Those Days

Not every effort needs an award for justification. No rewards for just showing up. Not every meal has to be a banquet. Not every day has to end with a parade. Some days it’s just about seeing what happens.

We put in at the end of a road codenamed “WBLM”... for two of us it had significance as a nod to the 207. For the third it didn’t matter. Tarpon had been the objective but the wind and irregular light had other plans. We didn’t care. A stop at the Kickin Back Food Mart had provisioned the boat with gas station Cubans and Italians from the cooler and twenty-four Bud’s on ice.

We made a short run and then poled around places like the Budd’s, Raccoon, Crane, Riding and Sawyer. We took turns on the bow casting at mangrove roots, patches of grass and dark shadows we hoped held a secret. In the awkward silence of a slow day conversation turned from the technical aspects of fly rods and casting to movie reviews, trucks, boats, Def Leppard lyrics and estimations on how long it would take to get to Cuba.

The day was not without its moments. There were a couple of run-ins with small barracuda and snapper that momentarily halted the boat deck presentation of several lines from the movie “Ted”  and a brief on the water safety inspection.

Chalk it up to dues paid, experience gained and the continuing search for the best Cuban sandwich. A day removed from the rest of the world exploring new water and sharing beer-can philosophy with good friends. A day often thought back on and appreciated for what it was.

It was, one of those days.