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| As good as he was with the cast net PaPa was equally good with a rod and reel. He had five grandchildren (Scott, Ben, Kyle, Kimberly and Sarah). I think it's safe to say that they all caught their first fish or one of their first fish under his watchful eye. Here he is with Kimberly on the dock at he and NaNa's house on AMI |
Last week while we were still in Florida Beth and I set out for our morning walk. We could tell from the water in the canal that the tide was high, so walking comfortably along the beach wasn't going to be an option. We opted for one of our street routes. As we walked north on Marina Drive we passed a non-descript area that for me was a landmark. I told Beth "that's the "mud hole", one of your dad's (PaPa) favorite mullet fishing spots on the island. This memory jog set my little brain in motion as I started thinking about some of those fishing trips from back in the 70's. There's been quite a bit of water under the bridge since then. These days I frequently find myself not being able to remember where I put my keys, sunglasses and any number of similar items, so I called on a few other fisherman from those trips to share their recollections. I reached out to Drew Eason, Richard White, Brian Bustle and Roddy Jones. Suddenly the text messages with stories and memories were blowing up my phone.
Roddy chimed in that he had actually come along after the mullet trips had stopped. It's somewhat debatable if he was fortunate or unfortunate for missing out on these expeditions. There certainly wasn't anything glamorous or sexy about these trips. Some of the places we'd find ourselves fishing were pretty nasty. I also can't recall there ever being a fishing show on TV about catching mullet like the ones you see of guys catching marlin, tarpon, snook or redfish. If the cameras would have been rolling they would have captured some entertaining moments that would probably have been better suited for the Comedy Central channel than an outdoor adventure show.
For the uninitiated, when they hear the word "mullet" they immediately think of a bad men's hairstyle. A mullet also happens to be a fish that is found in warm, shallow coastal areas pretty much throughout the world. I've seen them in quite a few locations as we've traveled about and they're quite plentiful around Anna Maria Island. They're bottom feeding vegetarians that often are found in large schools. They can be caught on a hook but are most commonly caught by cast net. Full grown they weigh around 3-4 pounds and they actually are a pretty tasty fish. Especially the way PaPa used to prepare them (more on that later).
When it came to throwing a cast net PaPa was a master, or I should say "The Master". There could have been some folks who could throw a net better than him. I never saw them and if they did actually exist you could have counted them on one hand and not use all your fingers. Drew, Brian, Richard and I along with quite a few others were his students. He'd patiently work with us on technique while always reminding us not to get the dreaded "buck fever". Buck fever was when there would be a large school of mullet swimming along that should be an easy catch only to be missed by making a lousy throw of the net. These lousy throws were often referred to as "banana's" since that would be the shape of the net, instead of the perfect circle that PaPa would make pretty much every time. Brian remembers actually seeing him make a really bad throw one time but similar to making lemonade from lemons he caught two redfish and one mullet. That fishing spot became known appropriately at the "redfish hole:
Every summer when Beth's extended family would gather on Anna Maria Island for their annual beach house celebration mullet fishing would be on the agenda. On the two Sunday's and 4th of July there would be large family gatherings at Dick and Phyllis White's house that they would so generously open for everyone. PaPa's smoked mullet were always a favorite.
To feed the masses we had to catch the fish first. These fishing trips would always seem to start at some awful hour of the morning. PaPa would come into the room where we guys would all be sacked out and start waking us up. His favorite first target seemed to be Richard. Richard remembers being semi-gently shaken while hearing the words "RW, RW, RW it's time to get up". Slowly we'd all rise and head out and pile into the back of his pick up truck. Actually the back of the truck was the desired location since the truck was not air conditioned and the odor of past mullet trips mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke (he later quit which was a huge accomplishment and source of great pride) filled the cab.
Mullet fishing back in those days didn't involve a boat or fishing from a pier or bridge. PaPa could throw the net, which probably weighed 25-30 pounds, from chest deep water and he expected no less from us. We'd scout out a few of his favorite locations which often times meant we'd drive that old green truck on private property that today would probably result in a visit from the local SWAT team. The mud hole, behind the school, in a trailer park or behind houses were some of his favorite places. He'd divide us up and send us off in various directions. Soon we'd find ourselves wading waste deep around mangroves in water that could often be described as "muck.
Perfect fishing conditions were cloudy days because when you fish for mullet with a net it's really more like stalking them. He'd tell us to stay low, not throw the net until you could see them schooled up and were close enough to see their mouths working. The overcast conditions made getting closer to them easier and the fish wouldn't "spook" when they saw the net coming. Drew, Brian and Richard could throw the net better than me but our skills paled in comparison to PaPa's. So for every one we caught he'd probably catch eight to ten.
He'd love telling us stories about getting up on a large school of fish, seeing their mouths working, feeling his heart going bump, bump, bump and hoping he wouldn't get "buck fever". Of course he never got "buck fever", so for the next bit of the story he'd rapidly pump both fists in the air to demonstrate how the fish were popping up and down trying to escape the net and their pending date with the fryer or smoker.
After catching these guys the next step of the process wouldn't make the PETA people too happy. PaPa was convinced that the fish tasted better if you "bled" them immediately. The easiest way to accomplish this was to grab the fish around the belly with one hand, the head with the other hand and break their necks. Not real glamorous. The fish probably didn't care for it but it beat flopping around in an ice chest. Plus if it made the fish taste better what the heck, lets break some necks.
Mullet fishing in and of itself is hard work, but now that we've caught them we had to clean them. Usually by this time it would be mid-day. We'd be unimaginably nasty looking and smelling, with what seemed like millions of fish to clean. Drew recalled that when it came to cleaning that even though we had enough fish to feed a large army PaPa didn't want us to waste any "good meat", and we had to scrape filet by filet the black lining off the stomach.
As much as he loved catching them PaPa loved preparing the fish for these feasts. Some fish would be fried but his specialty was "smoked mullet". Smoked mullet are prepared the same was as you would prepare a good brisket. Over a low heat for several hours. There was no fancy store bought smoker for PaPa. He had fabricated an old 55 gallon drum into a back yard smoker. Since he had worked for the railroad this drum had probably been discarded around the rail yard and there is absolutely no telling what toxic chemicals it had contained in it's previous life.
Low heat from charcoal, and a little citrus wood combined with a little bit of honey and lime juice, and some patience and pretty soon you'd have the perfect smoked mullet. When they were done and ready for consumption PaPa would boldly proclaim "these are some of my best" and he was always right.
There isn't much mullet fishing done by the family these days. It's been replaced by boats, rods and reels but the memories of breaking necks down at the mud hole are priceless. My mouth is watering for a smoked mullet right now.
