Ocean has saved me more times than I can count

I’m sure I’m not the only person who has periods where thoughts about my own mortality creeps in and hangs around like a skipping record. I am not trying to be morbid, just stating a fact.

When I was 20, I never thought I would make it to 30. And when 30 hit, I never thought I would see 40. This “decade” strangeness kept popping up, and now that I am in my 60s, I have finally realized that it’s not worth fretting about. My new philosophy is that it isn’t how long you live, it’s how you live the life you have.

Looking back, I have had more than my share of stumbling blocks, but in just about every case, one thing got me up and running again — the ocean. If you thought “fishing” would be my answer, fishing is just a bonus that the ocean hands me every time I ride her maze of currents. I can’t think of any two times I have been out there when her face has looked the same — maybe similar, but not the same.

Remember the book “Sybil” about the girl with 16 personalities? Well, the ocean — which I regard as having a feminine side — has so many personalities they can’t be counted. And she can switch personalities in the blink of an eye. She can be as calm as newborn kitten one second, then quickly turn into a an angry lioness defending her cubs from a pack of hyenas. It really is amazing.

Two trips this past week serve as perfect examples of the ocean’s effect on me. I’m not sure why I was down in the dumps, but I decided that I would once again look to “her” to pull me up by my bootstraps.

The first trip occurred last Saturday when my good friend Dan Cornell and a work acquaintance of his, Tom Hackett, came down from Atlanta with hopes of getting in on the mahi-mahi bite that had developed in the Gulf Stream. I spend many hours preparing for such trips. It’s not like hopping in the boat to go catch a redfish. There are so many things that need to be just right when you are heading 70-80 miles out. Fuel, tons of ice, rigging, bait, life raft, food — you get the picture.

Then there is the weather. You would think in this century that meteorologists could agree on forecasts, but no two sources ever agree on anything.

The Gulf Stream current is like a snake, always undulating and never staying in the same place for long. When we have north winds, it will blow the Gulf Stream farther offshore, while south or east winds push it closer. I go to extremes to get a clear picture of what to expect, including thermal satellite imagery. Even with all of that, there are no guarantees. That proved to be the case Saturday.

Loaded for bear, as soon as I hit the ocean I knew this fickle lady had pulled out yet another personality, so I sadly told Dan the Gulf Stream was a no-go. Luckily though, I have learned to expect the unexpected from the ocean, so I had also brought along bait and tackle for bottom fishing.

Instead of an 80-mile run to bottom fish, it is a fraction of that distance, but even then that lady can make getting there a test of wills. Not only was the ocean angry, but at the same time her tides were abnormally high and low, causing currents that make staying on top of fishing spots a matter of seconds. I prefer drifting over my fishing spots rather than anchoring, so I knew my work was cut out for me.

Knowing that grouper season had opened, we pounded our way to my spot. The ocean was testing my willpower against hers. It was like a heavyweight fight, but it was a fight I needed to pull me out of my slump. Down went the baits, and I saw Tom struggling to hold a rod that was bent at an impossible angle. A relative novice to bottom fishing, he finally gained ground and up came a beautiful gag grouper.

Also on board was my nephew, Byron Sewell, and soon he was tied into something big — another fine grouper. Along with numerous big sea bass, vermillion snapper and huge triggerfish, we limited out on grouper.

For me, it was just what the doctor ordered. I’d better clarify that statement: Mentally, it was what I needed, but physically, I believe a Mack truck hitting me head-on couldn’t have touched the physical pain I felt for the next two days.

I wish I had enough space to tell you about my Gulf Stream trip Wednesday, because this time I actually made it there. The ocean must have had pity on me, because her face was beautifully serene on that trip, providing me with healing thoughts along with some fine mahi-mahi.

Sure, she can be a bitch, but no matter what face she paints on, she has saved me more times than I can count.

This story was originally published May 13, 2016 at 10:56 PM with the headline "Ocean has saved me more times than I can count."