I went to visit my uncle Moe in the Cape during winter break, before the spring semester. I normally go to Portsmouth to visit my Mom, but since she was going to be in Boston for the holidays, and I hate Boston, my Uncle Moe extended an invite. A little fishing never hurt anyone, well; accept the fish, so I gave it a go.
My Uncle Moe always pretends he has this fishing business, well, except he has no business fishing and no business in fishing, I guess he just likes to be on the water. We get Christmas cards from Uncle Moe every year, usually photos of fish in Santa hats adorn the front with semi-clever musings like:
Want Yule? Then Stay in the School, or my personal favorite, Did you tell Billy-Bass what you wanted for Christ-bass?
All signed; “Love, Uncle Moe Tassoudji & the School of Fishing” usually underlining “school” three or more times to really drive it home. Yeah thanks Uncle Moe, your humor is not lost on us, even without “school” being underlined.
So to the cape I went, to “Moe Tassoudji’s School of Fishing” for Christmas. I had loads of schoolwork to keep me busy anyway, just in case I got bored with the fishing aspect of my trip.
Uncle Moe greeted me at his door, even before I had the chance to alert him with the bait-shaped brass knocker, wearing his green and silver striped sweater he always wore for special occasions, he opened his arms wide and in he went for the bear-hug embrace. Ah, the sweet smell of sea water and pipe tobacco! Although it could be much worse, sea water and pipe tobacco only reminds me of my Uncle Moe.
The following days were less impressive than most, but on Christmas Eve, Moe Tassoudji’s School of Fishing was going to school me… in the art of fishing that is.
I woke up earlier than I usually like on holiday to find Uncle Moe at the base of the stairs, fishing poles, canteens, boxes, shiny-things, and other miscellaneous fishing items I assumed, ready to go. You’d think with all this gear he’d catch something from time to time, but I’ve never seen any pics for proof.
“To the sea we go!” said Uncle Moe, and out the door to the boat we went.
Uncle Moe’s boat, “Tassoudji Sea” he named her, was a 20 ft monstrosity with a motor, losing paint and looking rickety. I guess since he really didn’t fish for a living, or catch anything for that matter, so there was never a reason to “upgrade” his situation.
Forty five minutes into the trip asea, when I was losing beauty sleep and patience, something actually bit our line, or however you say it. Uncle Moe was definitely just as surprised as I was. He acted like he wasn’t but I know better. I saw him looking toward the end of the line, wondering what large fish would emerge from the oceanic depths.
“Tassoudjis Sea” Uncle Moe yelled, in a pirate-like fashion, oh yeah, he was excited. He reeled in the line and pulled out a huge (36 inches or so), striped sea bass! I later did my homework to learn how wonderful and rare catching striped sea bass is, had I known at the time, I would have at least acted more surprised. Out came the large sea bass, Moe was floored and quickly scampered about to grab a net large enough for it. Once he took hold of the fish and stored it away on ice for dinner later, he sat there bewildered and calm, like he had just seen a ghost and wasn’t sure how to react—in shock I was guessing.
Ha! The irony of Uncle Moe Tassoudji’s School of Fishing and how it shaped my winter break.
