Island Idylls, Question of the Month, Being Thankful

Island Idylls: Or, stories of growing up in the U. S. Virgin Islands.

***
A Fishy Handshake 

I'd say by the time I was six I was fishing off the rocks with a hand line, smashing whelks for bait. But it wasn't until about age eight that I learned to fish with a rod and reel. That's when we got our little boat, the F. D. O., which stood for Father's Day Off.

In 1958, Dad was working as head of maintenance at Caneel Bay, Laurance Rockefeller's  private resort hotel. One of the benefits of working there was that housing was provided for the staff. We lived in a tiny house we called the Bee Hive, with the best view on the place. At least that's what Adlai Stevenson told my mother when he and his wife happened to wander through our yard.

Because the F. D. O. was small, neat, and clean, we were allowed to keep her pulled up on the main beach. She fit under a large Sea Grape tree where we could keep her tied up and out of the way and.


Picture, in your mind, the Caneel Bay of the 1950s. There was a concrete pier where guests and their luggage were loaded and unloaded from the resorts private ferry. The pier turned into a concrete walk-way which led right into the lobby. To the right of the lobby was a comfortable airy lounge with couches, chairs, and tables. To the left was the main dining room. Realize that all of this is open air, basically a roof, supported by pillars covering tile a floor. (All tastefully elegant) Just fifteen or twenty feet away from the lobby and dining room is the beach where guests can swim and sunbathe. No matter the time of day one could see guests walking around in anything from silk, linen, and mink to swim-suits and sandy bare feet.

So there we were. I had just gone on my first solo fishing trip. Just me and Dad. We had each caught a fish, but mine was bigger.  He got a Blue Runner and I got a Bonito. While Dad got ready to transport the motor, gas can, fishing gear, and boat cushions, I had the fish, one in each hand, and carried them by their tails through the lobby to the parking lot where the jeep was parked. There I was to unload the fish and return to help Dad carry cushions and fishing gear.

As I passed by the reception and check-in desk a large man stopped me and introduced himself as Allston Boyer. He asked me about the fish. I explained I'd been out fishing with my father and that I'd caught the big one. He asked me several other questions before saying, "There's someone I'd like you to meet." He disappeared into a room and returned moments later with a tall handsome man.

"This is John Denham's daughter, Bish, " he said to the tall handsome man. "Bish, I'd like you to meet Laurance Rockefeller." Having been taught to be polite, I slapped the fish in my right hand into my left and stuck it out. Mr. Rockefeller, having been taught to be polite, shook my fishy hand.

It was just about then that Dad walked up. Further pleasantries were exchanged, employer to employee and vise versa. Then we went our separate ways.

At eight years old I didn't realize I'd just shaken hands with one of the wealthiest people in the world, the man who owned Caneel Bay, the man who had bought up three quarters of the island of St. John and donated it to the National Park.

As for Allston Boyer, he was a contract lawyer, for LR with a gift for remembering faces and names. Although he had never met me, he had met my father, and it didn't take him but a second or two to figure out who the little girl carrying the fish belonged to.

So it was that my fishy handshake became one of our favorite family stories.

***

I decided to join this monthly bloghop because answering thoughtful/challenging questions is one way to expand one's mind. Hosted by Michael D'Agostino at A Life Examined ,  the question this month is: What's the best job you've ever had?

Hmmm, I've had a lot of jobs in my life, from pumping gas at my parent's gas station, to glazing ceramics. However, the absolute best job was working for 23 years with abused, neglected, and emotionally disturbed kids. Their resiliency and will to survive was/is humbling and awe inspiring.

And now, all these years later, many of those kids have made it a point to tell me that I made a difference in their lives. And my girl A. (the one who is dying and has guest posted here and here) gave me the greatest gift ever by saying, "Thank you for teaching me how to live before I die."

What could be better than that?

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful for the Texas spiny lizard. 

Can you spot him/her?

What are you thankful for? What's the best job you ever had? Ever get to meet a "famous" person had shake his/her hand? 

