Buzzzz!, I hear the faint, but annoying sound in my almost dream like state. It is growing louder each second as my hand races for the button on top of the clock. As I am slamming my hand home on the reset button my wife asks, " what time is it ?" I reply, " 4:30", go back to sleep. I drag myself from the comfort of the sheets, my mind is on auto pilot as I head towards the bathroom. I am in a dull haze as I look at my reflection in the mirror and brush the burrito and margarita morning breath from my mouth. Waking from my morning funk I begin to recognize the familiar reflection in the mirror looking back at me. Whoa ! Bad hair day. I put on my fishing hat. On the way out I grab my good luck fishing shirt and shorts, you know the kind that are all full of holes from stray hooks. With stains from previous catches forever embedded in the fabric, like little medals on a solders uniform, I wear them proudly. People think sports players have weird superstitions, like wearing the same pair of socks while they are on a hitting streak, believe me they have nothing on anglers. In the distance I hear the familiar mumble," good luck", as I am shutting the bedroom door.

Carefully making my way down the hall I pass my boys bedrooms and hardly have to utter a word for them to spring out of bed. This is not characteristic of the normal weekday routine. Quietly, I make my way down to the kitchen. The next chore is packing the ice chest full of ready made sandwiches, snacks and cokes for the day's events. Then I grab my keys from the peg and make my way out to the garage, not before starting the coffee pot as I make my way out the door. The garage door makes it unwanted familiar squeaking as it raises and I finally see what all this distracting bimonthly (if I'm fortunate enough) ritual is about! Glancing out under the dim lights from my garage sit my truck with boat ever faithfully behind. Like a good bird dog waiting by your side as you try to shoot ducks just out of gun range. You can almost see the impatient look on the trucks grill, saying "what to you so long?" I begin loading the boat as my boys make their way on down from the upstairs. They begin handing me the tackle as they wipe the sleep from their eyes. I take my first glance at my watch. My always"better late than never" fishing partner has ten minutes to get here. He somehow always arrives just as the boat is loaded and I'm ready to pull out the driveway. He must possess some sort of ESP that can tell exactly when to show up before getting left behind.

I pour myself a cup of coffee while doing my routine check list in my head. Fishing poles, tackle boxes, life jackets, fish locator etc.. Finally I hear off in the distance my friends truck as it rumbles down the street. I grab the ice chest on my way out the door. My buddy bounds out of the truck while announcing " lets go times a wasting!" I give him my patented (yea right look), as I slide behind the wheel and start the truck I make sure I have both set of keys to the truck ( another trick I have learned from past bad experiences) .

On the highway I tune in the fishing show on the radio, while looking in the rear view mirror as my boys start to settle back to sleep (another fishing ritual that all teenage boys seem to adhere to.) The radio announces a perfect day for fishing! The wind is out of the south west, the tides are running right, and the report from the day before is lots of fish are being caught. I hear approval of the forecast from the back seat, which is usually quiet by now. The sun is just beginning to rise as we reach the causeway bridge. Out on the bay all I can see is green water and a lone boat making it's way out to West Bay. I tell my partner," it looks like the weather men were finally right for a change!" He laughs and replies, "yeah, going to be a great day for fishing!" I smile while thinking to myself ," any day is a great day for fishing !!!"