Men are from Mars, especially when Lowcountry fishing trips are involved
Before I picked up Thursday’s edition of the Packet, my plan was to tell you about Bob Bender who sadly passed away June 12. For years, I received regular emails from Bob telling me about various things going on in our estuaries and though we never met face to face, I felt like he was someone I had grown up with.
It was in that edition of the Packet that David Lauderdale wrote a piece that so well captured Bob’s spirit I quickly decided nothing I might write could touch his words. All I will say is my email inbox will never be quite the same. What a man!
So, what now? All I can say is fishing has always played some part — some good, some bad — in nearly every relationship I have ever had with the fairer sex. On the downside, the statement “you like fishing more than you like me” would no doubt top the list as the cause for a relationship’s demise.
Luckily, my wife, Karen, understood that when she married me fishing was a big part of the package. I can’t really say why she is so understanding about this passion of mine but putting myself in her place, maybe she thinks that fishing is a whole lot healthier than me hanging out in a bar or something. But before we got married, it was a whole different story with some my relationships that went south in a hurry.
I know that half the time I walk through the door I smell like a fish and am covered with fish slime, fish blood and have fish scales falling off my clothes like leaves falling from a tree. So what is there not to love about that?
Lucky for me, Karen is a compulsive cleaner and within an hour of me walking through that front door, my clothes are washed and folded. Now that is love! She even went on the internet and found this amazing stuff that you spray on bloodstains and out they come. Strangely enough, she actually seems to enjoy the challenge of saving clothes that other wives would wear decontamination outfits to handle and no doubt throw out.
Another aspect of being a fisherman like myself has to do with how the wives of friends of mine that I fish with perceive me.
Though this is not always the case, I have lived through more than my share of persecution from these women, and by gum, it just isn’t fair. Why? Because I take the blame for enticing their sweet, innocent husbands to go fishing too much. What a joke!
The truth of the matter is this. In nearly every one of these cases, those oh so innocent husbands call me begging me to either take them fishing or to fish with them on their boat. It’s when I agree to go and we head out they just can’t seem to get enough fishing. When I suggest we head, they do everything to convince me to fish a bit longer. Then back at the dock after sunset I drive them home only to see their wife is standing at the door with that look on her face.
I know better than to accompany them to the door, but usually the next time I see their bride, the reception is in the sub-zero range.
Experience has me believe most times these husbands find it a whole lot easier putting the blame on me for their tardiness rather than facing the music themselves. I can’t tell you how many wives look at me with pure disdain. But after years of putting up with this, I have gotten pretty good at letting it slide right on by. The way I see it is: everybody can’t love you all the time.
An oddity about most women who are married to a fisherman is this. Rarely do they ever go out fishing with their husbands.
Karen does say she wants to go with me on occasion but when the time comes to go, she often backs out. Fishing is all about patience and, though she loves being out on the water, I know there is no way she can sit and watch a bobber a bob, bob, bobbing along for eight straight hours. She knows it and I know it so on the rare occasions that we do go out together, it will be a short-lived adventure.
One of the more amusing observations about husbands and wives and fishing comes when it is time to purchase a new boat.
Nearly always, the husband is the instigator of the purchase but first he has to get it by the woman of the house.
“It will be great, honey, we can go out and watch the sunset, maybe do a bit of fishing, blah, blah, blah” until she finally gives in. More often than not, these grandiose dreams are short-lived. All it takes is a bit of wind, rough seas and the party is over.
Instead of rescheduling that inaugural trip, men are too damn hard-headed and take the little lady out on days when even dolphin are hiding from the wind and waves. All it takes is one hour being sea sick and I can just about guarantee she will never set foot on that boat again.
“Men are from Mars, women are from Venus” couldn’t be truer when fishing is involved. There are exceptions, but for the most part, this phrase is right on the money.
The only part that I don’t have an answer for is what does my wife do while I am out fishing for long periods of time? After a day on the water I come home beat, hop in the shower, grab a bite to eat and pass out on the couch.
When I wake up the next morning and finish my cup of coffee, I notice something like a chair that I don’t remember seeing the day before I went fishing. When I ask her about it, she masterfully convinces me that it has been there for months and that like most men, I simply didn’t notice it. Yeah right, let the cat and mouse game begin. Now if I only could find where she stashes those dang credit card bills, the truth will set me free!