CONVERTING A HOOKER IS IMPOSSIBLE

My Dad was a hooker. He was a compulsive obsessive fisherman. While most men played at it, he attacked it like every thing he did. He worked at it. He would fish when no one else would consider throwing a lure in the water. He usually got the first stripped bass of the season and the last. He finally gave up his rods and reels when he was about 60. I asked why and he said it wasn't fun anymore. I have one of his surf rods and Ocean Squidder reels hanging in my office with a Hopkins #4 lure. That was his favorite rig. Below it hangs my fiberglass hand spear and slip tip, my favorite rig. Two solutions to excess energy and the child in each of us.

Dad never looks back. Today at 85 he is still living somewhere between the present and future. As the future is much smaller for me than the past, I live in all three worlds, otherwise there isn't enough room.

One summer day in the early 60's Dad said he wanted to try snorkeling. The last time I saw him with a mask on was when he was setting a dynamite charge under a massive stump when were dredging the canal behind out house. I was about 8 years old at the time and already doing a little spearfishing.

I had never thought of Dad being interested in my sport and I was excited about the opportunity to show him a little of my world. He certainly had been supportive and never critical. I certainly had fished enough with him as a kid, surf casting for bluefish at Hatteras Point in front of the spiral painted lighthouse, but mostly playing on the beach. The day he announced that he wanted to try was perfect.

Virginia Beach is not known for clear water. Usually you cannot see your feet when you are knee deep, only when the water pulls back to send another breaker in. Occasionally when the wind is from the South East, the current is from the South and there is no surf, the water can get clear enough to see 15 feet next to the beach. I think that happens about once every 10 years or so. It was one of those days when Dad broke down and decided to try.

I jumped on the opportunity and drove home from the restaurant to get a couple of sets of masks, snorkels, and fins. We headed to the end of the boardwalk to give it a try. A bit of scale is important here. We lived at the end of 38th street, about 10 blocks back from the ocean on a bay. The restaurant was on Atlantic Ave on 18th street and the end of the boardwalk was at about 5th street. There was a short groin at the end of the boardwalk and an old sunken barge extended into deeper water from the end of the groin. I had been out there a few times but since the water was so turbid at the beach, not often.

We parked on the edge of the sandy beach just past the boardwalk and put on our gear in the clear bluegreen surf. You could see your feet. Wahoooo, this was going to be fun for both of us. We started out and just as we got to the sunken barge, a large school of striped bass ranging from 3 to 8 pounds came flowing up to and around us. They were enjoying the bait fish around the barge. Dad and I were thunderstruck by the number of fish. I told Dad to stay there and watch, I was going home to get a handspear. He said ok. Home I flew, avoiding all the roads that the police watched. I ran to the basement, grabbed my trusty hand spear and headed back knowing for sure that the strippers were gone as quickly as they had arrived.

Dad was still out in the water. I was in luck. They were still there and Dad was watching them amazed. I picked out one, stretched out the surgical rubber loop attached to the butt of the spear by sliding my hand up to the string handgrip wrapped and epoxied near the tip of the spear. The spear was bent with the stored energy in the tubing and my hand holding the spear at my side. I took aim and let fly with the spear with the forward sweep of my arm to increase the speed and power, the surgical rubber contracted making that satisfying sound and the spear launched forward for a perfect spine shot behind the strippers gills. He vibrated a couple of times and quit moving. He was mine. Dads eyes bugged out when he saw that well practiced action. I think at that moment, he understood how I brought home so many fish.

He and I swam in and went back to work. He was kinda quiet on the way home as we went to change. I cleaned the fish, and baked it that night for our supper. Even Mom was impressed with the meal. Dad said he enjoyed it but little else.

Several days later, the subject came up. "That was really easy" he said. And I agreed.

"Sure, if you can hit a moving fish from 8 feet away with a hand spear. " I replied. We agreed that it was hunting not fishing. Nothing was said for days. I was sure that it would eventually come up again. It never did. Maybe I should have brought his surf casting gear. I never thought about that...this was a diving trip. Dad never expressed an interest in going out again although he did accompany me several times when I did the occasional diving job along the coast.

The other day I asked him about his feelings when he saw the spearfishing action. He said that it was interesting but he was more interested in keeping the water out of his snorkel. He never did get the hang of a snorkel so he was under some stress. So much for the great mystery.

It is interesting how things change. We can talk about feelings now that we couldn't years ago. We always got along great but there was a wall of silence about some things. The macho barriers went completely down about fifteen years ago and we are no longer just Father and Son...we are great friends and talk all the time.