Sixteen Catfish and One Crispy Critter

  Cousin Marvin called. “We’re going out on the boat, we’re leaving in an hour.”

Last time I was on a boat like this, it cost us $200 each. We were freezing, the fish were onto us — like, “Yeah, we know this game, try harder.” They ignored our bait, the guide kept chasing imaginary fish, and finally Van said, “I’ll give you an extra twenty bucks to just take us to our truck.”

So when Marvin said we were taking the boat out, I said, “I’ll be there!” An hour! I was absolutely not ready, but I lied with confidence.

Snacks… none. Soda? Only diet root beer. Me and artificial sweetener on a boat with no bathroom in sight? Absolutely not. I will not touch her diet soda. I will spare us all.

  I start packing my Samsonite backpack, it looks water proof. Is it? Who cares. We gamble. White shirt, bold choice for someone who spills everything. Good choice to prevent sunburn. Note to self: you must wear the shirt! Water shoes, classy. Hey I’m on a boat!

Sunscreen 50 SPF. “I refuse to age today.” Power pack to recharge my phone. Yup No cord. Something I discovered after we left civilization. Thankfully I didn't need it.

We met at the lake. As we loaded the boat, my 11:00 a.m. alarm went off. This is important. This alarm is supposed to remind me to go outside. I was already boarding a watercraft. I considered this a win.

Marvin tossed out the little net to catch bait. Buffy and Fluffy immediately formed a canine SWAT team around the 5‑gallon bucket like it was Alcatraz. Any fish attempting escape would be eaten on sight. One brave fish launched itself out of the net like it had a plan. Buffy snatched it mid‑air like a SeaWorld dolphin doing tricks for sardines.

Wind in my hair, water in my eyes—Marvin had the engine set to “water skier evacuation mode.” I didn’t ask questions.

We finally reached the fishing spot. Marvin had six poles set up like we were running a professional operation.

I grabbed Rhonda’s abandoned sun hat and tied it on. Marvin baited three poles. I settled back with a book on my phone, but between sunglasses and sun glare, I might as well have been trying to read the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Then—BAM. A fish grabbed the line next to Marvin like it was ordering sushi. He reeled it in, rebaited, cast again—BAM—Rhonda caught one.

I sat up. This is how fishing is supposed to work? I started filling out my fishing license application on my phone.

For the next hour and a half, it went like this: Marvin baits → fish bites → barely get the fish off → rebait → Rhonda reels in another. Sixteen catfish, 5–7 pounds each. We threw back the babies.

Meanwhile, I was sunburnt like a crispy critter — not golden brown, oh no, I was red as a lobster that wandered too close to a Cajun boil. (Why did I bring a white shirt? Excellent question. I was asking myself the same thing.) My arms, the edges of my tank top, the tops of my knees… all glowing like emergency flares. If someone had even whispered “go home,” I would’ve started the engine myself and left skid marks on the lake.

Then Cousin Steve called. “Where are ya?” “On a boat,” I said. (I did not add “Save me,” but trust me, I thought it loudly.)

My 2:00 p.m. alarm went off when I was finally in my car. That’s how I know exactly how long the fish frenzy lasted. It takes time to launch the boat, find the spot, catch sixteen catfish, and roast me to a perfect lobster‑red crispy critter before returning to land.