Baiting for maidens
Perhaps getting deported is the answer. Seems I ain’t got ’nuff money for a ticket to anywheres anyway. I been pondering: How does one go about getting deported to a place where the fishing is real good?
I know Florida has real good fishing because I been there and done it. Caught some beauts actually. There was one fish that tasted excellent — for the life of me, I can’t remember its name. The nickname was “redfish.” I’m telling you, it was delicious. Maybe besides brook trout, one of the best I ever tasted.
One problem there, though. I don’t think I can get deported to Florida. So what country with good fishing can I get sent to? I happen to know Russia has good fishing, but who the fuck wants to live in the USSR? Gusto bockou. It means “bad” in Russian dialect. So we forget Russia.
Why am I writing about this? Because I tell you, I have gone down the pier fishing 11 times and have yet to even catch one fish. But I counted six seals today. Now, my editor reminded me how I’ve already mentioned this seal thing, so I will get off the subject.
I only counted one person fishing on the State Pier. When I was a youngster you had to fight to squeeze in a spot. So what do I have to do to get deported? Something horrendous, I guess. I’d kinda like to toss that girl I saw feeding the seals into the drink and use her for bait, but it’s too late for that.
Maybe I got one more shot to try. Go back to my wonderful trestle. Come to think of it, I ain’t been there at all this season. I like the trestle so much I ended up living on it for awhile. It’s doomed, though. I’ll try to get the best of it while I can.
In the meantime, I must acknowledge two letters I received. One is from the guy who sent me info about the massacre of the Germans aboard the Wilhelm Gustloff by the Ruskies. It’s always been a hobby of mine studying World War II — the stupidest of wars you could imagine. But this is not a column about World Wars, so I’ll just thank you very much for your input. I hope to hear from you again.
The second letter was from Gwynne, and it gave me an idea. Maybe I should bring a girl fishing with me. I’m not kidding. Girls have patience and are good company fishing. There’s a sense of humor, a sense of curiosity they all seem to possess, and, importantly, a fresh outlook on things. You get the right girl and it can completely change your whole expedition.
I don’t mind baiting a maiden’s hook for her at all. And I don’t mind handling a fish once caught. So, Gwynne, keep your eyes open when you cross Tukey’s Bridge. If you see one lone fisherman out there on the trestle, well, it’s probably me and you are surely invited to join me and participate in a fun time.
There ain’t much time left in this season, and I surely don’t go fishing every day. And of course I go at high tide. Yeah, I’ll be the cute fella risking life and limb on that damn trestle at the end of the railroad track. I’m actually real easy to spot, and you can’t find a better educator. So thanks again, and have a good weekend.