Chapter 41

When Dane and I pulled into the lot, Franklin and Doctor Legare were already there and waiting for us. Dane pulled the truck around and backed down the ramp and stopped. Franklin loaded some stuff onto the boat, smacked the hull a couple of times, and walked down the dock. Dane backed the rest of the way down the ramp. When he was in position, Doctor Legare unlatched the boat from the trailer and it floated back. I saw Franklin jump on and Doctor Legare, tie the rope, holding it in place until we got back.

We parked, and walking back to the dock I said, “It looks like they practiced that.”

“Showing off. We’ll beat them with the fish we catch,” he answered and I liked that.

We boarded and Dane took the helm. Franklin poured mullet into the live well so we’d have them available for bait. We prepared our gear as Dane piloted the boat out of the cut and into the harbor where he picked up a bit of speed. It was still cool but the forecast said it would get to the high seventies by noon.

When I had two poles ready, I walked back to stand beside Dane, looking over the console. He showed me how to use the GPS and pointed out where we were going. Then he asked if I’d like to take the wheel while he got his gear ready. He finished about the time we came abreast of Fort Sumter. He gave me a thumbs up and I pushed the throttle forward. When he gave another thumbs up, I looked down at the gauges. We were already doing thirty knots. I pushed it further. We flew over light chop, hovering around forty knots. It was definitely the fastest I’d ever gone on a boat.

When we got out to the jetty, Dane came back and pointed where he wanted us to go and I eased off on the power. There are two jetties that stretch from each side of the mouth of the harbor out to sea about three miles. At high tide, the rocks are barely visible but at low tide, they rise five or six feet above sea level. It was close to high tide. Dane took over and eased us into position about twenty feet from the rocks and dropped anchor.

Dane, Franklin, and I all had three or four-inch mullet on our lines. Doctor Legare put shrimp on his. Anything will take shrimp but you don’t have to fool with catching little fish if you have mullet on your line. I was surprised that Doctor Legare didn’t know that. Our lines had only been in the water about three minutes before the good doctor got a hit. He reeled it in easily. I put my two poles in holders and walked near him to see what he was up to.

“Doctor Legare, you know that anything will take shrimp, right?” I asked as he pulled an eight-inch whiting off the line.

“I do. Call me Hank while we’re fishing. Not much doctoring out here. Watch and learn, Aquaman.”

I watched. I learned. He took the whiting off the line. It was too small to keep. Instead, he switched poles and put the hook through the back end of the whiting and put it back in the water. It swam away from the boat.

“You were fishing for bigger bait,” I said, surprised and a bit in awe.

“We’ll see if he brings back something worth my trouble.”

“If he does, I’ll be fishing with shrimp in a minute, too.” I moved back to my poles but kept an eye on Hank. It was weird even thinking of him as Hank.

Franklin caught a red drum but it was only fourteen inches and he threw it back. Then Dane caught one that was fun to catch but too big to keep. Red drum had to be bigger than fifteen inches and less than twenty-three to be legal. On top of that, we could only keep two per person and a total of six for the boat. And we already had a freezer full of fish so I wasn’t sure if we were going to keep any or not. I just wanted to catch one. Hank caught another whiting and asked if I wanted to use it for bait. Why not? I changed to a larger hook with a steel leader and let the whiting swim away from the boat.

Dane and Franklin each caught another red drum, both too big, and threw them back. I’d had two lines in the water for over an hour and not so much as a nibble. At least Hank had caught a couple of whiting. I tried to see if other boats were having any luck but we were too far away to really tell. I thought I’d take advantage of the time to ask Hank about training and was just about to ask a question when he got a hit! Man, did he get a hit. His pole bent at a crazy angle.

He let the line run for a moment or two and then jerked back just enough to set the hook. Whatever he had was big and it was intent on going out to sea. I watched as Hank eased off on the drag to let the fish run for a bit. Then, he increased the drag, making it harder and harder for the fish to run.

“I enjoy the fight but I’d like to save my strength for when I catch something larger,” he said and I laughed out loud. This was clearly the largest fish of the day.

He began to reel him in. Hank would reel him in for a few minutes and then let the fish swim around on the end of the line a bit and then start again.

“How far out is he?” I asked.

“Two hundred yards or so,” he answered, looking at his reel. “He’s found deeper water and he’s going to dive. As long as he doesn’t hide in the rocks, I’ll have him. If he heads for the rocks, we might have to move the boat to keep from shredding the line.”

