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Backroads and Bobtails
A satisfied look of accomplishment illuminated the 13-year-old fisherman's countenance as he pumped the rod one last time and finally raised the sleek, prehistoric-looking sea creature to the ocean's surface. The boy, energetic teen though he was, was obviously tired after the hard-won contest. He was clearly relieved to have it over and done. There was little else to be done now except gaff the equally exhausted shark and hoist it aboard the 21-foot Carolina Skiff, from which the youngster and his companions had spent the entire morning fishing the choppy waters off Georgia's St. Simons Island. Naturally, there were smiles to be smiled and photos to be taken. The man had watched the battle between worthy fish and youthful angler from its beginning to its nownear conclusion. He found himself gazing into the dull, fearless, somewhat baleful eye of the shovelnose as it struggled weakly, now and then striking the boat's sides with halfhearted slaps of its rudder-like tail fin. The optical orb seemed to intermittently lighten and darken as it rolled above the elongated snout with its multiple rows of short, sharp teeth. The man returned the fish's stare and went back a few moments in time. The young fisherman, an accomplished and skilled angler despite his age, first hooked the shark while bottom-fishing for whiting. All morning long, the bait shrimp and other natural offerings had proven just as irresistible to smaller sharks, stingrays, jack crevalle, and the occasional bluefish. As the hook was set in this fish, however, it was immediately obvious it was much larger than the tiny bonnetheads and juvenile blacktips hooked and landed earlier. As the shovelnose struck and turned head-down against the pressure of the heavy-action bass rod, the boy leaned firmly backward against the steady pull of the fish and wisely let the rod perform the lion's share of the work. The wireleader tipped, 20-pound test monofilament spooled smoothly from the old Ambassadeur baitcasting reel as the drag worked for the fisherman and against the shark. The kid took line when he could and gave it when necessary. He deftly dropped the rod tip when the strong fish sounded and pulled upward from the shoulders when his opponent reluctantly and grudgingly gave ground. The guide, looking on with the cool, nonchalant eye of an old hand, looked around at the man. "He fishes well," the old salt acknowledged. Nice tribute from a man of few words. The boy looked around and briefly nodded his gratitude. The battle continued. The boy had taken bigger fish than this one; some, in fact from these same waters. But not on such light tackle. He was acutely (even adultly) aware the shovelnose was a good match for his equipNOBLE ment. Relatively speaking, this fish was the equal of the 135-pound tarpon he'd landed almost a year before. The young angler fought the shark adroitly and with determination, coolly concealing the childlike excitement ready to burst forth at any moment. Then, at last, the fishwas drawn close by, where it lay on its side, totally spent. The boy at last could lean over and take a really good look at the creature he had long moments ago challenged and bested. When he did, his eye locked in on that same baleful shark-stare still holding his adult companion spellbound. "Let's get him," growled the guide, leaning over the gunwale with the gleaming, strike-poised gaff. "No, sir, wait," the boy said. "Release him." "You sure?" A second's hesitation, then a definite nodded affirmative. Next, a knowing smile at the man looking over his shoulder. What a shame it's not "cool" to hug a 13-year-old boy in macho company. For awhile, the proud wink his father gave him would just have to do. |
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