“Since neither of you seems to be in control of your faculties, I’ve decided we’re fishing the creek,” Cooper said. “I don’t like the look of that front coming in, and I’m not going to end up a headline on CNN.”
“Safe, smart. I like the way you think,” Gordon said, raising his beer.
Cooper cut the engine, and immediately the boat began to drift sideways. John eyed the thick marsh on either side of the waterway, some fifty yards from shore to shore.
“Throw out the anchor,” Cooper called.
Gordon was quick to his feet, and the anchor hit the briny water with a splash.
“Sun’s getting hot,” John said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
“Slow down on the beer, bro,” Cooper advised. “There’s water in the cooler. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”
“Climate change is real,” said Gordon. “Over the last century, the average surface temperature of the earth has increased about one degree Fahrenheit. Now, I realize one degree doesn’t seem like much.” He paused to put down the bait box. “But to the world, it’s potentially catastrophic. And just to cheer things up,” he added, picking up one of the fishing rods, “in keeping with all the other treats this year has had to offer, 2020 is on course to be the hottest year since records began.”
“What about those guys who say we’re still in an ice age?” asked Cooper. “That this is normal?”
“Idiots,” Gordon said. “The facts are clear. The warming trend over the last fifty years is twice that for the past one hundred years. The oceans are warming. Glaciers are melting and sea levels are rising.”
Cooper frowned and wiped his brow. “What does that mean for us?”
“It means we’re screwed.”
“And we called Anna the Debby Downer,” John said.
“I’m not without hope,” Gordon said matter-of-factly. “My entire career is based on finding solutions for the future. I work with dedicated men and women in all areas of environmental protection. Wildlife, habitat, air, sea, sky, atmosphere, the coral reefs, clean technology, you name it. They are relentless. But despite all we learn, there are those who ignore the facts. And others who are simply too lazy to pay attention. To my mind, it’s not enough to watch others do the hard work with admiration. Hope is a thing that must be earned.”
John listened to Gordon, who had earned the right to hope, and felt a begrudging admiration for him. He set his beer down and reached into the cooler for a water.
“You’ve convinced me,” Cooper said good-naturedly. He lifted his fishing box and began explaining what he was doing. “I’m tying this eight-inch piece of leader between the snap swivel here and one of the hooks.”
John watched in awe. The kid knew what he was doing.
“Got to make sure the leaders are short enough, so the hooks don’t get tangled,” Cooper said. “Seen some guys use beads or spinners on here to attract the fish. But we’re going old-school.”
“In truth, I fly-fish,” Gordon confessed. “It’s very different.”
“Yeah,” Cooper said. “I’ve always wanted to try that. But you,” he continued, working the hooks, “you go way out on the big boats when you do your research, don’t you?”
“Yes, but when I’m out on the ocean, I’m not deep-sea fishing,” he said with humor. “We’re out capturing seals and dolphins for research. But when you put it like that, for both, the goal is catch and release.”
“I’ve read some of your papers. Linnea gave them to me. You’re doing important work out there,” Cooper said. “Saving all this”—his arm stretched out over the water—“for the rest of us. For my part, thank you.”
“No thanks necessary,” Gordon said modestly. “We’re all on the same side. The farther out you go in the ocean, the clearer it is that plastic has become the scourge of the planet. I’ve seen whales, dolphins, porpoises caught up in discarded fishing nets. It often results in animals starving or drowning. Ah, but the whales,” he said with feeling. “They’re strong and can sometimes break free of ropes. But they can also end up towing nets behind them for months. It’s a horrible death. Shameful. They’re some of the oldest, most majestic creatures on the planet. It does something to you.”
John took another swallow of water. This fishing trip was not meant for him to start admiring Gordon. Quite the opposite. He thought of the vintage poles that he’d staged on the dock as a joke. The joke had fallen flat. He’d never appreciated the wildlife research Gordon was involved in, all over the world. He was doing good on a grand scale. While John… He felt embarrassed now. He could see Linnea’s attraction to him all too clearly. Hell, he was starting to like the guy.
John smiled in a lame attempt to be more amiable. He clapped his hands. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road. What are we using for bait, captain, my captain?”
“We have some in the cooler, but I thought we’d try catching our own,” Cooper said. Grabbing a white cast net from below the captain’s chair, he checked the small weights tied to the bottom of the net.
“Big fish like to eat little fish,” Gordon said to John. “Just a fun fact for you.”
“Cast net. Got it,” John said with a roll of his eyes. “It requires skill to throw, a little like a cowboy uses a lasso. Americans are good at that.”
Gordon was fascinated with the new technique, soaking it all in. John gave them room while he watched Cooper teaching Gordon how to cast a net and thought Cooper was proving himself to be a shining example of a lowcountry boy in his prime. Cooper coiled up the line and grabbed the throat of the net. First, he jostled it, making sure the weights were not tangled. Then, with the grace of an athlete, he shot out his right arm and released the net. It unfolded slowly, like a chrysanthemum opening, over the water, widening into a large circle and landing with a delicate splash.
“Bravo,” Gordon exclaimed.
“You make it look easy,” John said.
“It’s not,” Cooper replied. “You can make a real mess of this if you don’t know what you’re doing.” He let the net sink to the bottom, then steadily pulled the rope back in, jerking it to tuck the net into a bag. Soon after, the net resurfaced holding a dozen small shad.
John whooped and brought over the drop bucket. “To think we were going to use worms. Rookie move, right?” he said.
Cooper cast the net again and drew it back in while Gordon baited the hooks. In the spirit of brotherhood, John went to his backpack and pulled out a few cigars. He handed one to Gordon, who sat comfortably with his feet on the rail, cradling a beer. He took the cigar, nodded with appreciation, and placed it, unlit, in his mouth.
“Cooper, you want one of these beauties?”
“No thanks,” Cooper said, picking up his rod and already casting his line, intent on getting some fishing in. “I’ve given up cancer for Lent.” He cast again, closer to the reeds. “Just a matter of time, boys, till I reel in the big one.”
“Okay, junior,” John said, preparing to cast. “You’re on.”