Corpusfishing.com

[Towboat Trash]

Dedicated to you Micah, Rest In Peace, gone too soon.




The feeling of anticipation I would get every time Ralph began a story was more than a feeling, it was a quite physical manifestation of a very palpable excitement, to be overshadowed only by the very meat and potatoes of the story he was about to tell me. Every fiber of my being yearned to hear yet another beach story, the adventure and the mystery, the characters and the roles they played, the drinking and the guns and the fish and always, always, the total devastation of one's most prized custom beach rig and all possessions to come into contact with the beach. God above knows I loved Ralph Wade and I loved his stories and his raw realness which was always totally devoid of any and all pretensions of $500 dollar waders grandeur. A child of the Great Depression, not an ounce of modern day foolishness was to be tolerated. Every fiber of my being was focused solely on the tale to come. "Well, say Colin! Did you want a glass of tea! No? Well ok then, suit yourself! So you were down the beach? Were there any TROUT? A few? That's good, that's good. They'll be right there where you found them this time of year, sure will. The road to Yarbrough good? No? That's a shame. A shame. Say I ever tell you about the time I got stranded back in there? Not Yarbrough, no sir, not Yarbrough, but over down a bit at the old Back Road. Yep, that's the spot. Well, I was riding down there one day because the High Banks was real bad, real rough real tore up, and I didn't want trouble. And it was good and cold! Winter time! And I had it on my mind to go down to Mansfield to the channel and I had caught about 40 flounder a few days before and I was already figuring' on 40 more! And I was about half way down the old Back Road when I got to Green Hill there at old Dunn Ranch bunkhouse camp, and I figured on taking the early exit there. No, not the one past the Treaty of Guadalupe gates, but the one there that ran down the watering hole and the dipping vat there, the one right there by the old bunkhouse at Green Hill. And I turned that old Dodge past that first corral post and was headed back out to the beach and got into a wet spot and stuck her! And by golly, she was plumb stuck to the frame and that was that! And it was real cold like I said, and had to walk to the beach out there and wait for help. And the wind was blowing out of the north, like it does, and it was real nasty and real cold and no one was coming by. So old Ralph here, I built me a lean-to of boards and planks I picked up off the beach washed in. And if I told you I was cold, boy, I'd be lying to ya! Old Ralph was freezin! And it was getting near to dark soon, and nobody had come by since I reckon that I had come out the dunes to the beach at around mid morning. And I fell half asleep curled up there in the dirt like an old mangy dog! It was pitiful! Pitiful! And as cold and hungry as I was, I sure enough woke up to someone coming right before dark a few hours! And it was nobody other than old Troy Green! Got blast the luck! "Well lookie here!" Troy yelled. "What in the sam he** are you doing out here on an empty beach hiding underneath all that junk pile!!!!" And I got good and hot because I just knew he was gonna go back to town and tell everybody about finding me under a junk pile on the beach!!! And I had pulled Troy out a while back and he didn't even have any spare gas to give me, and you GOTTA have spare gas cans on the beach!!!! And he had held out on me! And I figured he was gonna try and rub it in that I was in such a bad way! So I told him, "WAITING FOR YOU TO COME ALONG GOTTDANGIT!!! WHAT THE HE** YOU THINK OLD RALPH IS DOING!?" And Troy says, "Waiting for WHAT!??" So I told him, "Now you don't WORRY about THAT!!! YOU just SHUTUP and DO WHAT RALPH TELLS YA!! And right NOW, you better just come on and follow me back in here a ways over the dune!" And old Troy had absolutely no hankering at all to do any such thing, he had a hot tip on the fish, he had to go make camp, he was just SO busy! And I told him you can be BUSY with all that ANOTHER day, because TODAY you gonna be BUSY with old Ralph back here at this mud hole!!! And so I got Troy to ride back in there, and we made a go, and we got my rig unstuck. And I just knew he'd be after my beer next! And sure enough here comes old Troy, "WELL!!! NOW WHAT YOU GOT!! ANY BEER! ANY BEER FOR OLD TROY!!?? JUST A LITTLE TASTE!?" And now he had held out on me on the gas he owed me from pulling him out the month before, so he wasn't getting nuthin' outta Ralph that day! And he kept on and on about how he needed gas so bad but I only give him one can of gas and I told him before he left, "And I better get my can back too!" And I sure enough kept all the beer for myself and old Troy didn't get NONE of it! HAH! And I guess that gas I gave him musta been bad juju because every time I ever saw him after that he always wanted gas! Always said he was darn near out! And in those days, a beach man ALWAYS carried 5 or 6 jugs of gas with him, and your old pal Ralph here ALWAYS had gas and everybody knew it. And Troy followed me all day years later, potlicking old Ralph near to death, and when he was almost out of gas he glides on over to camp and demanded gas! "Where's all your gas jugs!" he said! And as luck would have it, I hadn't brought nary a one that day, but I wouldn't leave a man on the beach, and the whole way off old Ralph here reminded him of the error of his ways, and he said he'd never run outta gas again, because he wasn't gonna have to ride off the beach with me again for all the tea in China if he could EVER help it!!!

