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Memories from summer
By MIKE SCARANTINO Now that it officially is winter -- or more accurately, there are two days left to the old year -- my thoughts return to summer. The past season and the excitement of a new summer make such thoughts easy to entertain at this time. I remember sunny mornings when my callused feet felt the warmth of the splintery wooden dock boards, then the cold wetness when lugging ice from the icehouse to the cooler onboard my boat. I remember being in too much of a hurry to put shoes back on before entering the dark icehouse. Cold, and full of fishy smells, it held a magic all its own. Ahhh! How it felt, the strangeness of being 46 years old yet feeling like a little boy readying for tomorrow's fishing trip with dad and younger brother. There is and always has been a sense of urgency about those early-morning moments. It's as if the fish just wouldn't wait, or the tide would rush past if we weren't out there. Or, perhaps more simply, it was just childhood impatience. So what is it, as age and wisdom supposedly replace youthful impatience, that instills the same sense of urgency about those wee-hour moments? Those still times before dawn when most people enjoy a fitful sleep, unconsciously dreading the alarm's fateful wail. But for those who cherish the moment of truth, that singular moment signaling the breaking of a new day, their sleep has been interrupted through the night with tossing and turning. They await the breaching light in a kind of half-sleep, semi-cognizant of the soon-to-be tolling bell. Many find it easy to beat the bell and awaken on their own. Such is their anticipation. The body then springs from the stillness of sleep to full speed with split-second timing, even at more advanced ages. Each movement seemingly is calculated, but perhaps they are more repetitious instinct than urgent expectancy. There is a little child in each of us that finds great excitement and expectancy in the outdoor world. As I was writing the other night, a gentle rain dripped from the soffits. A cool breeze started softly through the windows of my studio. The dampness was a signal to batten down the openings and locks before the night cools too uncomfortably. It's these moments, moments of oneness with the outdoor experience, that are so cherished that the imagination becomes vivid. As I sat in thought, I figured I'm not alone. My years and experiences have taught me there are others just like me -- others who feel the same way at 4 a.m. They'reclose in my thoughts and heart. With the new year in mind, I think fondly of Bonnie Van Allen, who sells bait from her pontoon boat and lives on island No. 5 in the Chassowitzka National Wildlife Preserve. She is an artistic inspiration to me. While I haven't spoken with Van Allen in months and will not see her during this season of joy, I know we will speak soon as friends who just spent the day together. That oneness is kindling for the fires of the mind. To Capt. Dan Ebbecke aboard Thunder, who no longer fights mountainous seas from the bridge deck of an aircraft carrier but wrestles the Gulf's fiery outbursts from the helm, I salute you. His memories live vividly with each crossed wave. To Ron Taylor, our friendship has been earned over years through a relationship of questions and answers. Taylor is a fisheries biologist whose major life trait is following the life traits of snook. I salute your resoluteness. Whether you are managing our stocks for the future, or documenting the demise of our natural world, I know your passion is more for your piscatorial pursuits than your paycheck. To a great man -- Don Hanson, the true Florida outdoorsman. He has spent his life in pursuit of the good things, and at age 81 continues to move through the outdoors with the passions of a much younger man. To you, I salute your years of dedication to the state. Through your love of nature, many people have been touched with respect for consumptive conservation. May you continue to catch, kiss, and release many more years. I'm not alone in my love of the lore and traditions of the sea and its bounty. Those feelings of being barefoot in the icehouse are to remind us what the outdoor life is about. - If you have a question or comment, call Capt. Mike Scarantino, (352) 683-4868.
 © 2006 • All Rights Reserved • Tampa Bay Times
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