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Outdoors

The First Fish

A father and son adventure doesn't turn out quite as expected, but a face-to-face encounter with a fish named "Baxter" turns the tide.

By RODNEY PAGE, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published December 13, 2002

When I asked my 3-year-old son Aaron about going on his first-ever fishing trip, he looked me square in the eyes, paused for a second and said, "I want some chocolate milk."

"But Buster, we're going on a boat!"

"In a big boy cup," he said.

This was going to be a tough sell.

The closest Aaron had come to catching a fish was when he stuck his hand in our fish tank, and that cost him 10 minutes in timeout. Now he had a chance to spend a few hours on the water catching his own fish, with dad no less, but he didn't seem to care.

Well, I was going to make him care, by gosh. We live in Florida, and a Floridian should know something about the outdoors. There is going to be more to his life than just the Wiggles and SpongeBob SquarePants.

So in the days leading up to the trip, I mentioned fishing as often as possible. At dinner, in the bath, during story time, whenever I had his attention, I would talk about how fun it's going to be catching that first fish.

Friday morning finally arrived, and Aaron was so excited that he slept through the alarm and I had to wake him out of a deep sleep. It was just after 7 a.m., and we had to meet captain Rick Frazier in less than an hour at O'Neill's Marina in St. Petersburg.

We ate our cereal bars in the car and made it just in time. Aaron was armed with his 4-foot, Ready-Set-Fish fishing pole with a Diawa closed-face reel and 10-pound test line, his Barney life jacket and his lucky orange hat. At least he looked like a fisherman.

We loaded onto Frazier's 22-foot Privateer flats boat and idled through the shallow waters off Maximo Park. The plan was simple: We anchor on the grass flats northwest of the Sunshine Skyway bridge, send out a chum line (a nasty block of condensed fish parts) and catch whatever swims by.

"There's been fish all over here recently," Frazier said. "We shouldn't have a problem finding something."

And that's all we wanted, something. If it was a trout or redfish, fine. But a blowfish or catfish also would work.

Frazier put a live shrimp on Aaron's tiny hook and cast it 6 feet. Then the waiting began ... for about five seconds.

Before Aaron even had time to comment on the pelican diving off the bow, his bobber sank like a rock.

"Reel it, buddy," Frazier said.

"Why?" Aaron said. That's his favorite word.

Aaron finally reeled, but after a few cranks the bobber resurfaced. The fish got away.

"That was a big one," Frazier said. "That could have been a trout."

After another near miss, Frazier loaded his hook with squid and shrimp. How could a fish resist that? Aaron's bobber disappeared. He reeled in as fast as he could, and this time we landed the fish, no net or gaff required.

It was a pinfish, about 8 ounces if it was an ounce. I took the fish off the hook, but before we threw it back, Aaron gave it a kiss and named it "Baxter." He may catch many more fish in his life, but that's the only one named "Baxter."

We spent a couple of hours chasing pinfish. Aaron landed a few more at our first spot. Then we went under one of the bridges leading up to the Skyway and caught a few more off Pinellas Point.

In all, Aaron landed five pinfish and had at least 50 more get away.

Our trip home took us back under the bridge and past the tiny islands dotting the intercoastal. We sped along the water, which Aaron thought was really cool.

"We're going fast!" he said.

As we drove away from the marina, I glanced at Aaron in the rear-view mirror. I just knew his little mind was thinking about fishing and how much he loved to catch fish.

Mission accomplished, I thought.

When we made it back home, Aaron jumped out of the car and ran to the back door. His mother, Michelle, greeted him and asked him about the trip.

"We went under a bridge!" he said.

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