When I was nine years old, my family drove from Austin to Portland to visit our cousins, who lived in a big old house on the bay that was once part of the Taft Ranch. My twin cousins, Jack and James, were two years older than me, and we all went fishing in the bay in their little boat. I was sitting in the boat and the twins were standing at each end facing away from me.
I cast my line into the water, held the fishing pole with my left hand and kept my right hand ready to reel in whatever exciting fish might take the shrimp bait Jack had put on the hook for me. He was standing behind me and cast his line into the water. The next thing I knew there was a stinging sensation on my right hand and the whole hand and arm just flew involuntarily into the air. When I pulled my hand back in front of me the rusty old fishing hook on Jack’s line was firmly planted in the palm of my hand.
Neither one of my cousins could get it out, so they decided to row back to shore and get our fathers to remove it. As they started rowing, I picked up my fishing rod and there was significant resistance on the line – I had caught something! They started reeling in the fishing line and, despite my pain, the excitement grew. When the “catch of the day” finally came out of the water, we discovered it was a boot full of mud and water. My first catch in Corpus Christi Bay! However, neither father could manage to get that hook out. The only doctor in Portland was not in, so the only veterinarian in Portland removed the hook. I kept the boot.
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