Franklin and Dane put their poles in holders and came to the back of the boat to watch. Hank had forearms about the size of my thighs. I didn’t think the fish had a chance. Wasn’t a fair fight at all.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“Too early for king mac,” he said. “Too much fight for a drum. Might be a bull. Only one way to find out,” he said and brought the fish another hundred feet closer.

Dane had a gaff in one hand and had set a net down beside him. I didn’t think a fish that could fight that hard would be small enough to fit in the net. Hank had brought the fish to within fifty feet of the boat and we were all watching to see what it was. There was a splash of water at the surface when Franklin tapped my shoulder and pointed. The tip of my pole bent an inch or two and then it really bent. I was torn. I wanted to catch something but Hank’s fight was nearing the end.

I grabbed my pole out of the holder, sunk the hook, and started reeling. I knew my fish was a lot smaller but whatever it was had a lot of fight in him. I worked him as fast as I dared, sneaking looks over my shoulder. I was bringing my, smaller fish in a lot faster than Hank was. Franklin had his hands on the rail and was looking down. Dane had the gaff and Hank had the fish pulled alongside the boat where I couldn’t see. I reeled faster, bringing my fish to the edge of the boat, then lifted it up and in.

“What is it?” I asked, loudly.

“Bull shark,” Franklin said without looking up.

“Cool. But what is this? It looks like a miniature hammerhead shark.”

“Bonnethead,” Hank said, glancing over. I’d never heard of a bonnethead and it was interesting looking. It was almost two feet long and might have weighed ten pounds but I wasn’t a very good judge of those kinds of things.

I was pretty sure I was going to throw my fish back. I’d never seen bonnethead on the menu at a restaurant before and guessed they weren’t good to eat. I let him down, where he thrashed around. I grabbed the pliers to take the hook out and then stepped on him to hold him still but it didn’t work. I could hear the three of them talking about how to get the hook out of Hank’s shark and I hadn’t seen it yet and was starting to get pissed off at my bonnethead. I finally got the pliers latched onto the hook and started working it out. I got the hook free, grabbed the fish, and stood up but he thrashed wildly and I dropped him. I was really getting pissed at him and thought about leaving him there while I went to look.

I looked at the back of the boat, then down at my thrashing bonnethead. What the heck was a bonnethead anyway? I bent down and grabbed him with both hands. He thrashed wildly but I hung on then threw him over the side. I knew that wasn’t how you released a fish but I didn’t care. When I looked to the back of the boat, I could see that it was all over.

“Did you let it go?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Franklin said. “He was pretty good sized.”

“I never even saw it,” I complained. “How big was it?”

“It was an adult,” Hank said. “Seven feet and maybe two-hundred-fifty pounds.”

“Holy shit. I caught a little bonnethead while you’re landing Jaws.”

Everyone laughed. Everyone but me. Franklin got a hit and went to his pole and I put shrimp on my line and tossed it toward the rocks so I could catch baitfish for Jaws. Hank saw what I was doing and smiled. He’d had fun. What’s more, he did exactly what he meant to do. How cool was that? I asked him about it and he told me that even in leisure, you should know what you’re hoping for.

I told him about my conversation with Coach Miller and that he thought I had it in me to compete for and maybe win state titles in as many as five events. Franklin and Dane listened in. I’d want their input, too, but I had an expert to ask. I laid it all out and asked his opinion.

“Have you seen the movie Chariots of Fire?”

“No, sir. I think it’s still playing in a couple of theaters, but I haven’t.”

“Go see the movie. It’s about two Olympic sprinters in the 1924 Olympics. There’s a very stark comparison between the two. When you watch the movie, I want you to note the behavior of the two, Eric Liddell and Harold Abrahams, after their races. You’ll find your answer there.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll have the chance to see it. You wouldn’t want to give away the punchline, would you?” I asked.

“Try to see it. If it’s gone from the theaters, let me know. This is not a small thing you’re deciding. It wasn’t small for the two athletes in the twenty-four Olympics, either.”

“I’ll see if it’s still playing. Now, you have my curiosity up. You’ve worked with swimmers before.”

“I have worked with swimmers. I generally work with a team of athletes.”