--Ralph Wade, WWII veteran, war hero, surf fishing pioneer, and one of the first to fish Padre after Louis Rawalt. 2007, telling stories of the beach.



PULL THE TRY NET!!! GOTTDA**IT!!! AND GET READY TO HAUL BACK! YES!! DAM* DUMMIES! THE MAINS TOO! WE GON' RESCUE THE DYING BREED AND THEM THEY OFF CABRETTA AND THEY DONE LOST THE MAIN! NETS FIXIN TO GO UNDER THE BOAT!!! And the 62 ft "Alligator's" old warhorse screaming demon 871 Detroit rolled back and the black exhaust trimmed down to a tone that meant winch time, get the gear on deck and get it on deck fast. "Rescue mission CD! HE** YEAH! We goin on rescue mission fool!" Wynn screamed at the side of my head. Wynn and I went to work, and at 15 my eyes were good and my back was strong, not an ounce of fat on my frame. My hands were true, my grip was strong, and my will was stronger. Captain Darwin held the wheel while Wynn and I tossed the hook, hung the try net bag out of the way, and then winched the door back to the blocks at the end of the outriggers, guiding cable with boards kept for that purpose. We tossed two hooks again now in simultaneous motion and got ahold of the sugar line, pulled it to the ladder rail and double pinned it, got the lazy lines in the next hook throws, and simultaneously hung the bags. We got the door lines and ran the lines dripping wet with seawater from the Atlantic Ocean's deep blue depths into the blocks and down again into the old brown rusty gypsyheads, what we called them cannot be repeated but if you know, you know. Boated the 8 ft long 4 ft high doors and gently laid the sleds onto the door racks and shagged a** for 8 miles up Sapelo Island, Georgia to rescue the Dying Breed. "Ain't no time to waste! A man calls for help you go!!!! EVERY MAN HAS HIS TIME AND OURS MIGHT NOT BE TODAY BUT IT COULD BE! OR TOMORROW! OR THE NEXT DAY! YOU GONNA SHRIMP YOU GONNA RESCUE AND YOU GONNA BE RESCUED!" "But didn't they potlick us and all that last year?" I asked. "Didn't they drop off in Graveyard and catch up all our shrimp that one time?" I asked again. "THAT DON'T MAKE A FU*K!" Captain Darwin screamed over the shriek of a full throttle Detroit Diesel underneath our feet down below. "YOU HELP OTHER FOLKS BECAUSE YOUR TIME IS COMIN AND THATS HOW IT IS AND THATS HOW ITS ALWAYS BEEN AND IF ANYONE DONT LIKE IT THEY CAN GET THE FU*K OFFA MY BOAT OR GO GET A JOB ON THE HILL WITH THEY SORRY A**!!!"

-Captain Darwin, Captain of the Santa Maria, shrimp fishing off Altamaha Sound, Ga; Atlantic Ocean. 1996. Rest In Peace Capn'.


"You been takin' this down that beach boy!? You have? You gonna end up STRANDED! STRANDED I SAY! She's gonna STRAND you! Old Ralph knows boy, old Ralph darn sure knows! You keep on takin this down there and you gonna end up STRANDED and ain't nobody gonna come along and that's gonna be that! STRANDED!!!!"

--2006, hanging with surf fishing pioneer Ralph Wade, building a mullet bucket, and discussing my 1977 CJ5.



"Man, look, man, I walked in the door where that dude stays at and sure enough he walks over through everybody at the party. I'm like, "Whatsup man." And he just looks at me. A flash of very rare annoyance, and Micah continues. "I'm like hey man I can help you? And he finally pops out with some junk about "Hey buddy--yeah, you buddy. Listen. Those ramen noodles over there? Those are mine. And the root beer--that's mine too. Just stay away from my ramen and my root beer. Those are mine. My food. Not yours. Mine." And I'm like, "Man, do WHAT?! Man hold up!!! Aint nobody want your raggedy a** root beer!" But he was already walking away and I'm like man I know I'm a big boy and all but that don't mean sh*t don't nobody want his sorry behind root beer and his old nasty ramen, I GOT a JOB I don't need nobody's ole nasty warm root beer and ramen!"

