Our first day at fish camp is overcast. A breezy 70°. We step out the door of our cabin for our early morning coffee walk.

I’m not optimistic. “Not much chance of seeing a sunrise this morning.”

The Spanish moss overhead is hanging from the live oaks like long braids of a grey beard.

“Let’s go look anyway,” Marion says.

I’ve been coming here long enough now that this place is familiar to me. The cabins with green metal roofs. The boats moored along the canal. The long-necked birds strolling along the bank looking for breakfast. The winding gravel road that weaves its way to the boat ramp.

There’s not much activity on a day like this. The weather forecast is not favorable. Most of the boats are still tied to the docks. I see one fella walking with a minnow bucket in hand. The light inside the camp store is on, and even though it’s open, it looks vacant and quiet.

Looking out the slough to the open water, the sun surprises us. It peeks through one small slit in the clouds as if to wink a good morning to us. A blanket of yellow light throws itself across the surface of the still water reflecting back to us the edges of clouds trimmed in gold. The Creation nods our way for a moment. Then just as quickly, the grey clouds move in and swallow the sun whole.

We turn to take our walk back toward the cabin. My coffee cup is empty. A small black truck with a boat behind it has pulled up in the staging area to prepare to launch. We didn’t hear him drive up. He wandered up close to us without being noticed.

A man of slight build and average height is standing beside his boat. He’s wearing a floppy broad brimmed hat and is moving his fishing gear out of the truck and into his boat. The truck looks old. The boat looks old. The man is no spring chicken.

Marion makes the first move and says that she’s gonna ask him what the fishing is like.

“You fish here a lot?” she asks.

The floppy hat tilts skyward and reveals the face of a seasoned angler. Dark skin. Glasses. The drawstring of his hat laying against the collar of his shirt. A thin, grey mustache loosely connected to a thin and even greyer goatee. A broad smile emerges in the middle.

“Oh, yas ma’am. I sho do. I been fish’n this lake for near ‘bout 60 years.”

“What’cha been catching lately?”

“I reckon I’m happy to catch ‘bout anything dat’ll bite. I just love fish’n.”

He’s standing on the opposite side of his boat from us. He moves toward the tailgate of his truck.

“Le’me sho ya what I catch ‘em with.”

He reaches for a small Styrofoam cooler with a strap across the lid. This thing looks like it’s been drug down the road. Stained. Chunks missing. Barely holding together.

He’s made a small hole in the lid and put a clear tube down through it that’s attached to a bubbler. It’s his homemade minnow bucket, I figure.

“No sur. I don’t fish with no minnows.”

He dips a small net down in the murky water and pulls up a flurry of small creatures flopping around. He reaches in and pulls one out to show it to us.

“Now deez here is grass shrimp. I catch ‘em in the grass around the edge of the lake.”

He holds one pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And sure enough, it looks like a tiny translucent shrimp. Two black eyes with two long tenacles out front.

“I ain’t never bought any bait in all my years. And, let me tell ya, there ain’t nothing mo’ natural to a fish than dis right here. Let me sho you how to hook one.”

The lesson over, he pulls the strap back over the lid and places his bait bucket in the boat. I step next to the crank on the boat trailer and extend my hand.

“My name’s Paul. What’s yours?”

He reaches out to take my hand. His skin thick and rough. His grip strong.

“I’m Eddie McGriff, Sr. I wuz born in Dothan, Alabama but I live in Lakeland these days, not too far from here. I’ve been here since 1965.”

“How old are you Mr. Eddie?” Marion asks.

“I’m 81.”

This fishing keeps him limber and spry, I guess.

“How long have you had the boat?”

He’s hauling a little flat-bottomed jon boat, no more than 10 ft. long. It’s got a couple of grey wooden planks screwed to the side rails for seat platforms, with a couple of worn, padded seats screwed to each plank. The Mercury 2.5 hp motor on the back is way newer than the boat. A trolling motor sits on the transom next to the motor.

“This is a nice set up,” I offer.

He searches his memory with his hand over his forehead for a minute.

“I believe I bought this boat long about 2000. Paid $400 for the boat, and $400 for the trailer. Been fishing out of it ever since.”

“It looks like you fish by yourself. You don’t have a fishing buddy?”

“Naw sur, I sho don’t. I took my brother-in-law fishing one time. I swore I’d never do that again. I likes to fish right by myself.”

He’s unhooking the boat from the crank on the front of the trailer.

Marion notices a small decal on the side of the boat. “What’s with the name, Spiderman.”

Eddie chuckles.

“Well, I wuz fishing back under the low limbs of a big oak one time. The wind was drifting me toward the bank. And I wuz catching good fish, too. I was so busy I didn’t see the big spider nest behind me, and next thing I know’d, I’z covered up in spiders. I stood up to shake the spiders off, tipped the boat, and fell right in the water.”

Eddie is swatting at his shoulders like he’s still there.

“I can’t swim and I never hit bottom. Somehow, I got hold of the side of this boat and paddled myself to the bank with the other hand. Got rid of the spiders, too. The name just stuck.”

“You want to get in the boat and let me back it down into the water for you?”

Marion asks this question because she is wired to do things for people, not because she is concerned about his ability. She has a lot of boat ramp experience.

“That’s mighty nice of you, but no ma’am. I’ve got it all set up do it by myself. Been doing alone for a long time.”

We thank Eddie and wish him a good day of fishing. He adjusts his glasses and smiles back.

“Y’all do the same.”

We walked away feeling like we’d just met a piece of Lake Kissimmee royalty.

A real gentleman. A friend to mankind. A story that tells of a life well lived. A great gift on our first day in camp.

Now, I’ve gotta find us some of those grass shrimp.