Fishing with the boys

I woke up before dawn this morning and drove into the sunrise to the coast across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel and Virginia's eastern shore. The land of salt marshes and cotton fields, sleepy fishing villages and pentecostal churches. The land that time seemed to forget. And I like it that way...

I sojourn here to see my father's side of the family who all call this long sliver of land between the bay and the sea home. This land in between the waters. They always invite me in with open arms and though I grew up inland, one foot has always been in these salt waters too. And so I come back to pay homage to the same salty air that seems to run in my veins and to rendezvous through time with my grandmothers stories.

This afternoon I went out fishing with the boys, meaning my cousin Chris and his buds seen here in a candid shot on the boat unawares. It was a fine day on the water, with that flaky bright winter light that I've found is unique to this part of the world. A bluebird day, but all we saw were gulls. And despite all our best efforts we only caught two striped bass - one a keeper. They are just not running up the bay yet...

But they will come as they always do. For us the rocking to and fro in the waves jigging our lures off the bottom eventually became too tedious. Our fishing came to land and turned to a game of frisbee golf spiced up with a cooler of beers. Every three holes you chug a beer rules keeps things interesting. As did the other fellows we met at the course, salt of the earth eastern shore guys. Not the sort of hippy college kids you would usually expect at a frisbee gold course, but sometimes opposites make the very best pairings...