I don't want to do this.
First, I have to find some clothes to sacrifice--sweats, tennies, shorts--that I can get bloody and smelly if necessary.
I need a hat, sun block, books, etc. I'm really concerned that I'll be seasick or bored or they'll make me grab a pole, and I'll hurt somebody or fall overboard. On the plus side, I'll see two sunsets at sea, share the camaraderie of the dining table, and have a deep-sea fishing memory with my husband, Bill, and two sons, Jeff, 16, and Dan, 21.
"You're a champ" says Bill. He's just happy not to have to bunk with a stranger since his buddy cancelled at the last minute.
I don't like to fish, but I want to be a good sport. According to Bill, it'll be like a cruise ship without a pool. Conditions are excellent. "The water's glass, and the fish are committing suicide!" He always says that.
I hope the Dramamine works.
I go to Wal-Mart and get my fishing license, come home, resist packing until the last minute and then resign myself to it. An hour later, I'm done. One medium canvas bag and one backpack.
We have lunch, grilled albacore tacos and chardonnay, at Hudson Bay Seafood, right on the docks. Commercial fishing boats bob in their slips and wait. After lunch, we load our gear into a wheeled cart and haul it up the ramp toward the dock where the Polaris Supreme is tied.
The boys are excited and I'm starting to feel it. "I'm glad you're here, Mom," says Dan. "It's like a family thing." I hug him, trying not to seem too desperate. Getting a chance to hug your grown kids is better than having a whole box of chocolates to yourself.
As I board the boat, I'm relieved that it is clean and spacious. There are four heads on board, including showers. My room consists of a narrow bunk bed, a sink and a closet. The room is well-ventilated and looks comfortable. If nothing else, I can lie in my bunk and read.
After unpacking we're called into the galley for an announcement, and I see that I'm the only woman among two-dozen passengers. Captain Vic growls out a pre-trip orientation regarding everything from life rafts to hooking a fish. He tells us to holler loudly, so he knows to cut the motors. "Otherwise, I can't hear you over my radio and equipment," he says. The fishermen nod, their faces grim.
As the boat pulls away from the dock it begins to hop around a bit but the medicine seems to be working, and the boat is solid. I see by the whiteboard near the kitchen that dinner this evening will be Clams Alfredo with Caesar salad and vanilla ice cream for dessert. I'd like to find a beer or some wine, but there's nobody in the galley, and everybody is busy messing with their gear, so I go topside with my book.
