What started out as a pleasant, ordinary porgy fishing trip this week slowly morphed into a good ten minutes of excitement bordering hysteria. My son had been pulling up porgies in the bay, and we would let them go after the mild thrill of the fight (I would have kept a few but I can’t filet a porgy to save my life.)
He relaxed on the rear swim platform as he gently reeled and released. Then after about a half hour came a sudden “Oh my God – this is something big.” He hoisted the pole with all his might, not able to pull in the line even an inch. My husband reached for the pole to get a feel, shouting something similar with a few added expletives. They struggled together, hoisting the fishing rod in unison. We got the first glimpse of the “thing” as it surfaced about 15 feet away.
What in the world was that. It swayed and dove as it approached, and when more of its frightening form came into view my son turned the rod over to hubby and bolted onto the boat deck. It was enormous. I had never seen anything like it. Our imaginations were running wild, and for many moments I was in disbelief that something like this was swimming in our waters.
But after one final lurch the thing was up close and center, bobbing at our feet off the stern. It was a swollen and decrepit couch cushion. Not a manta ray. Not a giant squid. Not a sea monster.
Our dreams of the deadliest catch were over.
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