A Shark Like This?

This past week, my family and I ventured down to Orange Beach, Alabama, to soak up the last little bits of summer before school and all the extra extracurricular activities of fall start back with a bang. As I returned to the beach where so many of my life’s memories have been made, it got me thinking of certain moments and places that stick out. It even serves as a bit of summer setting in my upcoming book, The Carter Charm. From the coastal restaurants that have come and gone, to the island adventures during college, there are almost too many to choose from.

Growing up in Jackson, Mississippi, the beaches I visited most often as a child were in the Destin/ Sandestin/ 30A (before it was the hip hop happening place to be) area in Florida and the Orange Beach/ Gulf Shores/Perdido area in Alabama. We’d pop down for spring breaks or a few days in the summer where we’d participate in goofy golf, crabbing, or finding the best remedies for jelly fish stings that did not include peeing on someone. As I grew older, I found myself returning to one main area – Orange Beach, Alabama. This was mostly because my childhood best friend had grandparents who had bought in the area years prior to our arrival so there was always a place to stay, and it was only a short four hours away from my hometown. Little did I know, the person I would end up marrying was right across the bay, doing the exact same thing- visiting each summer and enjoying all things Orange Beach. I guarantee we passed each other in the grocery store a time or two in our younger years- funny how life works that way.

Orange Beach, Alabama, gradually became a fixture in my life. It was the first place I tried alcohol (and decided I liked it), was the place I finished my debut novel, and was the place I first went deep sea fishing. I love the familiar haunts like Pirate’s Cove or the Flora-Bama and the personalities (old and new) of the area that bless my life from time to time. This past week, the weather has been quite rainy and stormy with dark gray skies surrounded by rolling thunder over crashing waves each day, and it has reminded me so much of one of those memorable deep sea fishing trips in the gulf.

Now, this particular fishing trip, I must have been around twenty-one or twenty-two years old. My dear friend, Kelly, had brought me along for what seemed like our one thousandth beach trip together. We had these trips down to a science- what foods kept best for a week in the fridge, which gas stations on the way had the cleanest bathrooms, what farmer’s stands had the best boiled peanuts, and where exactly the terrible speed traps were in the little towns outside of Mobile, Alabama. This time, our college boyfriends had come along with us, and we had big plans to go out on the boat with Kelly’s father and a few of his friends. Her pharmacist mother had taken one look at the weather forecast and appropriately dosed us up with anti-nausea medicine the night before. As I dozed off with a flesh-colored medicated patch behind my ear, I dreamt of blue skies and bountiful catches on our pending trip.

I had been on one or two of these fishing trips, but for the most part, my angler resume consisted of cane poles around a sleepy pond or lake and a bucket full of live crickets. However, I was always willing to try something new and adventurous with my friends. The morning of our fishing trip arrived and with it came a wind that was howling a sharp whistle I’ll never forget. The rain was pouring at a perfect slant with the kind of drops that sting like a tiny whip as they hit your skin. “Surely, the trip will be cancelled,” I thought as I rolled over in one of the cozy twin beds meant for grandchildren of any ages, eager to sleep the next four hours like it was my job in the pitch-black room where hurricane shutters shielded any hint of outside light.

To my dismay, I was woken up by the rest of the crew telling me we were still setting sail on our grand fishing trip. I rubbed my tired eyes, put on my coke bottle glasses, and whispered through my retainer, “what about the weather? It sounds like a hurricane out there.”

“Nah. You can’t sink that boat,” my childhood friend replied confidently. Now, I knew my friend was slightly more type A and anxious than I was on any given day, so if she was confident, then I felt pretty safe. Although I couldn’t help but think I had heard that statement before…possibly when discussing the Titanic? I sleepily got my fashionable fishing gear on and tried my best to shake off whatever anti-nausea medicine had been absorbed into my body the night before. We drove to the marina, dodging lightning strikes and blinding rain all along the way, where the boat, captain, and other adults were waiting on us.

I’ll never forget when my college boyfriend (who just so happened to never need sleep and wanted every day to feel like an episode with Bear Grylls) turned to me and say as we arrived at the marina, “Aren’t you excited? This is going to be great!”

“I guess. I’m a little tired.”

“Tired? You can sleep in your grave!” It was a statement I had heard too often from him, and for the professional sleeper I was, it was quite annoying. I shook it off and tried to stay positive as I saw yet another lightning bolt flash through the clouds.

