet. Contrary to Christian's ecstatic behavior, the fish he caught was a very small White Grunt. Like the thing barely weighed a pound, and it didn't have enough fight left in it to flop around on the deck. Sean laughed at Christian for making a big deal over such a small fish, and affectionately nicknamed Christian "Bitch-Fish" for his puny catch.
Even though it was barely big enough to make a street taco out of, Larry put Bitch-Fish's fish in our cooler anyway, saying the meat added up.
Unfortunately, after that little white grunt was caught, nothing else seemed to be biting. We either drifted away from the reef, caught every fish in the reef, or the fish realized that they'd be turned into a sandwich if they took the bait. Whatever happened, the fish stopped biting. So, Larry announced that we'd be moving to a new location just a few miles north, and hopefully we'd catch something there. Everyone reeled in their lines, and I took some time to get some food and water into my system while the boat headed over to that new reef.
The new reef was basically a ghost town. I didn't feel a single bite, and the one fish that took Christian's bait was another small White Grunt. For an hour, we drifted over this large reef without a single bite. I'm not sure if anyone else was having any luck, but since everyone else was towards the back of the boat, and I never once saw Larry come up to the bow where I was, I figured people must be catching something. Turns out, they were! Someone even successfully pulled in a 30 pound barracuda, which was likely the same kind and size of fish I caught but lost just as it reached the surface.
Larry finally announced that it was getting close to 11:45, and we needed to get our asses back to the coast. Because we were late, he'd push the boat to her limits, so we needed to be extra conscious about securing our fishing reels to the boat so they wouldn't become a hazard. Apparently, 10 people also got sea-sick, so for their sake, we needed to get to the harbor as soon as possible so they could get the help they needed.
I decided to stay inside the cabin, because the boat would be moving at almost 40 miles per hour directly against a 10-25 mile per hour wind. I knew my skinny ass couldn't stand up to that. Christian and Sean joined me, and we snacked on some food and drinks while the boat bounded over the waves. Unfortunately, I started feeling a little woozy, and then downright sick.
I ran onto the deck just in time to empty out my stomach into the sea below. I felt instantly better and color flushed back into my face, but I decided to stay outside so I wouldn't get sick again. Unfortunately for me, my illness didn't go unnoticed, but I wasn't the only one who was sick either.
I heard the most impressive burp ever right next to me, and turned around just in time to see Christian volcano puke over the side of the boat as well. Once he was done, he stood back up, gave me a thumbs up and said, smiling, "All good!"
"Let's pretend this never happened!" I shouted over the wind.
"Agreed!" Christian nodded.
"Are you two feeding the fish?" I heard a booming voice behind us, "You should've done that as we were fishing."
It was Larry, and he was laughing at us. He'd seen it all from where he was standing at the bow of the boat. I was mortified, and so was Christian.
"Uh, we're done now." I nervously giggled.
Larry laughed some more, and I wasted no time following Christian up to the second deck of the boat where nobody else was.
Up there, the wind howled past my ears. I met Christian above the bow of the boat, and I could tell he was still feeling sick. He held his face in his hands and was groaning. If I hadn't been seasick just minutes ago, I would've taken a few jabs at Christian. Instead, I just moved to the other side of the top deck cabin and enjoyed the fresh air.
The Florida coast was just barely visible on the horizon, but it was approaching fast. Above me, several seagulls glided near the boat's mast, but other than that, there was no other life visible. Even the flying fish had made their way deeper into the water to avoid the heat, which if it weren't for the steady cool wind, I would've definitely felt.
For the most part, I just let my mind wander as I stood above the bow leaning against the wind. I don't remember what I was thinking about, but time seemed to just fly by. Before I knew it, I could feel the boat slowing down as it approached the harbor. By then, at noon, the harbor was full of boats, and every beach along the coast was full of people. Our driver had to be extra careful driving our boat through the harbor since it was so crowded. Our boat was huge, and dwarfed all of the other boats on the water, which really put things into perspective. Perhaps the fishing boat I was on was more of a ship than a boat.