--on the beach discussing a "shark fishing personality of the western gulf," 2010, the day I knew I liked the heck outta Micah Underwood, Rest In Peace Micah, God lift you up until we all meet on the other side.


"Ice is forming on the tips of my wings,
Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything,
No navigator to find my way home
Unladened, empty and turned to stone

A soul in tension that's learning to fly
Condition grounded but determined to try
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit, I"

--Pink Floyd, "Learning to Fly"


"Why do we never get an answer
When we're knocking at the door
With a thousand million questions
About hate and death and war?
'Cause when we stop and look around us
There is nothing that we need....

Between the silence of the mountains
And the crashing of the sea
There lies a land I once lived in
And she's waiting there for me
But in the grey of the morning
My mind becomes confused
Between the dead and the sleeping
And the road that I must choose"

"Question," The Moody Blues, 1970. A Question of Balance album. Rest In Peace Micah Underwood, gone way too soon.




There's a saying that a wise man speaks little but listens much. Well today I guess we've tossed that out the window, but oh well. Sailors and fishermen never did follow societal norms too much anyways. I have absolutely zero idea what has happened to the entire world. It's as if a man went to sleep, and when he woke up the sun never rose and the moon never set and quite literally everything we see and feel has changed while we laid in peaceful slumber. People are dying from COVID and it's complications, our border is overrun, and a thing called...Afghanistan...happened. We have our families, we hopefully have our health, but peace can be hard to find. I hit the beach at 4am, slow rolling, to find my coyote friends and set up gear for early morning casts.





And the moon kept me company for a solid week there.


A man and his freedom, rolling at 430 in the morning, on the hunt, on the prowl, on the search.




And unlike my tale, the moon still set and the sun still rose.


And I wondered, does anyone watch this ball of rock like I watch those around us?


No way to know.


But I watched nevertheless.


But the palometas made an appearance and I caught of the few of the feisty scrappers on pure flouro leaders with total purity, zero leader swivels and zero crimps, knots only.


Lovely to see you my friend, lovely to see you on such a day.


And morning in all its glory would come day after day, just waves and salty breezes and the sound of the birds of the morning returning from their nightly rookery islands to feed.


And the Spanish were thick as thieves and hard to avoid even.


And somewhere between the first light of the morning and full sunrise I just sat mesmerized by the sea. The way it is supposed to be. And it took me back, way back, to when I was just a boy watching sunrise over the marsh in South Georgia, just watching Black Island creek shimmer and shine. And I suppose some people say they saw a blinding light in near death experiences, but I suppose I've already seen that light each and every morning that I ever took the time on our glorious beach.


And it was impossible to look away, and I thought about Micah's passing from COVID, and about Heath on his deathbed from COVID with three kids at home and a wife, and tried to find clarity. WHY. WHY THEM. WHY do I sit here spared while these folks are dying????


WHY THEM AND NOT ME?


But the redfish tore me away from my thoughts and I had to go back to work.


What a size.


What a fatty!!! Fish fry for the family.


And all the reds that week were quite large.


And a very good friend and Vietnam veteran showed up. And there ain't too many folks who get folks like myself or even maybe him. But I always knew that about myself, which is why I chose the water. Folks like us will drop absolutely everything to help a friend out, but at least in my case I require as much as I will give. It's a curse but a blessing but you can't rewire every circuit in this life, and what is, is. Love ya, Joe. So glad we took the time to get these pictures.


A fellow friend of Ralph's, and a good man. Age don't mean a thing, I relate to you more than anyone my age and it was that way with Ralph too.


And there we were, just a moment in time, brothers of the sand.




And I took my leave and went and chased some trout around.


And it was great to see familiar faces.


But the reds wanted to come and mess up the trout party.


So I left to go look for Billy. And he was happy, roaming.


And as I left that day, some pretty sea lavender caught my eye. Limonium Carolinainum. A friend tells me that basle rosette leave cluster at the base is a strong antibiotic and was used by Civil War surgeons to pack surgical incisions and wounds. It was also used by Native tribes to ward off evil spirits.


But I had to take my leave, and get back to the fun, the hunt, the chase, the redfish fall invasion.


And friends had been telling me about washed in and broken off Sharkathon leaders up and down the beach, and a few others, but I hadn't tried to retrieve any. But this one, something was off. It was hung up where it shouldn't have been. I could feel the weight on it once I got the float to hand.




And I quickly saw what the weight was. It had broken off and been drifting down the beach and hung an old encrustation. No telling what metal/iron object would be inside the outside encrustation.


Hmm.






But I would get back to the reds.


