Outdoors

Rod and reel in hand, Gov. Crist at your side

Taking an early-morning meeting with the Florida governor was never this sweet.

By Terry Tomalin, Outdoors Editor
Published December 14, 2007

Dr. Charles Crist and his son, Gov. Charlie Crist, show off a king mackerel they caught fishing off Pinellas County.
	[Terry Tomalin | Times]

An old buddy called last week, hoping to catch some kingfish.

"I've got a break in my schedule," Charlie Crist said. "I want to go fishing. I'll bring my dad. You bring your son."

Long before Charles Joseph Crist Jr. became the 44th governor of the 27th state, he was just your average angler, the kind of guy you call at a moment's notice when the fish were biting.

Times have changed. Today, everybody wants a piece of Charlie. If it's not Schwarzenegger or Buffett Jimmy, not Warren on the phone, then it's some Republican presidential candidate looking for a running mate.

Try to do something simple, like schedule a fishing trip, and you have to wade through a sea of aides and advisers. But every once in a while, Charlie slips away with his cell phone to conduct the really important business:

"Are the kings still running?" he asked. "I want to hook my dad up before they are all gone."

So last Saturday morning we met at John's Pass, between Madeira Beach and Treasure Island, and, as usual, the governor's father, Dr. Charles Crist, brought a thermos of the best-tasting coffee on Planet Earth.

"It's instant, I'm telling you," he said.

"Come on," I chided him. "Your secret is safe with me."

And Charlie, as fit and trim as the last time I saw him, looked at my gut and asked, "Did you work out this morning?"

"No," I explained. "I was up early with the kids."

As usual, Charlie swam laps in the dark, while the rest of the world was sleeping.

Our host, Sid Rice, a.k.a., King Gator, helped the Crists onto his 50-foot Hatteras, and immediately starting talking football.

"Do you think Tebow will get it?" Rice asked the governor, referring to the Heisman Trophy.

"I hope so," Charlie answered. "He certainly deserves it."

Rice, a diehard UF backer, and Crist, a graduate of FSU, joked back and forth about the football whuppin' the Gators put on the Seminoles.

"Now Sid, you know as governor, I stay strictly neutral on these matters," Charlie said.

By now, the sun was just starting to peek above the horizon. Dr. Crist settled into a chair on stern, while his son, a 51-year-old kid at heart, climbed up to the bridge to take the helm.

"Sweet boat, Sid," Charlie told his host as we motored out to the fishing spot. For the next 15 minutes, the governor, an unapologetic boat fan, asked about everything from the engine package to the type of wood used in the salon.

"I love boats," Charlie told Rice. "I got my first one when I was 9 or 10 - it was called an Orlando Clipper. My dad bought it used from a neighbor. It had an old Evinrude on it, and man, I used to cruise all over the bay in that thing."

When Crist climbed back down to check on his dad, the conversation turned to fishing.

"We used to go out and catch 50 or 60 Spanish mackerel in a couple of hours right off the Pier in downtown St. Petersburg," Dr. Crist recalled.

"Come on dad . . . not that many," the governor corrected.

"Okay . . . maybe 30 or 40," he conceded. "But we would take them home and cook them right up for lunch."

"Nothing like fresh mackerel," Charlie said with a smile.

The governor seemed to enjoy the chance - although brief - to talk about something other than property taxes, insurance rates and global warming.

But then my 6-year-old son Kai, who had been chastised earlier that morning when I discovered he had tricked his babysitter into buying a box of forbidden sugary breakfast cereal, put the governor on the spot.

"Governor Charlie . . ." he asked, "if Lucky Charms are so bad for you, then why do you let people sell them?"

For the first time in 17 years, Charlie appeared speechless. He thought about it for a moment, then answered, "Even though I am governor, there are some things that are beyond my control."

I could see my son's mind working. He was digging deep for another question. Please, don't ask him about vampires, werewolves or pet polar bears, I thought to myself.

Then a reel screamed as a kingfish tore off line and ran for deep water. Charlie grabbed the rod and put some tension on the fish.

"This one sounds like it has some size to it," he said. It had been a while, but the governor played the fish masterfully . . . a little give, a little take, as if he were dancing with the Speaker of the House.

The king tried to run under the boat, but Charlie gave it some line. Then, when the fish thought it had won, he applied a little pressure, and gently coaxed it back to the boat.

In one clean sweep, the mate gaffed the fish.

"What is it?" Rice asked, admiring the governor's catch. "It has the teeth of a kingfish but the spots of a Spanish mackerel. It must be some kind of a hybrid."

How appropriate, I thought . . . just like my old fishing buddy. Not left, not right, but a new breed, for a new time.

Times Outdoors Editor Terry Tomalin can be reached at tomalin@tampabay.com or (727) 893-8808.

[Last modified December 14, 2007, 15:28:22]