Bad Moon Rising

Bob said, “Live sardines, I brought a bunch of nice healthy ones.”

We put out four lines and made sure the reels worked easily, and optimists that we are, we got ready for the big ones.

The yacht drifted in the soft breeze, small waves lapped against the hull, and an occasional seagull passed over us, checking for any morsels we wanted to toss overboard. I felt the last few days’ tension leaving. The sun’s heat on my neck and shoulders felt warm but not hot. The beer was cold, and Amber sat so her arm touched mine. I raised my beer, so relaxed that I had my eyes half closed.

That’s when Amber whooped like a Comanche and jumped from her chair to set the hook. Her movement pushed my elbow up and beer went over my face and chest, knocking off my Padres baseball cap. Bob stepped on it when he came to help Amber.

Her rod bent into a U and she put her back into it, holding the tip up and fighting to reel in the line. Bob said, “That’s a big one, Amber. Stay with it.”

I wiped the beer off me, found my cap, and put it on only to realize it was soggy with beer. How fragrant.

Hondo said, “You smell like a barroom floor.”

“Thank you, I hadn’t noticed. Who’s steering the ship?”

“We’re fine. No other ships within two miles and we’re drifting slow and straight.”

It took Amber ten minutes to land the fish, and we all whooped when she did. Bob guessed the large halibut at fifty pounds, which is no record, but a very good-sized fish. Then Bob whooped and grabbed his rod, setting the hook and the fight started again. Hondo hooked one a few seconds later and both men reeled in nice fish in the twenty-five pound range.

I looked at my line in the water. No vibrations or twitches at all. Amber whooped again and already had another one on the line.

I reeled in my line to check the sardine on my hook. The sardine cleared the water, flipping and thrashing like a miniature tarpon. I lowered it down again on the sea floor and waited.

Nothing.

Hondo and Bob put their baited lines into the water and both hooked up again. I stood and reeled in my line again, looking at the sardine swimming in the air as I held it up to check. Hondo said “Put it in the water or you’re not gonna catch anything.”

I started to feel pouty, then Amber put her arms around my neck and kissed me. I was all right after that, even when Amber caught another one.

I finally caught one right before we started back to the marina. I reeled it up and as soon as it cleared the water, Bob said, “Too small, you’ll have to throw it back.”

“Too small? I think it’s legal.”

“It’s under twenty-two inches, Ronny.”

“No, I think it’s a solid twenty-four inches. It’s a keeper.”

Hondo said, “Nope.”

Amber grasped my line and pulled the halibut to where she could handle it. She put it on the measure. She said, “Bob’s right.”

I said, “Can’t we stretch it? Hondo, you grab the head and Bob, grab the tail. I think this halibut’s cramped up and you can get it to relax a couple of inches if you both pull hard.”

Amber removed the hook and kissed the halibut, then slid it into the ocean. “Sorry, sailor. This one has to grow a little more.”

Bob said, “What a great day of fishing. I haven’t had a day like this in years.”

Hondo looked at me and said, “There’s no “I” in team. We all did good today.”

“Thanks, Coach Lombardi.”

Amber sat beside me, hugged my arm and said, “Thanks for asking me to come. I couldn’t have experienced this amazing day without you.”

That made me feel much better, plus she still had her warm hands on my arm.

Bob handed each of us a beer, then held his up in a salute. “To friends and days like this.” We saluted him as Hondo went to the wheel and turned us toward the coast.

We reached Marina Del Rey as the setting sun turned the sea a reddish copper. After we docked, we helped Bob load all the fish and the remaining bait into his big pickup. He said, “I’ll process the fish and drop off three-fourths of it for you three at your office tomorrow.”