LAST CAST
HOOKED ON MULLET I hate to admit it, but I’ve been fishing in the Gulf of Mexico
Robert would wheeze out, “What did Fred say?”
for more than 350 dog years, better known in human
My dad would lie right through his tobacco-stained
terms as a half century. By now, you’d think I’d have learned everything about catching Gulf fish. But, as a wise man once said, “The more you know, the more you realize how much
“Okay,” Robert would say. “I’ll go, too.” He was sneaky old dude, but we were young and
you don’t know.” Actually, I just made that up. But, you know
gullible, so I can’t give him too much credit. Soon we’d be
what I mean.
in the boat zipping across the bay as the orange orb rose
Some of my first recollections in life were of my father dragging me out of bed before sunrise to go fishing. There’d be four or five of us sub-teens and teens with just
above the pine trees. His trick worked for decades. Like I said, dumb runs in the family. This back-story is meant to explain that one fish I’ve
swim trunks and maybe a T-shirt. No shoes, no sunscreen,
never caught in the Gulf of Mexico is a mullet. Oh, I’ve
no water, no food—just fishing until 10 o’clock in the
tossed a cast net over many a mullet and snagged them in
morning for bluefish, Spanish mackerel and the occasional king mackerel
…When I reeled it in close, I realized I’d caught my first ever mullet on a hook and line.
FRED GARTH
or bonita. Of course, we
For the past 25 years, Fred D.
all hated bonita because
Garth’s articles have appeared in
they fought like a world-
numerous books, magazines and
record king but were
newspapers around the world.
inedible. Catching bonita
Read his blog at:
was our early lesson in life’s disappointments.
GuyHarveyMagazine.com.
teeth. “Fred said he wanted to go.”
As I grew into teenhood, when sleeping late became more important than eating or breathing, my dad began
gill nets before those were outlawed. I even skewered a few mullet with a pole spear once and impressed a girl so much that she married me. I’m sure it was the mullet-spearing that hooked her. Or maybe that
I brought the fish onto the boat, cleaned them and grilled them right on the spot for her. But, in all those years, I’ve never caught a mullet on a
pulling a trick on me that he’d used on my five older
rod and reel. The only time I’ve ever seen one caught on a
brothers. None of us ever caught on. We’re not a very bright
hook and line was years ago when some local folks were
family. Rusty hooks in the tackle box, so to speak. Anyway,
using worms and tiny hooks that the mullet would suck in.
he’d slip in a 5am and blow a puff of cheap Dutch Master’s
They also caught ’em on a balled up piece of bread. We were
cigar smoke in my face. It’s a gnarly alarm clock, but quite
always told that their mouth was too small to bite a hook.
effective. Then he’d lean over and whisper, “Ya wanna
Au contraire, mon frere. A full-grown mullet’s mouth
go fishing?” I’d pull the sheet over my head and say, “Ask
is plenty big enough for a hook, as I found out this past
Robert.” (My cousin, who was sleeping three feet away.) My
December. I was on my semi-regular morning jog on the
dad would step over to the other single bed—more of an
white sandy shores of Perdido Key when I noticed pelicans
army cot really—and hit Robert with the death cloud.
crashing into a dark circle of fish about 100 feet in diameter.
“Y’all wanna go fishing?” he’d ask.
The water was crystal-clear and the school of fish was close