“Jack,” Dane said, “Doctor Legare has a reputation. It’s well-earned. He’s in too much demand for Individual athletes. The pros and colleges hire him. You have a rare opportunity. Don’t waste it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to work with individuals. I truly do. But there are only so many hours in the day and I find I get a better return on my investment of time by working with teams. I’ve cut out most trips to the west coast because of travel time. But until I have another shark on the line, which I will hold onto until you can see, I will answer whatever questions I can.”

I told him about my commitments for baseball and swimming and exactly what Coach Miller said, including what I needed to work on. Then, I told him about Kim and the lunchtime discussion with the rest of the cheerleaders.

“And our discussion started all that?” he asked. I nodded. “Kim is not the cheerleading team’s flyer, is she?” I shook my head. “Good. Very hazardous. You know their fliers?”

“Yes sir. Very well.”

“Then you’ll want to tell them to do some specific exercises. I’ll write them down for you. They need to strengthen their ankles. Very prone to injury. I wish they’d put a limit on it but they won’t. Let me think a moment.”

Lori had been injured and I had seen how high they tossed Annie. It seemed like they’d need to protect their health and especially Lori and Annie if they hoped to compete. I let Hank stew on my situation for a while.

I caught a red drum that was big enough to keep but threw him back. Dane said that if one of us caught a sizeable sheepshead bass, we’d keep it but otherwise, we were out for fun. Shortly after that, I had two whiting on my lines, each swimming away from our boat. Out where Jaws lurked, I hoped. I remembered the line from the movie, “you’re gonna need a bigger boat” but I didn’t think that would apply. Dane had a pretty big boat.

“Coach Miller has been coaching swimming a while, hasn’t he?” Hank asked.

“Yes sir. At least ten years, I think.”

“His advice is all sound, at least in my opinion. Box jumps to improve your start is probably your best off-season exercise. Do that all summer and you should see a nice improvement. Add lateral lunges to your leg day. That will open up your hip rotation. Take those nice and easy. You don’t want to pull a groin muscle. If the school has a video camera, set it up to film you for a mile. Put the camera about the middle of the pool, down low. All you want to catch is a complete stroke, left, right, for each lap. Then, compare your form on the first lap and the thirtieth. Let me know if you don’t have a camera available.”

“I think we’ve got one. In fact, I’m sure we do. What do you think about Coach Miller saying I could win state in four or five events?”

“It’s not unheard of. Rare. His advice is all sound as far as I can tell. I have no reason to doubt his assessment of your ability. He did say to count the cost. He knows it will take hard work.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work. How much, though?”

“I’m not as familiar with high school as I am with college.”

“That’s okay. What do they spend? If I want to win a state title, I’d probably be training like a college swimmer anyway, right?”

“Alight,” he said and gave me a look as though he were assessing me in a completely different way. “The Florida Gators have one of the best swim programs in the country. They’ve turned out a few Olympians. If you went there, you could expect to be in the water three to four hours a day, six days a week. You’d probably spend another hour in the weight room and another hour in physical therapy or stretching or both.” He said it as quickly as I’d heard him say anything.

I went into shock. “Holy crap. They do more in two days than I do all week.”

“And they do it nearly year-round. I can tell you about types of drills but that’s the quantity.”

“Holy crap. How do they have time for anything else?”

“They don’t. Can I give you a little secret? If you spend that much time in the pool, you’re going to need Aussie Shampoo or your hair will turn green from the chlorine.”

“I knew that part. Birch told me. Swimming is like their full-time job. It’s almost forty hours a week. I wouldn’t be able to play baseball if I did that, would I?”

“That’s collegiate swimming. I can’t imagine a high school athlete practicing with that schedule. In fact, I wouldn’t recommend it. Your body would need time to adjust to the demand.”

“Still...”

“It’s unlikely that you could have advanced to regionals your freshman year without significant natural talent. Any other freshman at regionals? Any freshman make it to state? How about sophomores?”

“No sir. None. What do you think I should do?”

“I can’t tell you. I can tell you that if you’re doing it to earn a scholarship, you have a good chance. If you have hopes of taking it to the next level, you have a good chance. If you’re doing it for fun, then make certain you continue to have fun.”

“Did you compete in college?”

“I did. I had limited playing time my freshman year and injured my shoulder four games into my sophomore year. Middle linebacker, if you were going to ask.”

“But you got injured.”

