• Originally published July 19, 2008 at 10:23 p.m., updated July 19, 2008 at 10:23 p.m.

Idling into Matagorda Harbor after a scorching July drifting charter, one of the five teenagers in my boat asked, “So, was that a good day?”

I paused - pondered.

One thing I have learned in the guiding business, everyone has a different definition of a good day. And, it is evident that catching a pile of fish is no longer the variable that prompts a smile or frown.

Indeed, times have changed – attitudes – for the better. Most captains say they get the same tip and/or “thank you” whether the day produces 3 or 30 fish.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the days you take a few steps from the boat and begin catching fish until you decide to go home. However, within a year, we all know those days can be counted on two hands.

But what about the slow days? Days when a stiff west winds holds up an incoming tide from pushing new water and fish on the flats. Days when east winds blow 20 knots right down the center of the bay. Days your bath water runs swifter than the tides.

What exactly is a “good” day fishing?

Maybe it is a day when you slam them. You walk down a reef and your topwater gets busted five casts in a row. You arrive on a shoreline to watch mullet, the exact size of your plug, darting in all directions. You begin drifting and five slicks pop up around the boat. Your shrimp barely gets wet before the cork is dunked.

Maybe it is a day you decide to fish artificial for the first time. The action is not fast and furious, but you do dupe a speckled trout on a piece of rubber. You want more. You play around with different colors and find yourself spending hours on sporting goods store aisles, gazing – analyzing.

Maybe it is a day you buy a quart of shrimp and spend the day drifting over shell with your wife. You catch a few small redfish, black drum and a few hardheads, but even better is the soothing slap of water on the hull of your boat, classic rock oozing from boat speakers and the alone time with your wife.

Maybe it is a day you drive to the beach and pack a surf rod. You stop by the bait camp and get a pound of fresh dead, then toss it past the second bar and wait in your chair. You stare across the Gulf’s horizon and take a deep breath from a long work week. You feel a thump, several times, and spend the morning reeling in whiting, Spanish mackerel, a gafftop or two and a small blacktip shark. You toss all of them back and head back home with a sense of rejuvenation.

Maybe it is a day you take your kids fishing. Mom packs a cooler full of sandwiches, chips and Capri Sun. You take them to the river to stay out of the wind and close to the ramp in case weather threatens. You Carolina-rig a shrimp or shad on the bottom and pray a redfish or blue cat can’t resist it.

Maybe it is a day you are cruising down the Intracoastal and see another boater waving his hands. You stop and realize the boat is stranded. You offer a tow back to the dock and hope your generosity is reciprocated one day when you are in dire straits.

Maybe it is a day you are wading sand and grass and are catching them every cast. Dolphins move in, but the catching remains steady. Every time you hook a trout, a bottlenose follows your catch. The big fish swims within arms length of you and circles, surfacing to catch a breath and exhale out of its blowhole. Your next cast is intercepted by a ladyfish that tail-dances. The dolphin shows up again; this time you toss it a snack. You have a friend for life, and a shark-deterrent for the extent of your wade.

Maybe it is a day with five teenagers on the boat. You head to Oyster Lake with two quarts of shrimp and pray your ear is not pierced with a 3/0 Kahle hook. Black drum, redfish, hardheads, ladyfish and undersized speckled trout scarf your crustaceans. A couple of hours into the trip, everyone breaks for a water and peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Each kid keeps a tally of how many fish they land, hardheads included. The boat tally reaches 30 at noon, though only a pair will make it to the cleaning table.

“Did you have a good time?” I responded.

“It was awesome,” he said.

“Then it was a good day.”

Bink Grimes is a freelance writer, photographer, author and licensed captain. Contact him at binkgrimes@sbcglobal.net.

• Print
• •
• Share
  • Share this item

    Send this to a friend

    Share on FaceBook

  • Grab the link

    Copy and paste the link:

  • Blog about it

    Blog about this page.

  • Close
• •
• Post a Comment
• •
• Favorite
• •
• Report error
  • Thank you for your submission.
    Error report or correction

    Contact name (optional) Contact phone/e-mail (optional)  

    
  • Close
• •