Fishing Trip with Mennonite Boys
I packed my bag with apprehension. Would I return home in the same condition? I pondered my decision, knowing full well there was still time to call my relative and announce my withdrawal from the expedition. Eventually I shrugged away my worry and boarded the vehicle.
Several of my in-laws had organized a fishing trip just off the coast of Belize City. My uneasiness was not the boat ride since I've been on a boat plenty of times; small speedboats bouncing on the waves and bigger catamarans where you hardly felt the waves. No, my worry was the thought of what could happen out on the sea. Armed robbers, engine failure, a medical emergency. Yet the day flowed as smoothly as cream out of a pitcher. In fact even the captain, a resident of Spanish Lookout, was amazed at the perfect day especially since a day earlier the forecast had not been so promising. It appears satellites do make mistakes after all.
We left Spanish Lookout in high spirits not long after sunrise, chewed on some rather dry tacos from a roadside vendor, and discussed the weather. An hour later we were pulled over by cops who searched our vehicle for guns. Routine patrol. Enjoy your fishing.
At the marina we discovered the boat's battery was dead. While two of the group headed to the city for a new battery the rest of us sat and watched as uniformed members of the Coast Guard loaded a boat on a trailer. The trailer's right rear lights dangled in the water, the left one was completely gone, the tires worn out and uneven. My Canadian relatives raised their eyebrows and commented on the condition of the trailer. "Belizean government" I stated drily. They accepted the short explanation.
Twenty minutes later we were speeding towards our destination. The sky was filled with fluffy white clouds, off in the east a storm appeared to be dissipating, the sea was almost completely calm. About an hour later the captain slowed the boat and the excitement began. First we set up the troll lines with the captain instructing us on the process. Not quite 10 minutes later we hauled in our first barracuda. We hauled in a few more barracuda and groupers then cast anchor and resorted to drop fishing. Although a novice, I did manage to hook a number of grunts and yellowtail snappers. We were warned about triggerfish and parrotfish which are both protected in Belize.
A few other boats with locals surrounded us, their smooth ebony skin glistening with sweat, their white teeth flashing as they waved a greeting. Eventually I ignored their stares. After all it's not everyday they have the honor of seeing a bunch of Mennonites out on the sea trying their hand at fishing, complete with a sleek and shiny motorboat, a fiberglass canopy over us, a screen to gauge water depth, racks bristling with expensive fishing rods, while they sweltered in their smaller dilapidated open boats. And yet something in me envied their down-to-earth appearance, their complete ease and confidence in their rickety boats. For us Mennonites it was simply a pleasure trip where we spent our money on fish, every single one of which we did not need; in fact some of our group did not care for fish at all. Yet for these locals, their very life no doubt depended on each fish that was pulled up. While we wondered what we were going to do with a 4-foot cooler full of fish, some of the men and women in those boats were probably wondering if today's catch would be enough to pay bills and buy groceries. Two cultures, two lifestyles.
By 2PM the cooler was full, we were tired, and thoughts of grilled snapper with lemon juice and hot tortillas began to fill my mind. More like my stomach. The captain called a halt, we heaved anchor, and began our return trip.
Unfortunately due to an unexpected turn of events I did not dine on fish that night much to my disappointment. Not until a few days later did I sit down to a platter of fish, lemons and flour tortillas.
As for the cooler full of fish, they were eventually distributed among those family members who did enjoy eating fish.
