What You Choose to Ignore

Notes From the Waterline | Friday

Friday nights by the water have a way of slowing things down.

The boat is ready. Fuel topped off. Ice already melting in the box. The forecast looks decent enough that you can make a case for going, which is all most fishermen really need. You sit there a while longer than necessary, drink in your hand, watching the lights move across the marina.

This is when the weekend really starts.

Not when the engines fire. Not when you clear the inlet. It starts here, when your mind begins running ahead of the boat.

You think about where you will start. Where you will run if that does not work. You think about numbers you saved months ago and the guy who said he did well somewhere you have never been. You tell yourself you will decide in the morning, knowing full well you already have.

Most people think offshore fishing is about finding fish. That is what they say because it sounds right. But it has not been true for a long time. Finding fish is easier now than it has ever been. There is no shortage of information. There is too much of it.

The hard part is deciding what not to listen to.

Offshore has a way of letting you believe you are close. Close enough to keep running. Close enough to ignore the clock. Close enough to burn another hour because the screen still looks promising. It does not rush you. It does not argue. It simply waits and lets you talk yourself into it.

When you are younger, movement feels like progress. You run because running feels responsible. You change plans because changing plans feels like thinking. Sometimes it works just enough to teach you the wrong lesson.

Later on, if you stay with it long enough, you begin to notice something else. The men who are still doing this year after year do not move much. They do not rush. They sit longer. They wait. They understand that stillness is not hesitation. It is restraint.

There is an old line that gets passed around docks for a reason.
Never leave fish to find fish.

It sounds simple until you remember how often you have ignored it.
You leave fish because the water looks better somewhere else.
Because someone sounded confident on the radio.
Because staying put feels like settling.

The ocean does not care about your restlessness.
It cares about timing.

Gamefish chase bait. Fishermen chase the horizon.
The fish cannot help it. Neither can we.

Somewhere along the way you learn that more information does not always help. At a certain point it only adds weight. It makes decisions heavier instead of clearer. That is when judgment matters. Not the loud kind. The quiet kind you do not announce.

This is where boats come into the picture, though not in the way people like to talk about. A good boat does not make you smarter. It just leaves you with fewer places to hide. When the boat runs right and the systems are simple, excuses fall away. If the call is wrong, you feel it plainly.

Sometimes the call is right and it still does not work.

That is the part that stays with you. Coming back clean after doing everything the way you meant to. No story worth telling. Just a long run home and the sound of water sliding past the hull.

Those days are not wasted. They do not feel good, but they stay useful. They teach you when to stop chasing. When to sit. When to accept that nothing is also an answer.

You start to recognize the men who understand this. They are calm at the dock in the morning. They are not loud about their plans. They are comfortable with quiet stretches. Comfortable letting a spot work instead of forcing it.

They are not trying to win the weekend.

They are trying to fish it clean.

So before you head home tonight, before you set the alarm and lay out your gear, sit with that for a minute. Let the drink settle. Let the plan be simple. Decide what you are willing to ignore.

The chase does not change when the weekend comes.

It waits.

And it has a way of showing you exactly what you brought with you.