I often think how lucky I am to have nieces. My baby niece Claire and her new husband Mike came down to the coast and joined us on the island for a little fishing time.
It’s time that Bob needs; that’s for sure. He’s getting ready to start 70 hour weeks. That’s not exactly true. His employer has him work 13-10 hour days with the 14th day off. So, it’s 70 hours every other week with a 60 hour “short” week in between.
Bob and I headed to Mustang Island a little late on Saturday. We packed like we were going for a longer than overnight trip. Because we are spending a long week-end at Huntsville State Park over the 4th of July, we hope that this trip will point up what we might be forgetting for the big trip. We were also test driving a new tent that Bob got from friends for Father’s Day.
The dogs were the last thing we packed. We often take Murphey to the beach with us and he’s a good sport. He isn’t a big fan of the surf; chasing coyotes and digging out crabs are more his speed. Bob has a new pup, a 7 month old female Lab who spent the last 5 months in a backyard too small with very little human hang time.
Halo’s a chewing machine like most young labs. In the past week, she’s eaten 2 remote controls and 3 pairs of shoes. I know she’ll have us trained to put things away pretty soon. We have to resist the urge to move her out of the dog crate and move all of our “stuff” into it.
We caught the ferry across the channel to Port Aransas, keeping a text dialogue with Claire and Mike all the way. It was 6 p.m. when we turned onto Access Rd. 2 from S.H. 361 South.
The new tent went up great but Halo the Escape
Artist chewed out of her leash and gave Bob, Murphey and me the slip. She ended up spending jail time in her kennel for much of the visit. Item 1 on the list of things we need for Huntsville trip: Get a steel tie cable for Halo.
Then, the fishing began. Claire and I got caught up with one another’s lives. It’s easy for me to feel like I know what’s going on with her because we text quite often. But texts and Facebook can’t replace one on one gossip.
Bob’s the kind of fisherman who just wades on into the water. Barefoot. He’s got this theory gliding your feet won’t startle the sharks and sting rays that I’m sure are lurking beneath the surface and that you can move without injury. Since he’s been doing this for a long time and still has 2 feet with 10 requisite toes, he may be right. I’m not sure if Mike ever signed on to that theory.
There’s a big sign just as you turn right onto the beach off Beach Access Road 2. It says, “County mainenance ends here. Proceed at your own risk. SOFT SAND.” By 10 p.m., it was obvious that the sign isn’t a sufficient warning for those kids who were looking for a party or a chance to make out under the full moon. Bob and Mike’s Towing Service stayed busy, towing out a Prius, a Corolla, and a Chevy S-10.
The guys never did catch anything. Wind never died down. By midnight, Claire and I had finished a box of Teddy Grahams and a couple of liters of diet Coke. It was 1:30 when the guys pulled the plug on the fishing expedition, Mike and Claire headed out, and Bob and I put the dogs and ourselves to bed.
I forget how amazing it is to live here in south Texas, next to the Gulf of Mexico. Just a little piece of peace in the midst of a hectic life.