Waiting: Acquiring Patience Through Metaphor: Part Four

You can read Parts One, Two and Three HERE

The time I spend actually writing usually seems to fly by. The problem is waiting for the responses from publishers or agents or even you crit partners.

            

Fishing is the best metaphor I know for the process of writing and waiting.

            

First you have to get you gear together. This equals gathering the materials you need. Pen and paper, research books and notes, envelopes and stamps and the final finished product, are all part of your gear and pieces of the puzzle.

            

Next you have to find a good fishing hole. This equals researching publishers/agents you hope will be interested in your story. Then, bait your hook and throw out the line. In other words, write your cover letter/query and get it in the mail!

            

Now comes the hard part, waiting for a bite. This is the time to enjoy lounging on the river bank or trolling in the boat. Fishing isn’t about the bait. It’s about being outside and enjoying the scenery. Writing isn’t just about the story. It’s about the whole process, which includes getting ready for the next project.

There’s that nibble. But wait! If you get all excited and jerk the line too soon you’ll probably be disappointed because there won’t be a fish on the hook. Watch the bobber for serious movement but don’t do anything until the pole bends. Even then, be prepared. The hook may not be well set; you could still loose your fish.

                     

So, get out there. Bait your hooks and throw out your lines. If they get tangled, which can happen, whip out Alexander’s sword and chop them to bits. While you’re waiting for a nibble notice that you have moved forward, that you have another story out there or another one taking shape on the page. Notice you have another piece added to your puzzle. You might think about gluing your story together and hanging it on the wall, particularly if it’s accepted. If it keeps coming back to you, consider taking it apart and putting it back in its box for reassembly at a later date.

            

Keep yourself busy with the process of writing; try to enjoy all of its aspects. If you do, you won’t need to be patience. You’ll be so deeply involved with putting your next puzzle together you’ll hardly notice how time has flown by! Then, when that acceptance letter comes, or your story is finally published, it will take you by surprise.

When was the last time you were taken by surprise? Do you like surprises?

The Ones That Didn't Get Away - The Winning Fish

The Fourth of July Fishing Tournament was a yearly three day affair. It was mostly a contest to see who could catch the biggest fish.

In 1966 Dad decided to enter us and the FDO. We were competing against the deep-sea fishing boats, the ones that go out to catch Blue Marlin and Sailfish and Dolphin (not the mammal known as porpoises.)

I think the big boaters kind of snorted at us behind our backs, pointing their figures and snickering at our brazenness. How could a 12 foot boat compete against 50 foot boats? Did we think we could actually make a big catch? How could we, when we were only trolling the shallow coast-lines of St. Thomas and St. John, while they were going 40 miles out to the Puerto Rico Trench (the deepest point in the Atlantic Ocean) and catching world record Blue Marlin? Snicker, snicker, snicker...har, har, har...

Dad, being the captain of our huge luxury yacht, went out all three days. Mom went with him on the first day, Erva on the second, and I went on the third day. Each day we consistently brought in more fish than any of the other boaters. Each day our fish were counted and weighed. I think by the end of the tournament we had brought in more pounds of fish than anyone else.

The crowning touch was this. At the end of day three Dad and I were out between Little and Great St. James. We were getting ready to head back home when we spotted birds diving and fish jumping, a sure sign of a school of fish. We raced through the school at top speed (a trick Dad learned to bring the lure up to the surface so the feeding fish would mistake it for a fry) and I got a strike. When I got it to the boat it turned out to be a nice sized Yellowtail, probably 5 pounds or so .

Dad said, "Let's do that again and see if we can't get another one."

So we zipped through the middle of the school and BANG I got another strike. Only this time I knew it was BIG. I was so busy paying attention to my rod, the star drag, and the line I didn't see this fish leap out of the water and dance on its tail...three times! And, I was already tired, not only from being out in an open boat all day, but I had just landed a Yellowtail, a fish known for it's good fight. Finally I managed to get the thing to the boat.