I watched Larry, Mike, and Tim rush to the bow of the boat to start uncoiling the tether rope. They had to be ready to throw it to the deckhands on the dock, so the boat could be secured before the current and tide could pull it back to sea. Securing such a huge boat was no easy task, and the rope to secure it had to have been at least 300 feet long and over half a foot wide.
Once the boat was docked, everyone was instructed to gather their things and get off the boat. The people who caught fish and wanted to take their catch home could wait for Larry to clean the fish for them, or they could otherwise give their fish to someone else who would eat them. A surprising number of people passed on eating their own fish. I'm pretty sure a decent handful of people walked off the fishing boat vegan that day. Oh well, more for me! I not only got the fish from my group's cooler, but I also got fish from two other groups who decided they just couldn't fathom the idea of eating the fish they caught themselves.
While Larry was cleaning everyone's fish, five pelicans and one white heron came flying in and surrounded the cleaning table like dogs begging for food. While the pelicans had no problem eating the heads, skins, guts, and fins of the fish, the white heron had a better idea. If Larry wasn't paying attention, that bird would sneak in and steal a cleaned fillet.
When my fish got cleaned, I stood nearby to keep the white heron from stealing my food. He was not afraid of me at all. I actually had to hold him back with one hand, and even then, he tried to reach his neck over my arm to get to the fillets, so I held him back further. Meanwhile, a pelican ducked between my legs to get a piece of fish that had fallen in front of me, and decided he liked his spot. I stood with my legs far apart so this pelican could comfortably stand there, but he didn't mind being touched or moved around. He was just as tame as my dog, and even asked me for pets by pressing his head against my hand. I guess you really can turn anything into an affectionate pet if you feed it enough. Don't quote me on that.
I handed Larry a pretty hefty tip for all he did for us that day, and then headed off towards a nearby restaurant that would prepare my fish for me. I didn't trust my cooking skills enough to properly prepare my pufferfish. The risks were too great. Because my pufferfish was mixed in with the other fish, Christian refused to try any of it, and even Sean seemed a little apprehensive. I knew that would change once everything was prepared by the professional chefs at the popular restaurant we were going to.
We met the rest of our crew at the restaurant. Priscilla and Layla covered their eyes and squealed when I tried showing them pictures of my catch when it still looked like a fish. Like my mom, Priscilla and her daughter are perfectly ok with eating meat just as long as they don't have to see it as an animal. I'll never even begin to understand that kind of mindset, which is very common these days. If I made the rules, I'd make every meat eater kill their own food at least once in their lives before they could have another burger. I think people would have a much deeper respect for our food if they actually had to look into its eyes before eating it. But, to each their own, I guess. Just don't call me a murderer for hunting and fishing if you eat or use any animal products.
While everyone ordered very typical dishes, from hot wings to sandwiches, I ordered a dozen raw oysters to come with my grilled fish. I love raw oysters. They're one of my favorite foods, even though everyone else in my family (except for maybe uncle Courtney) thinks I'm nuts for enjoying them as much as I do. But, I couldn't care less about what people think of me. Let me eat what I like and I'll do the same.
To his credit, Christian did try one of my raw oysters. However, as soon as he swallowed it, his face paled and he sprinted for the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later, looking much better and trying to act like nothing happened. I guess he just couldn't handle it. At least he tried.
When my fish came back, they were grilled and drenched in lemon juice. Since they looked a lot more like food, Sean, Christian, and my mom wasted no time taking a pile of fish for themselves. The pufferfish was pretty easily distinguishable from everything else. The chef left the tail intact, and it really did look like a chicken drumstick! Everything else just looked like regular white fish fillets, and actually tasted like grilled tilapia with a little more of a salty flavor to it. The pufferfish did taste a little like chicken, but tasted more like a fish for the most part. In all, my meal was delicious, and I ate the remaining three pounds of fish, as well as my little pufferfish, in under 15 minutes. Better yet, I never once suffered any of the debilitating consequences of eating a poorly-prepared pufferfish.
