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.