A Life in Thirty Posts – Post #26
For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.
Photo courtesy of BAMCAT
In 2004, three friends and I drove from Michigan to Florida for what would essentially become the last hurrah before that ugly word "responsibility" became all too prominent in our lives.
That's not to say we were irresponsible and crazy, but the four of us were young enough that careers and relationships had not yet reached the forefront of our lives, so we figured we'd make the trip while we still could.
We left early one evening and drove straight down, stopping only in Kentucky and Georgia for food and to catch our breath. Twenty two hours later, we were in Florida.
Out of everything we did while on that vacation, the highlight, at least for me, was deep sea fishing in the Gulf of Mexico for red snapper.
I'd ask my buddies what they thought about the experience, but they were too busy puking over the side of the boat.
Little did I know that the charters sink things, like old basketball hoops, at a certain depth, which provides shade for the fish to hang out. Then the captains bring their clients out to fish in that general area. I'd say it was like shooting fish in a barrel, but that would be cliche.
The shark that jumped out of the water and ripped a snapper off of my lure? There are no cliches to for that.