“And lost my athletic scholarship. It turned out for the best as I changed majors and ended up going to medical school. You have a friend, I believe, who recently got a rare swimming scholarship. Ask him.”

“I can do that. It’s a lot to think about,” I said and reeled in my worthless bait.

The boat was pretty quiet. Doctor Legare had just dropped a huge truth bomb on me and I don’t think Dane or Franklin had anything to add. Maybe they hadn’t known how much work was involved. I wanted to know what I was going to do. Once I decided what I was going to do, I could commit to it. I put another whiting out on one line and changed the other bait back to mullet. I’d had fun catching the red drum and I wanted to catch something else. The whiting didn’t fight very much and weren’t a lot of fun to catch. Better than nothing

Dane caught three more red drum and a sheepshead but it was too small to keep. Franklin was having about the same kind of luck I was. I had plenty of time to think but I didn’t feel much like it. I also had a wealth of information and wisdom on the boat but I didn’t know what to ask. I tried to use willpower to bring a fish to my line but that didn’t work. Hank got a serious bite, bending his pole double, but when he tried to sink the hook, he lost it. He reeled his line in and the bait was gone.

“Smarter fish,” he said. “Or maybe the same bull, and he’s wised up.”

I had a whiting in the live tank I wasn’t going to use and I got it for him. He took it, ran a hook through the back of it and let it go. Ten minutes later, his pole bent double again, he tried to sink the hook and came up empty. Again, his hook was bare. He shook his head and put a line out to catch another baitfish.

Ten minutes later, my pole bent double. I’d seen Hank lose two fish and I didn’t want to lose this. I waited until the line was going out and sank the hook. I had him. Everyone knew I had a big fish on the line. “I’ve got a gator,” I hollered to Franklin and he laughed. Hank and Dane thought I was loopy but Franklin remembered my big fish from the lake.

I worked. It was a big fish, or maybe a shark. I reeled in twenty feet of line and rested, then did it again. Hank had let line out to tire the fish but I didn’t want to do that. Any line I let out, I’d just have to reel back in and I didn’t have thigh-sized forearms.

“Take your time, young man. You have him good. As long as he doesn’t head for the rocks, you should do fine,” Doctor Legare said.

Dane had a belt with a holder on it and he wrapped it around my waist. I set the butt of the pole in the holder and relaxed a bit. It relieved a lot of the strain of holding it in place. I started to work at it in earnest and was making good progress when things changed.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“He’s on the bottom,” Dane said. “You might be able to tell if the line scrapes against a rock. Don’t fight him if that happens.”

Since we were in shallow water near the jetty, I didn’t think the bottom was that far down. I guess it was deep enough. He pulled hard and my pole stayed bent. I held pressure and after a few minutes was able to begin reeling him in. Suddenly, I made great progress and I thought the fish might have been swimming at the boat. Then, tension increased again and I tried to hold him. I saw a splash about fifty feet away from the boat. I had him for sure. And then, nothing. Nothing. The line went slack and I reeled in as quickly as I could. What the heck happened? When I finally got to the end of the line, it was clean. No bait. No hook. Half the steel leader. I looked around for an explanation.

“Sorry, Aquaman,” Franklin said.

“What happened?”

“Probably another bull,” Hank said. “He bit through the steel leader. It happens.”

“Crap,” I said, in a moment of clarity.

“Have fun?” Dane asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. I still didn’t get to see a bull shark, if that’s what it was.”

“That’s the nature of fishing, my young friend,” Hank said.

“I know. Kind of sucks though.” I cast my bait back toward the jetty, in hopes of catching another baitfish I could use to try and snag a big fish.

My bait wasn’t in the water for two minutes when I got a hit. I knew it was small and was looking forward to using it to try, once again, to catch Jaws. When I got it close to the boat, it dove quickly, surprising me. Previous small fish hadn’t done that. Hank said he was going to try to hide in the rocks and I needed to pull him up quickly or lose the fish and my rig. I tightened the drag and started reeling him in. When I pulled him up, out of the water, I did a double-take.

“What is this?” I asked. “Is this even a fish?”

Dane and Hank laughed but Franklin looked as mystified as I was. I was about to reach for him when Dane warned me not to.

“Nope. Hands off, Jack. His spine is venomous. I’ll get him with pliers,” he said, coming to my rescue.

“What is it?” I asked again.

“Dang, Jack. That’s the ugliest fish I’ve ever seen,” Franklin said.