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It had been too long since I went fishing with my dad. It is something when you grow older and develop that life of your own. The job, the wife, the kids; makes me think of the song Cats in the Cradle. How the time has flown and something that meant so much to me as a kid became nothing more than distant memories.

The inability to sleep was pure torture. Not from a tired sense, but more so because of being awake and waiting. What would we catch? What would we see? Every trip into the Florida Keys gave my growing mind something to feed upon.
“Well, we’ll see how the weather holds out,” he would say as we turned in for the night.

The weather. I found it odd that all I wanted to do was marvel in Mother Nature and yet it was Mother Nature that was the greatest obstacle. Worrying about the green blobs drifting across the radar screen would get me out of bed every time. I sat for an hour or so before he would get up studying the storm reports.

“Clear skies, slight breeze coming out of the east,” I would be at him as he turned the coffee pot on.

“How long have you been up?”

I’d look to the floor. “Just a little before you.” I didn’t tell him I watched the American flag while they played the national anthem before the screen went to snow.

“Uh-huh,” he would reply with a smirk.

“So are we going?”

“I don’t see why not,” he laughed as he rubbed my crew cut.

And that would be it. I was out the door getting our gear together, loading the little refurbished john boat. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was just right for tooling around in the mangroves around Key Largo.

Not much was spoken, not much needed to be said. He had taught me well and we were focused on the task at hand. Fishing was not our hobby, it was our obsession. He didn’t ask corny questions about my youth and I didn’t give him answers that would appease him. I knew he loved me and I hoped he knew I loved him too.
Turned onto U.S. 1 and headed south past Bojangles’. A little further down Jack’s Bait and Tackle for eight dozen shrimp for eight bucks. Past The Last Chance bar and into Key Largo.

Dad liked to take Card Sound Road around and south for reasons I couldn’t tell you. It was for the most part a desolate ride. I would just stare off into the darkened mangroves catching glimpses of the moon on the water.

I would think to tell my dad how much I loved him and how much I admired him, but still we would ride listening to the tinny sound of Buffet on the AM radio. We shared this bond, this love for the water. Nothing needed to be said. Or maybe it was because I was getting older and it wasn’t cool to say I love you. Maybe it was because I was getting older and I could see that my hero was not made of steel.

His hand on my shoulder, “Wake up, we’re here.”

I’d snap up and look around. I didn’t even remember going over the Card Sound Bridge. He had already backed the boat into the makeshift ramp. I jumped out and grabbed the bowline and he lowered the boat in. Standing there as he parked, I would inhale deeply taking in the smell of the salt air. A slight breeze came off the little bay and my shoulders shook from the chill in the air.

He climbed over the bow and to the transom lowering the motor. Prime the bulb, pull the choke, and pull on the cord. The little fifteen Evinrude started up with a whine and a two-stroke cloud drifted off the water. The short ride across the flats left me shivering up front, but soon he idled down and was hunting for his spot.

“There, see the beer can in the mangroves?”

I could barely make it out, but sure enough right at the edge of a cut in the mangroves was a can stuck on a branch.
He motored up and told me to tie off to one of the branches. “We’re a little early; the tide hasn’t started moving yet.”

“Well, we could try!”