I’m sitting under the shade of the live oaks at fish camp taking a break to do this thing I do. The fishing was lousy this morning anyway, so why not write.

I had hoped to write you about the cooler full of crappie that we hauled into the boat, but we were just hapless victims of the wind today. We got out early, and it wasn’t too bad. We caught a few small ones and one keeper. But once the wind really got up, the fishing went sour.

This was not just a slight breeze. The wind coming across the wide open lake was throwing whitecaps the size of car tires. We had two anchors on our pontoon boat, but they were about as useless as (my dad used to say) tits on a boar hog.

A pontoon boat is like a sail in the wind. You feel every puff. You rock with every ripple. The wind gets up at all. and you begin to roll and toss like you’re caught in the bulk cycle of a washing machine.

We even went around the backside of Brahma Island thinking we might find a place to get out of the wind. All the island did was make the wind on the leeward side shift from the SW to the NE. We were being drug through the lily pads like a plastic bag tumbling across the Walmart parking lot.

After about four hours, we finally gave up and decided to head back into the camp. Only problem is, when you leave Brahma Island and come around the east side, there’s nothing but open water in front of you for a couple of miles.

I scan the horizon if front of us to get my bearings. In the distance I can barely make out the radio tower near the Highway 60 bridge. That’s my homing beacon for Grape Hammock. I turn my cap around, the bill facing rearward, and push the throttle all the way forward.

Mind you, our pontoon rental is equipped with a Mercury 45, which on a good day might eke out about thirty miles an hour on the water. Four passengers of average adult weight make a slight adjustment to the draft, which has a negative effect on the overall speed of the boat. Add to this that we are going directly into a headwind about equal to the forward thrust of our boat, and we are, for all practical purposes, going nowhere fast.

First Mate Marion says to me, “You’ve got to take these waves head on.”

This is based on years of experience that she and Mike had while bass fishing on the larger impoundments of the great State of Alabama. Evidently, they had got caught out on the lake a number of times when a bad storm came up. Mike had taught her that the proper way to navigate the rough water is to cut directly into the waves.

“Throttle up and trim it out straight into the waves,” he advised her. “You let it get parallel to the waves, and one might come along and roll you over.”

The theory is that a properly trimmed out, slick V-hull boat will slice across the top of the waves like a knife through butter.

I would like to remind everyone at this point that we are in a pontoon boat with a wind-up rubber band for a motor. We do not trim out. We do not slice through the waves.

Our ride was more like a run down the Dahlonega Mine Train at Six Flaggs. Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk. Wham. Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk. Wham.

Every time we hit a wave the spray shot up about six feet into the air beside the boat. The gale force winds swatted that spray like Bjorn Borg’s tennis racket, smacking me right in the face. This added an entirely new feature to the boating experience. Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk. Wham. Smack.

So, here we are Ka-chunking along. Despite the head wind and waves, we seem to be making decent progress toward the camp.

But it’s hard to drive all this way and not go fishing.

Marion says to me, “You wanna try those lily pads over there before we go in.”

I yell, “Huh?”

The Ka-chunking is loud and the wind is fierce.

She repeats and laughs because she knows that I’m done for the time being. I answer back in the same voice I’d use if standing next to an F-14 fighter jet taking off.

“There’s nobody fishing those pads for a good reason.”

She yells back. “There’s not even another boat out here. Anywhere.”

We finally make our way to the slough that enters the fish camp and throttle back. There’s not much wind in the narrow canal that winds around to our dock. The water is smooth and quiet. I turn my cap around and feel the tension go out of my shoulders.

I could say that I’m disappointed. We came all this way to catch fish. And, so far, it looks uncertain as to how the week will turn out. But that would miss the point.

Grape Hammock, like any vacation, is about the experience. And I can’t really call this a vacation anyway since I’m retired. It’s more of an adventure. If we catch any fish, that will be a plus for sure. But if all we do is spend some time together enjoying life on the lake, that will be enough.

We have seen nearly 25 sunrises here in the last three years. Each one of them different. We have drowned hundreds of minnows and worms in the pursuit of catching fish on this lake. We have shopped together in the months prior to each trip. We have pulled out the map of the lake and relived the stories of where we were when we caught a mess. Where we might go to try and catch the next one.

What we are doing now will simply be another chapter in the story of the life that we are making together. The laughter. The late night domino games. The hands covered in bait slime. Even the wind.

Fish or no fish, we are living the adventure.

We tied off to the dock and took a deep breath. We survived another day on the lake.

As I sit here at the picnic table outside our cabin, the wind is blowing Spanish moss trash all over my laptop. Marion and Romona, not to be outdone by the wind, are down by the canal with a bobber in the water. Joe is relaxed on one of the boat seats under the canopy watching the other two fish.

Every few minutes I can see a pole lift out of the water. On the end of the line is a three-finger bluegill, almost the right size for bait. I can see them looking back and forth at each other. I can tell they are talking. I can even see the laughter, though I cannot hear it over the wind.

They are doing exactly what we came here to do. Just enjoying the day.

So, I’m done writing this story.

I’m going fishing.