It turned out to be a barracuda! Now you have to be careful with barracuda. There's no known attack of a person by a barracuda in the water. But out of the water, landed in a boat say, they have been known to snap oars in half and take chunks out of hands, legs, arms or anything that gets in the way of their needle sharp teeth. They get pissed.

Once Dad hauled it into the boat he beat it sounded on the head with a club we kept in on board for just such a purpose. That barracuda was not small. The FDO was about 4 feet wide and the head and tail of that fish curled up at the ends where it lay across the stern. Dad was sure I had a winner.

And I did. I won for catching the biggest fish by a teenage girl angler. That barracuda was 4 feet long and weighed in at 11 1/2 pounds. Below is the newspaper picture of me accepting a string of real pearls. I still have them.

We enjoyed snorting at the big boaters behind their backs. Big is not nescessarily better. Snicker, snicker, snicker, har, har, har!

Oh...and by the way, today is Go Fishing Day.

The Ones That Didn't Get Away - You Won't Believe What We Caught!

People who fish always have stories of fish that got away or fish that did strange things or things they caught that weren't fish.

My family has a few of those.

One time my mother hooked a fish that was obviously big as it was giving her a good fight, bending the fiberglass rod nearly double and ripping line out of the reel. Then suddenly there was an extra tug and the line went limp. We all assumed the fish had gotten away. But when Mom finished reeling in the line so Dad could check the lure what did she bring to the boat? A fish head. That's right, a fish head. It was a Bonito. The rest of it's body was gone, severed (in the words of Dirty Harry) "clean off." That extra tug she felt, was no doubt a shark taking the opportunity to catch himself an easy meal. The thing is the head alone was about 5 pounds. There was enough meat on it to feed us all!

Mom and Dad were out by themselves and while Mom was letting out line, she felt a tug like something had been hooked. To their amazement the lure and line went up into the air instead of down into the water. She had caught a seagull! Mom had to actually reel in the bird so Dad and her could unhook the poor thing which fought with a great of flapping wings and pecking of beak. But eventually they did manage to free it and no doubt the bird went around to all his bird friends and told a horror story about the fish that caught him.

Our dear friend Gene got a strike while fishing with Erva and Dad. Gene was towards the bow, Erva and Dad towards the stern. As Gene was reeling in the fish there was an "Oh sh*t," moment when a barracuda, obviously after his catch, lept out of the water and sailed across the middle of the boat, a distance of about 6 feet. Luckily no one was in the way.

Anyone out there have any interesting fish stories?

The Ones That Didn't Get Away - A Fishy Handshake

It wasn't long after I caught my first fish that I got to go on my first solo, that is, it was just me and Dad. Erva, being older had already been out with him several times. Now it was my turn. If I recall she was a bit jealous, but as with most things in our lives, it didn't last long.

Dad and I had a great time and we each caught a fish, but mine was bigger. He got a Blue Runner and I got a Bonito.

As you might recall, Dad was working at Caneel Bay, Laurence Rockefeller's (LR for short) private resort hotel. One of the benefits of working there was that housing was provided for the staff. It may have been small, in fact we called it the Bee Hive, but the house we lived in had the best view on the place.

Anyway, because Dad was the head of maintenance and because the F. D. O. was small, neat, and clean, we were allowed to keep her pulled up on the main beach. She fit under a large Sea Grape tree where she was out of the way and we could keep her tied.

One has to try to picture the main beach, which is Caneel Bay. There was a concrete pier where guests and their luggage were loaded and unloaded. The pier turned into a concrete walk-way which lead right into the lobby where guests signed in and checked out. To one side of the lobby was a comfortable airy lounge with couches, chairs and tables where guests could...lounge. To the other side of the lobby was the main dining room. Realize that all of this is open to the air. Fifteen, twenty feet away from the lobby and dining room is the beach where guests can swim and sunbathe. Despite the fact it is a luxury hotel (or maybe because it is) one could see guests walking around in anything from silk and mink coats to swim-suits and sandy bare feet.

