When my late father had his watch & clock business in Cape Town, he sometimes bartered with a customer for watch or clock repairs or restoration work. I was about 10 years old when on one occasion he accepted a Sunday afternoon outing with his family on the customer’s yacht in Table Bay harbor. I grew up in Cape Town so I loved the sea, and for once this barter did not involve dismembering a farm animal before being packaged into various freezer bags, or worse, being invited for lunch : sheep brains casserole.
The day arrived and the weather was perfect – a clear African blue sky and breathless. We all climbed down the dock ladder into the little boat that would take us to the yacht. It was close enough that all was needed was to pulley the little boat using the suspended rope, from the dock to the yacht, as it descended towards the water surface, a mere 5-10 meters. My dad took charge and grabbed hold of the rope & began pulleying us like an aquatic cable car. About half way, the boat glided ahead of his frame, suspending him more over the water than he was the boat. It was the only time I’d ever seen him gripped by fear. Even when he was diagnosed with cancer, with its reoccurrence, and his final days in hospice did I ever see that expression again.
Months, or possibly years, later I found out that my dad couldn’t swim. And yet he wanted to do that Sunday outing involving a yacht! Why? For us to experience a yacht when we couldn’t afford to hire or own one? For him and Mom to have a break from being home from home freezer food packaging? Maybe. But I do know that everything he did, he did to create experiences for us – his girls.
Thank you, Dad for this memory of embracing life, in spite of ‘what if’s’.
Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. Dr Seuss
“Don’t fall in the water again!” Annsi shouted from the jetty, as he climbed into the boat with Andrew.
“Funny! My sides are splitting with laughter,” I shouted back just as he started the engine. I stood on a different boulder from the day before, and cast into the pine tree-fringed alcove, their very own private beach, on Annsi’s family-owned, Finnish island. I replayed yesterday, the second day of our vacation, when I enthusiastically cast into the same alcove, but I was overzealous—I cast myself into the cold Baltic sea, too!
My dad had taught me how to fish when I was about 10, so on that day I knew I could go bigger. The guys had left for the mainland for supplies. Nikki, Annsi’s wife, was in the cottage’s kitchen preparing a smoked salmon. Rod in hand, I headed to the west side of the island.
Battling the boulders, I finally arrived where the shoreline became a shelf of small rocks, each one individually wrapped by pools of water, waiting for the return of high tide. It was a perfect platform. I cast out far into the egg-white peaked water, hoping the hook would not get caught in the rocks. I settled into the thrill of being exactly where I was, and so completely far removed from London.
I felt a tug. The bait drifted and lodged between the rocks, I thought. I slackened the line. It tugged again. Then a sharp pull. Was it a fish? A FISH! A REAL fish! I widened my stance, while slackening and gently reeling in the line. I rocked from one foot to the other.
“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”
I was amazed. My blood pressure dropped. I had caught a fish! It felt like a big fish, too! My hands became clammy. The fish was surprisingly strong! What if this fish pulled me out to see?
I rocked side to side, faster, like a boat tossed in the ocean.
“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIT!” I cried.
I continued to work the line. For how long, I don’t know. I considered letting go, surrendering the rod to the sea, when one more pull dragged the fish onto the dock of rocks. It flapped, and rolled, desperate for water. I pulled it closer in case it flapped back into the sea. I felt the rush of each of our places in the animal kingdom. Instinctively, I wanted to win. I needed the fish net. It was on the porch of the cottage. I lay the rod down on the rocks, secured it with a few larger ones, and headed back to the cottage. I slipped on a boulder, grazing my knee. Adrenalin filled my feet. I kept going. I refused to lose my catch! Back on the porch, I heard Nikki in the kitchen, and the guys had not returned. I grabbed the net resting on the railing, and headed back to the fish. My heart wouldn’t stop racing, exhilarated by everything that was unfolding. I could do this! I couldn’t believe I had caught a fish. What if the tide or birds took the fish?
When I returned to the cottage, I climbed the porch steps holding the rod in one hand, and the net in the other.
“Oh…Nikki….” I called, as I walked along the deck with the long fish’s gills pushing against the netting.
Nikki came out the front door, rubbing her hands in a dish towel.
“Oh my God! Linda! When did you…where did you…? They guys are going to piss themselves. And so pissed with jealousy. I love it!”
“I know! I can’t stop shaking though. It’s not a good look for a big deal! My first big fish!” I laughed.
Nikki’s chuckle faded. She firmly took hold of the net’s frame and in a low voice, looking me straight in the eye, said, “You know the tradition – you catch it, you kill it.”
I slung the slippery summer catch onto the rock. I raised my right arm holding a stubby log. Nikki walked over with a rusty, handheld fish scale.
“And you thought you had simply come on holiday,” she said. “You didn’t think you had come to kill.”
Linda Pearl caught a Pike
I felt the rush of each of our places in the animal kingdom. Instinctively, I wanted to win.