Later that night, I was sitting on the third-story porch enjoying the cooler air. It was still very warm, but the heat wasn't excruciating since the stars were now shining brightly over the Gulf.
My thoughts were scattered by the familiar sound of distant thunder. In Florida, the weather doesn't always go west-to-east like it does in Colorado. Depending on a number of factors, weather can be driven any direction. Florida has the most dangerous storms out of the United States. Not only are they warm all year round, but they are prone to hurricanes and heavy thunderstorms, which bring all sorts of fun stuff to the state. Tornadoes are more common in Florida than they are in Oklahoma, and a damaging storm hits the state almost every day.
I felt safe at the house. It was built to survive category-five hurricanes. Its walls were made out of poured concrete and supported by steel siding, hurricane-grade insulation, heavy construction glue, wood, and barbed nails. Even the roof was built to withstand those storms. It was flat for the most part and protected by 3-inch thick metal plates. Essentially, the house was going nowhere.
I got a severe thunderstorm warning just as the winds suddenly shifted. To be safe, I moved inside and watched the weather from the windows (which were also hurricane-proof). Even though heavy winds and rain lashed against the house, I barely heard it. In fact, had I not been paying attention to the weather, I wouldn't have even known there was a storm outside.
I lost interest when the rain got so heavy I couldn't see the canals from the windows, so I curled up in bed to play video games on my phone. A few minutes later, someone came charging up the stairs to the third level. Christian was talking loudly to someone on the phone while he headed for the third story deck. The wind was coming straight from the east, which meant our western-facing third story deck was completely sheltered. I wasn't about to test it though.
Christian went outside, stood by the sliding glass door with his phone to his ear, and then bolted for the roof-access ladder.
Protective instincts kicked in, and I rushed outside to prevent Christian from getting himself killed. I wasn't worried about him getting hit in the head by flying debris or getting drowned by the rain. Cloud-to-ground lightning flashed in the sky every few seconds, and our house was the tallest building within a mile's radius. If Christian got onto that roof, he'd certainly get lit up like a firework.
Turns out, Christian was not actually headed to his death on the roof. Instead, some of our deck furniture on the northern side of the house (away from my side of the house) briefly took off with a heavy gust, and Christian ran to save it. Once I figured out he was not trying to commit suicide by lightning, I helped him move all of the deck furniture against the house in the center of the deck to prevent any of it from being turned into a 60-mile-per-hour missile.
By then, the worst of the storm was over, but it was still one of the roughest storms I've ever seen. That storm dumped about 6 inches of rain in a half-hour and sent any loose objects flying off into the canals. But, as quickly as it came, it left, and for a half-hour, I stood on my porch and watched one hell of a lightning show from the distant storm.
Before I'd consider it safe to be outside without cover (off-cloud lightning is very common in Florida, and can extend for miles), Christian actually took off for the roof-access ladder. I snagged his leg when he was halfway up the ladder, and asked him what in God's name was he thinking. He said nothing. He just shook off my grip and hauled ass onto the roof with me right behind him.
Just as I reached the top, I watched helplessly as Christian ran up to the lightning rod and proceeded to lick that thing like an ice cream cone. During this, it looked like Christian was taking a few selfies just to document his stupidity forever. Turns out, he was Skyping with a group of rowdy friends back home who dared him to lick the lightning rod.
I stopped trying to rescue him, and just pinched the bridge of my nose in utter defeat. 18-year-old guys are about as devoid of common sense as they come. But to be honest, I don't think they get much smarter with age. I've seen guys as old as 80 do some pretty stupid things, and Florida's largest retirement community is just as legendary as the Florida Man for the ridiculousness that goes on there. Speaking of which, Christian almost became another one of those infamous Florida Man headlines.
Florida Man Licks Lightning Rod on Roof During Thunderstorm, Dies
