I had been waiting for Friday to come. It wasn’t going to be just an average Friday. No sir. This was going to be a once in a lifetime Friday. And though the excitement began only about a week ago, I was all worked up like a kid at Christmas. Stomach flops and everything.

“I’ll pick you up at 6:45am,” he said.

I thought to myself that it would still be dark at that time of day. Then I remembered that I was on Alabama time. I’m one of those who almost never resets his wristwatch. No matter where I am, at least in Alabama. I eat on Georgia time, sleep on Georgia time, and if you ask me what time it is I’ll give you Georgia time.

This can be confusing. So, I texted my buddy to clarify what time he’d be picking me up. I didn’t want to mess up. Not on Friday.

“You’re in Alabama, aren’t you?” he texted back.

Okay, like that’s supposed to settle the question.

“It’s still dark at 5:45am, I think,” he added.

“I reckon. You’re the one that lives in Alabama, right?”

“LOL.”

No one under 50 uses LOL anymore.

Friday came. I was up at 5:30am Alabama time. Coffee. Some stretches. A quick trip to the campground bathhouse. Marion made me a ham, egg, and cheese sandwich for breakfast.

“I can’t send you out fishing on an empty stomach,” she said.

I don’t deserve her.

So, yes, I’m going fishing. If you know me, this is not big news. I’ve done a lot of fishing over the past 60 years or more. But this is gonna be different. I’m going out on one of Alabama’s finest tournament lakes with one of Alabama’s finest fishermen.

I met Ted Caldwell last summer when Marion and I came over and camped at Wind Creek State Park. Ted is an old family friend of Marion’s family. They met in 1989 at the Guys & Dolls tournament on Lake Martin. Mike, Marion’s first husband, and Ted became instant friends. More than that they became brothers.

Mike and Ted spent countless hours together on the water. Ted said that his phone would ring, and it would be Mike asking him what he was doing. Mike would say, “I’m halfway to you. Get the boat ready.” Or Ted would call Mike and ask him what he’s up to. Mike would be halfway to Apalachicola, and Ted would tell him, “I’ll get my gear and meet you down there.”

Though Ted was nearly 15 years older than Mike, they were inseparable. Their families became intertwined through all the trips together and all the fishing. Life just seemed to bring them together.

So, last summer Ted said to me, “You come back sometime, and I’ll take you fishing.”

This, I knew, was no small gesture for two reasons. One. Ted is a professional fisherman. He has fished in tournaments on lakes in every state in the southeast. He has fished from Texas to New England. He has won or placed in the top three in more tournaments than you can shake a stick at.

I am a country-bumkin-rubber-worm farm pond fisherman. For him to take me fishing is a big deal. At least, to me it is.

Second, by inviting me to go fishing, Ted is inviting me into a world that he shared with Mike for nearly 40 years. He spoke at Mike’s funeral. He misses his buddy. But he loves Marion like a brother, and although I know that I will never replace Mike in any way, shape, or form; Ted is making room for me.

I’m standing down by the water’s edge when I hear the rumble of a boat motor coming into our cove at the campground. It’s a sleek, 20ft Ranger. 200hp Yamaha. White. Ted is waving.

He coasts into the bank. Marion grabs the rope.

“Do I need my own stuff?” I ask. I’m holding an ancient spinning rod and a small tackle box.

“You can leave that here,” he says. “I’ve got about 8 rods set up with everything we need.”

I waved back at the shoreline, and we headed out of the no-wake zone. Once we got past the white buoys, Ted turned and asked me, “You ready?”

Next thing I knew we bolted to about 60mph in three seconds. The boat trimmed out and we were flying over the ripples of the morning open water. I held my cap in my lap. Ted had a hoodie drawn tight over his. He just looked over and smiled.

Fishermen never tell where they catch fish, but in this case, I honestly have no idea where we were. But we did catch fish. Largemouth Bass. I had five. Ted got eight. Nice fish. No records. No wall-hangers. A lot of near misses. 44,000 acres of lake makes it impossible for me to narrow it down for you.

We did more than fish, though. Ted is a talker, and I can hold my own fairly well. There were a lot of fishing stories swapped. Stories of his days following the B.A.S.S. Tournament series. Stories of near wins. Stories of thousands of dollars on the line. Stories about taking second place by less than one tenth of an ounce. Stories about cheaters and characters on the tournament trail.

That’s a lot of fish stories.

We also talked about Mike, which led to both of us talking about family. About life. About faith. About loss. About disappointment and heartbreak. About living through the messy struggles of life and about learning to make the best of it.

We’d cruise along the boat docks casting. Tapping the bulkhead walls and working the bait slowly back to the boat. Ted up front with the trolling motor controls. I’m on the pedestal seat in back. Mid-sentence he’d snatch and start reeling.

“Can you believe that! He shook it loose.”

Then we’d fall right back into the conversation.

Don’t think me strange for saying this, but in some way, I think that Ted and I were together on this day for a reason. It wouldn’t be right for me to divulge the details but suffice it to say that life can be a mess. Not everything pans out perfectly.

Everywhere you look you see people who are dealing with death, disease, divorce and all the ripple effects that follow in life’s wake. Families get estranged. Misunderstandings go for years without ever being understood. Struggles come in every form and heartache shows no favoritism.

You’ve heard it said a million times, and it’s true. What life throws at you is not as important as how you respond to what life throws at you.

I may not know much about Ted, but after fishing with him for half a day, I can tell you that he is more than just a fine fisherman. Ted Caldwell is as fine a friend as anyone could ever hope to know.

As we eased back up to the campground, I could only sum up our day like this.

Life may be a mess, but it’s a good mess.

Good friends are everywhere.