And cutting it off early, I turned to head back north to the house. And promptly upon reaching the 55 mile marker, heard a loud BANG followed by a thud, followed by the sound of my entire fuel tank getting run over by the diff of my rear axle. And as I looked in the rear view mirror saw nothing less than my entire 35 gallon fuel tank following me at 25 mph just sliding down the beach 50 feet behind me.


Knowing I had 10 seconds of fuel left, I threw that big bastar* in reverse and put it up by the dune, because high tide was already roaring back in. And that was that. The tank straps had parted way up above the tank where a man can't see or get to, and all my undercoating paint was doing great down low where I had been able to get it, but with none where the straps met the frame, she had rusted and just gone and parted in two and dropped the tank. There was no fixing it either, as the sending unit had it's nylon nipples broken clear off. With no way to get fuel to the engine, I was for once and long last, STRANDED. So I lassoe'd that tank around my waist, and dragged it to the truck, and managed to get it back into the bed and seal it's inlet holes up with ziplocs and tape. And then I went and sat on the dune. Things were about to get interesting. You see, for a while now even since before Billy passed, I've wondered about people down the beach. The year round fishing tournament nonsense has really turned the whole island into a competition for so many. Would anyone help? Or would helping me inconvenience getting "fishing points?" Or inconvenience others' fishing? Would anyone care?




About 3 hours later I got my answer. This is the site of one of a few driving off leaving me there. "Well...sorry son. The wife has bad knees. Can't take you. Plus she has bad hips. Hope it...works out for you." Now I've heard sorry excuses in my time and I've given a few to my own daddy in my younger years as well in my time but that one threw me. I couldn't even buy my way off that beach riding in the back seat, on the roof, or in the back cargo area. Offered him two or three hundred bucks. An 1892 edition Tundra showed up sparkling new, same thing. And so it went. Not a soul offered me water or otherwise. One fellow said, "Well, did you call anybody?" At the 55. Now I know where to get service down the beach, but really? Any my favorite, "Well, I'm gonna go on down the jetty and fish but maybe tomorrow morning I'll be back this way."



And before dark, a fellow named Robert Hada showed up, but left and went south. And as I sat there, I watched him return. And I couldn't believe it, he said I could ride off with him. God bless you brother. And word had got out, and a friend had put me up on a off road groups page. My phone rang and a stranger told me he wanted to help, when could we go??!! And in the morning, we went down together, strapped her up, and rolled. And as we finished the connections, a fellow from the day before returned and said, "Well, after I left you standing here and drove off, I felt bad for a minute, but then I went fishing! Hah! Haha! But I did come back this morning, right?"





And I suppose I wrote all that, to write this. We've got to, and we can, do better. It took a non fisherman to help out, someone who's never even been down the beach but once. And my pledge is this, if I find you in need, if there's something I can do to help you, I will do it. I won't leave you stranded there in the hot sun or on a cold beach. And I've helped quite a few out over the years, even on charters with paying customers present, but this situation almost made me want to change my mind on that. But that ain't gonna happen. I'll winch you, I'll pull you. But I'm not gonna let "points" or competition stop me from helping you. And I dam* sure ain't gonna give you no sorry a** excuse about people having bad knees or hips and that's why you can't ride back with me. I lost three days of charters, but ain't nobody around here starving, and the truck just got the parts in and we'll be rolling high one more time once again here shortly.

God bless you all, and help a brother or sister in need. That's who we are, in the words of Captain Billy, we're "Beach Tribe." Not one man left behind, right? Not on my watch.



--Colin
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Protect Padre at all costs for future generations to use and enjoy and never forget our freedoms aren't free.

www.padreislandexpeditions.com

[deputydawg]

I was loving the pictures and words until the truck problems! I cant say on here what I want to about the ones that wouldn't help! I'm with you though you just don't leave someone broke down on the sand. That just pisses me off! Glad you got off and got it fixed!

We had a great day with those reds a couple weeks ago! 4 man limit of reds and a bunch of monster whiting and a few drum. 3 of us retired cops and the fourth probably gonna be soon! We had a blast!

Sorry to hear about your friend. Tough times with this covid crap and the world in general! Makes those days on the sand away from it all that much sweeter! Stay safe and hope the family is good.

[HungerBuster]

Great reflections and pictures as usual. NICE reds. I can honestly say I've heard a lot of interesting "I got stuck" stories. But losing a gas tank?! Man. That's when you KNOW your stuck.

And no worries. If I'm ever down island and see someone stuck or having issues, I stop and help. Heck, my wife even made me chase down a guy who flipped a case of baby diapers out of his truck bed around Green Hill with his family in the truck. "He's going to need those tonight," she said... Found him in the 40s. He was most grateful, as was HIS wife.
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Fish ON!