Fred The Fisherman And Mister Green-Around-The-Gills

I’m a game warden in my local area. Mostly, it involves making sure the local fishers have their up-to-date fishing licenses and checking to make sure they’re within their limit for both size and number of fish.

As my partner and I move our boat to the next fisherman, I greet the man, a familiar face on these waters. To my surprise, he’s already doing the motions of packing it in, despite the fishing hours having only recently started.

Me: “Good morning, Fred. Got anything you shouldn’t on your boat today?”

With perfect timing, I hear a young boy.

Boy: “Bleaurgh!”

Fred jerks his thumb at the far side of the boat.

Fred: “Just my son, apparently.”

I look over to see the back half of a pre-teen boy, and nothing of the top half, on the far side of the boat. The kid’s entire top half is hanging over the side, doing what every unfortunate seasick person does while on the water.

Fred: “We’re not even thirty minutes in. I don’t think he’ll be able to follow in his old man’s footsteps. Been sick the entire time. We’ve tried crackers and such, but cracking open the bait has put an end to today, I think.”

Me: “Ah, that’s miserable. Poor kid. Some people just aren’t meant to be on the water.”

Fred: “Yeah, the weather’s perfect, but I’m not going to make the kid suffer anymore. Guess we’ll have to bond over Pokémon cards instead.”

A weak thumbs-up rose into view from the kid’s location.

We checked Fred’s license to make sure it was current, confirmed that he hadn’t had the chance to catch anything, and went about our business. Fred was on his way back to shore by the time we finished with our next boat.

Fred came fishing on other days during the season, but I never saw the hindquarters of his son in the years that followed. Probably for the best.