The Fishing Chromosome
It's not "X". It's not "Y". It just might be "F". You'll know if you have it.
Fish, as every fifth grader knows are an important part of the food chain. That is the office to which Nature assigned them at the beginning of time in order to benefit humans and sometimes cats. I don’t know if they were made for humans or not but when you set the hook in a fighting bass on a bluebird day with beer on ice in the boat, it’s all the proof I need.
And if you have the “F” chromosome, well, trust me, you’ll know.
In fact, this particular chromosome is known to set you apart from sensible humanity and force you to get out of a warm bed at 4:30 in the morning to go sit on an ice chest in a 14-foot aluminum boat and repeatedly cast black plastic worms into dark water and get soaked with spray just to put a few slimy bass in the bottom of the boat, where they flop around all over your shoes and you cut your fingers trying to remove the lure and drink too much beer and get badly sunburned and maybe catch a cold.
Every bit of it is deep, purposeful ecstasy.
Counting the boat rental, the gas, the rods, reels, lures and monofilament plus the ice chest and the ice, you can count on the bass you catch costing you roughly $300 per pound. And you will think it’s a bargain. That’s your “F” chromosome at work, shielding you from unpleasant facts.
Here’s a little example:
Bob Baringer and I were enjoying happy hour on his screened porch, still in our bathing trunks. The porch overlooked the Atlantic and it was one of those lovely fall afternoons at the beach with puffy clouds casting shadows on the water as they drifted eastward.
That is, all of the shadows were drifting eastward except one shadow which was moving to the south. Bob jumped out of his chair.
“It’s a school!” he hollered, pointing at the surf. “Want to give it a shot?””
“Think we can get to ‘em in time?” I put my glass down.
“If we run, we can. Let’s go!”
So we hurriedly grabbed rods and reels and tied on treble-hooked spinners and bounded off the porch with the screen door slamming behind us and down the dune and across the beach and into the waves. The school was right there in sight, beyond the breakers, a dark migrating mass, maybe 30-feet away and we cast directly into it. Fish almost immediately hit both lures.
“WAHOO!” Bob yelled, as we both reeled in our catch. We surged through the breaking waves back to the beach, threw our fish on the sand and ran southward to get ahead of the school. Then crashing back into the waves. Two more casts. Two more fish. Back to the beach and another run to head them off.
At that point there were four Spanish mackerel lined up along 50 yards of sand flanked by two sets of footprints. We charged through the waves again and cast into the school with the same result except that this time we were aware of an emergent need for oxygen and dropped on our backs beside our fish, chests heaving for air. This is the kind of behavior you’re bound to exhibit if you have the “F” chromosome and therefore don’t mind if people stroll past you and stare at you while you’re lying alongside some fish on a beach and struggling to breathe.
More proof …
Many years ago Steve Mitchell and I were at the “Tip Top”, pleasantly ridiculing the President and members of Congress when our mutual buddy, Jerry Collins, rushed in breathlessly to get us to come out to the parking lot to see the once-in-a-lifetime bass that he had just caught.
Catching a bass that size only happens to to you every 100 years and Collins expressed a fear that the fates might be jealous of him for having that kind of luck and strike him at an early age. He then said it would probably be worth it, regardless.
“I’m okay to die now,” he said, thus revealing that he harbored the elusive chromosome and wasn’t sorry for it one bit.
Then we did this with the mackerel:
Baringer and I carried our fish back up to the house that afternoon and hosed them off and sliced them into a nice looking bunch of filets. We determined to make a big courtbouillon and let the women do the bread and the salads while the kids tried to catch a few crabs at the surf’s edge.
It is often suggested that you have to use redfish filets for a great courtbouillon but, no, just make sure your fish is fresh. I am 99 percent certain that the redfish craze started with the late Cajun Chef Paul Prudhomme when he made “blackened redfish” insanely popular —- to the extent that the entire species was almost wiped out. Redfish courtbouillon became the next big thing, unfortunately for the redfish. Almost any fish will do for courtbouillon.
Anyone with taste buds so smart that they can discern whatever fish is in a bowl of courtbouillon ought to dedicate their taste buds to the Smithsonian is what I think.
Courtbouillon is one of my all-time favorite ways to enjoy fresh fish. Become a paid subscriber to “Eat Your History” and you’ll get a step by step recipe of the one I make. It’s all on the other side of this little line. Thank you.
Bob
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