Growing up is hard to do
Dedicated to Tobago and young fisherman, Nkosi Walker, who taught the old bird new tricks
YOU ARE never too old to learn. If this was not something I have always known, I would have found it out the hard way earlier this week. My son Zubin, who learnt fishing from (and with) me since he was able to walk, stood with me on the beach in Castara, Tobago, waiting for the boatman to come and take us out to sea and, of course, to see whether we would catch a few “red fish” or “Snappers”. While it didn’t matter to me what we caught, even our tails in the hot sun and rough sea, we also knew that my wife (and Zubin’s Mom) Indranie stayed home with our daughter Jasmine getting the onions, garlic and appetites ready.
Henry David Thoreau, the famous naturalist, believed, “Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after”. While he might be right most of the time, he was definitely wrong in our case. Fishing as a sport, hobby, or way of life has caught us hook, line and sinker. In terms of learning, blowing up in a boat, especially if the gas tank is leaking, is not a problem. Throwing up is even easier for people who, unlike me, just need two bounces of the boat and they let it all out. But growing up is the “biggie”. As Neil Sedaka wrote, and the Partridge Family sang, that is the one that is hard to do. Fortunately, while I found out that the politics in Trinidad after 2015 made it hard to earn, I didn’t have to get the strap from my ‘headmaster’, or the belt from my father, to learn. One good thing that I learnt is not to beat my children, but teach them. Since schooldays, I’ve heard that, if you give a man, or your son, a fish, you feed him for a day, but if you teach him to fish he is good for a lifetime. In fishing, it doesn’t work that way. As comedian George Carlin said, “Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.” Others have added, “Teach a man to fish and he will be surrounded by people telling him how they can do it better.” I’ve experienced that. What I found out from my wife is that, when a man is taught to fish, you can get rid of him for the entire weekend.
FEW HOURS TO CATCH FISH
We only had a few hours to catch a fish or two and then catch a plane back to Trinidad. However, luck and the Almighty were with us in a big way. We had been told that we should get a young Tobago fisherman, Nkosi Walker, to take us out at a relatively low price. While he was much closer to my son’s 25 than my 78, he was everything we could hope or pray for – boatman, fisherman, friend and teacher. He brought in the boat, not in high moon but early morning. While Zubin is tall and jumped into the boat, I had to pull myself up, and in, while the waves came at me. Even though the ups and downs had not abated, Nkosi stopped the boat to catch some bait with a cast net. As much as he admired Nkosi’s skills, Zubin was watching Nkosi so closely that I knew my son planned to buy a net and practise until he was good at it. The next step was catching fish instead of watching them. Nkosi and then Zubin got going immediately. It took me much, much longer. There I was, the old man and the sea who Ernest Hemingway would not have been proud of. If Hemingway were around, instead of a marlin I would have got a mauling. What I realised is that Zubin had watched Nkosi closely and followed his every move. I was the big fisherman and did it my way. However, I am no Frank Sinatra and, even though the end is near and I am facing the final curtain, my way was not even the highway. It was the low and no way. By the time my baited line and bated breath reached the bottom, the fish had already taken them off the hook. I kept on baiting the line, dropping it and pulling it back empty. The only good news was that, unlike the Government, when I lost my bait, I got a rebait.
HOW TO TANGO
This was when Nkosi stepped in and taught me how to tango and not tangle the line of atonement and astonishment. I needed to put two of the small bait-fish together on each hook. I had to make sure that my fingers did the dropping so I would know when a fish pulled on the line. I couldn’t just let the line down and then wait for a bite. I had to be alert all the time, from the time I let down the hook to when I felt a bite. Some of the fish were coming at the bait before it hit the ground. Nkosi had four hooks on his line and had caught fish on all of them at the same time, Zubin was doing relatively well compared with Nkosi, but much better than the third man in the equation – me! It took me longer than it should but I did what my young son had recognised as the way to go. Follow the leader. By the time we moved and reached the red-fish resort, I was holding my own with Zubin but not even close to Nkosi. Given his commitment to his own fishing but still with time and help for us, it was clear that we were very fortunate to be with him.
I watched my son and Nkosi catching fish after fish and said to myself, “Good things come to those who bait”. There was a time when I actually saw myself as a Master-Baiter but, on Wednesday, I learnt the hard way that the Bible was right and pride really goes before a fall. When I tried to get off the boat, instead of watching what I was doing, I got washed in and was the first rolling stone to gather moss, sand and salt water. A few times out in stormy weather and lightning, I found myself between the devil and the deep blue sea. At other times, when my friends were spear-fishing, everything went swimmingly. However, my learning from Nkosi and my son Zubin was vital. When I meet up with the Almighty, He would know that not only am I willing to learn, but also to attribute and say thanks to my teachers, regardless of race, colour, creed and age. Boys will be boys, and girls will be girls, but, when it is necessary, they can all rise to higher heights and greater glory.