So there we were. Dad and I had pulled the boat up and tied her securely to the tree. While Dad got ready to transport the motor, gas can, fishing gear, and boat cushions, I had the fish, one in each hand, carrying them by their tails. I headed through the lobby on my way to the parking lot where I would unload the fish and return to help Dad carry cushions and fishing gear.

As I passed by the reception and check-in desk a large man stopped me. He asked me about the fish. I explained I'd been out fishing with my father and that I'd caught the big one. "Are you John Denham's daughter?" he asked. I answered that I was. "What is your name?" I told him. "I'm Mr. Boyer," he said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." He disappeared into a room and returned moments later with a tall handsome man.

"This is John Denham's daughter, Bish, " he said to the tall handsome man. "She caught the big fish. Bish, I'd like you to meet Laurence Rockefeller." Having been taught to be polite, I slapped the one fish into my left hand and stuck out my right. Mr. Rockefeller, having been taught to be polite, shook my fishy hand.

It was just about then that Dad walked up. Further pleasantries were exchanged, employer to employee and vise versa. Then we went our separate ways.

At eight years old I didn't realize I'd just shaken hands with one of the wealthiest people in the world, the man who owned Caneel Bay, the man who had bought up three quarters of the island of St. John and donated it to the National Park. So it was my fishy handshake became one of those famous family stories.

As for Mr. Boyer, he was LR's lawyer. He had this gift for remembering faces and names. Although he had never met me, he had met my father, so it didn't take him but a second or two to figure out who the little girl carrying the fish belonged to.

The Ones That Didn't Get Away - My First Fish

I never did get it, the stories told by anglers of the ones that got away. Where's the story in, "I hooked this fish...but it got away."

By the time I was six I was using a hand-line, catching small fish like doctorfish and squirrelfish off the rocks. (I couldn't find a picture of the doctorfish, all the links have to do with fish pedicures.) We used whelks (pictured at left) to bait our hooks. We'd smash the shells with a rock and get our fingers all gooey with whelk guts. But hand-line fishing isn't the same as fishing with a rod and reel. What it was was preparation for the "real" thing when I caught my first "real" fish. (There's a pun in there....)

I was maybe 8 years old. It may well have been the first time we went out in the F. D. O. Certainly it was the first time I ever had a rod and reel in my hands. Between Dad and Erva, I learned how to lock the line and was told about the star-drag. You want the drag tight enough to keep the line from flying off the reel, but you want it loose enough to give the fish some room to run. If the line is too tight, a fish can break it.

We came out from Number Seven Beach and were trolling between Henley and Ramgoat Cay. I got help getting my line out and I was just settling in. I hadn't even gotten the handle of the rod locked between my legs when, BAM, I got a strike. I was nearly pulled out of the boat and almost lost my grip on the rod. Erva, sitting on my right, grabbed my right arm, Mom whipped around from the front seat and grabbed the rod before it disappeared into the water. Once we were all sure me and the rod weren't going to go overboard, I started reeling in the line. Dad cut the motor back and paid attention to the rocks of Henley Cay so we wouldn't smashed up against them. Erva had me by my shorts. It was just about all I could do to reel in the line. The fiber-glass rod was bent almost double. All three are yelling and encouraging me and telling me when to loosen or tighten the star-drag. I'm reeling, it's pulling. I'm reeling, it's pulling. It's pulling, I'm losing strength.

It was all I could do to turn the handle, but somehow I managed to get the fish to the boat and Dad grabbed the line. I had caught my first fish. Not just any old fish, mind you, but a kingfish. a member of the mackerel family. They are large fish, known to be good fighters. I don't know how much the one I caught weighed, but it was probably over eight pounds and less than twelve. I was so proud. Everyone was so proud.

So that's how I was introduced to fishing. We had it for dinner that night, but not until I learned how to clean it. Because, as my parents said, what you catch, you clean.