We are fishing in the shallows to the west end of the campground. “My bobber went under!” I say, feeling a lump in my throat, not totally sure if this was a good idea or not.
“What do you think it is this time?” my wife says, remembering the trout, snapper, barracuda and a few unknowns we’ve reeled in the last few days.
“I don’t know, but the bobber is sending up quite a spray!”
I watch as the line peels out. The bail is open so the wind can blow the bobber and bait out far. I reach down, and being careful not to get my fingers tangled in the braided line, close the bail and wait for the line to tighten.
The bobber pops up and continues to swim out farther. I brace myself (as much as a quadriplegic can) anticipating what is going to happen when the line tightens, and grab the rod with my other paw. As the line starts to tighten, a quick lift of the rod sinks the hook into whatever has grabbed the chunk of squid. Then all hell breaks loose.
A huge spray goes up way out in the ocean, the rod gets pulled down sharply and my arm gets extended completely out. There is danger that I’m going to lose the rod! The line starts peeling off and the reel is screaming at high pitch.