It was a humid Florida morning. The sun was unseen and the crickets were chirping. The clock struck 5 o’clock and it was time to go. My grandfather, his friend Patrick, and myself were headed to Everglade City, Florida where we would fish for the next three days. I had gotten into Orlando last night at 8pm, and I was still feeling the jet lag from the previous day. We lined up the fishing poles in the back seat and took off for a four hour drive down the Florida turnpike. I slept most of the drive, but sometimes managed to keep myself awake breifly so I could listen to the conversations in the car. Patrick was a friend of my grandfather who he had met at a flower show in a nearby town. Ever since they met, they have been fishing partners and good friends. They complimented each other well which was indicative of their good friendship. My grandfather needed someone to help him drive and perform physical duties, which Patrick would do, and Patrick needed a fishing boat and rods, which my grandpa had. They often talked politics and money which brought me back to sleep.

After four hours down the flat and continuous interstate, we arrived at the fishing trailer we would call home for the next three days. It was a small, two bedroom place, accessorised by a working air conditioner and an antenna television. We quickly moved the luggage inside from the car so we could begin to work on the boat. Moving the boat into the water was a tough process. First, we had to attach the car to the boat via the car hitch which was a long process of backing up the car into the perfect position. After that was done, we had to load the car into the water with the help of a large piece of machinery. After this process was done, we loaded up the boat with gas and gatorades, and took off.

The first boat ride out was one of the best experiences. It lasted half an hour of twists and turns through mangrove forests and open water. Eventually we arrived to the first fishing hole, Seminole point. Seminole point was a highly regarded fishing spot in the area known to be filled with large snook and trout. We fished with spoons mainly, which would reflect the strong sun and attract many fish. Time went by and we were not catching fish. My grandpa was quick to say “The tides are not perfect”, which was a perfect excuse for him to go back to the boat and get a smoke. Him and Patrick were big smokers. They would each go through a pack of Marlboro cigarettes on an average day. At times, they would even stop the boat mid ride so they could they could get a light. Though my grandma acknowledges it was bad for his health, he said that he wanted to live the last years of his life without limitations which I accepted.

We set out the next morning at four o’clock in knowledge that sunrise was a great time to catch fish. Patrick explained to me that sunrise was the best time to fish because the fish generally are hungry at that time due to the fact that they have not eaten since the last sunset. Fish are not able to see their prey in the dark which explains why they cannot eat at night.

At around five o’clock we arrived at our next fishing hole, Jack’s hole. Jack’s hole was named after my grandfather, Jack Sneed Sr., who had been going there since the 1940’s. Everglade City in the 1940’s was rarely visited due the lack of infrastructure in the area and the large population of mosquitos it had. When my grandpa turned 21, he bought a small boat with a group of friends and began fishing there. He constantly reminds me of the immensity of fish back in the day which makes me slightly jealous. “Back in the good ol’ days I could catch a fish every time I took a cast”, he would say.

We had been fishing for an hour or so and I still hadn’t caught a fish. Patrick and my grandpa had both caught a few themselves which slightly discouraged me. In total I had probably taken a couple hundred casts, and still no sign of a fish. I began to want to give up, but I could see how badly my grandpa wanted to see me catch one myself. Often he would let me reel in a fish he caught which I did not find super fun. All of a sudden that changed. I could feel a large fish on my line that felt like either a snook or a strong catfish. It took out a lot of my line and I was scared it would run out. “Don’t reel in!”, Patrick yelled hoping my line would not break. I fought the fish for five minutes until it eventually got worn out and gave up. I reeled it in to see a big old snook. Triumphantly I pulled the spoon out of its mouth and held it up high for my grandpa to see. I could tell him and Patrick were very proud which felt good. I posed for a picture with it which I have kept very close to this day.