When we were young, our parents took us to the jetties where we walked on the big rocks out to the Atlantic Ocean and would fish from seemingly the top of the world.  The jetties were located Northeast of town about 30-40 minutes away.  It was always fun but walking on those huge rocks could be worrisome. We would each have a handful of something to carry and then we’d bend, weave, crawl and scrap our way to a comfortable rock area, all while the water might be splashing and getting us wet. It was some event for a youngster and we loved it.

Mama would pack us a lunch and Daddy would pack the fishing gear and off we would drive , “a day and another” until we’d come to huge rocks by the ocean. We’d park the car, unload the stuff and head to the rocks. There we would be until the sun would set, fishing until our hearts content.  Daddy seemed to spend most of his time getting  Mama’s hook replenished or unhooked from the snags.  The huge waves would take the fishing line into the cracks and crevices and he’d hold, pull, jerk and navigate until the line was free. Mama was happy. She would be fishing with his pole until he got her’s untangled. She’d fish non-stop and he seemed to be getting the lines untangled non-stop. That’s sort of how it went every fishing event. Both seemed to enjoy themselves.

Those were always long, fun days.  We left early and came home late.  There was the usual stop by the bait shop out Heckscher Drive and then the long drive to the beaches.  Living on the Westside, it took a good 45 minutes or so just to get there.

So many times we came home with a “mess of fish” and had a fish fry.  There were even times that Daddy skinned the fish, froze them and we’d have a Sunday school fish fry. There was then a lot of bragging going on about how big that fish really was.

Those were many of our days in Florida.

See you tomorrow,