“Well, I just want to catch a shark. I’ll be happy if I catch a shark.”

The boyfriend laughed, but not in a nice way. “Look, you’re not going to catch a shark. No one wants to catch a shark. We want snapper today. Plus, you’d have to throw a shark back anyway. It’s a waste.”

I heard the words “you’re not going to catch a shark”, and something stirred inside of me. An innate anger and deeply engrained stubbornness that came with me from birth started bubbling through my veins. It woke me up like a cup of coffee normally would, and I gritted my teeth as I quietly said to myself, “I want to catch a shark.”

My statement was ignored, and eventually we loaded onto the boat. Off we went under the Perdido Pass and into the angry Gulf of Mexico that was waiting to possibly swallow us up with a giant wave. As we got further and further out, heading to the coastal oil rigs, the boat was shaking and rocking like it was being handled by a giant toddler raging in a bathtub. No amount of anti-nausea medicine would have been enough to calm the steadiest of sea legs in this storm. I knew if I didn’t lie down, the previous day’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner would be making an appearance, so for the first hour I slept in the cabin. “Screw sleeping in my grave,” I thought.

When I awoke, the storm seemed even worse. The college boyfriend, “Mr. Bear Grylls himself”, convinced me to suck it up and go outside to catch a fish. I frustratingly obliged and gingerly walked to the back of the boat, bracing myself by holding onto the sides of the walls. Once I walked outside to the stern of the boat, the howling wind immediately blew off my hat. I looked up to the sky, and everything was dark gray with black, swirling clouds. Rain fell so hard and fast, I had to wipe my eyes just to see who was in front of me. I swear, they could have filmed the scene where Captain Dan yells at God during Hurricane Camille in Forest Gump on that day, in that very spot. But- we were there, and we were doing it, so I grabbed a rod with the help of a strong deck hand, and I found myself deep sea fishing in one hell of a storm. Waves crashed over the ship that supposedly wouldn’t sink as my feet slid underneath me and my quads tensed to brace and balance my small frame. On one side stood the deck hand, helping me stand up straight, on the other side my adventurous college boyfriend who seemed to be having the time of his life.

“I really hope I catch a shark!” I yelled over the howling wind.

“You’re not going to catch a shark,” Bear replied, most likely rolling his eyes.

After what seemed to be a lifetime of standing in the pouring rain while my body rocked across the stern like a ragdoll, I finally felt something on my line. It was a sign of nautical life in the storm on the other end! As my line yanked and pulled, it felt like I had hooked a whale. I fought and fought, with the help of the deck hand and the angler belt strapped around my waist. The stormy ocean and whatever creature was on the end of the line fought back, mad as hell that it was getting pulled in. Finally, after what felt like yet another lifetime, I reeled in my catch. And low and behold, there it was- the two-to-three-foot shark I had somehow, stubbornly manifested myself to catch. Through the whistling of the wind, the rocking of the ship, and the clapping of the not-so-distant thunder, I turned to the boyfriend and asked, “A shark like this?”

He was stunned. Honestly, that could have possibly been the moment he realized my “I told you so attitude” and innate stubbornness was most likely not going to work out for him in the long run. I watched as the deck hand and another adult wrangled the hook out of the shark’s mouth before tossing him back, then announced, “My work here is done.” I returned to the cabin, found a dry towel and a large blanket, then slept off my anti-nausea medication through the rest of the trip. Surprisingly, there were many fish caught that day, including snapper and grouper. However, there was only one shark.

Nowadays, when my husband and I are looking for something simple around the house like kitchen matches or scissors, someone will inevitably say something discouraging like, “We’re out of matches” or “the scissors are lost.” The searcher will stubbornly keep on and keep on until they finally find the hunted object and will excitingly exclaim, “A shark like this?!” and hold it up high in the air like a trophy. It’s a mainstay statement/question in our house, and I believe it’s one of my husband’s favorite stories from my times at Orange Beach. As for the stubbornness, I was always told it was not a great feature growing up, but what I have learned is that anyone who wants to be a writer better have a double dose.

So, I guess the moral of the story is, if someone tells you that you can’t do something or fills you with discouragement and negativity, think of us in the stormy Gulf of Mexico on a memory filled trip to Orange Beach with friends, and look at them and simply reply, “A shark like this?”… and do it anyway.

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