My Wild Ride with Jimmy Buffett

Fishing off the coast of South Carolina meant a loud blast of Jimmy Buffett - enough to be heard over the roar of the diesel engines.

Sport fishing off the coast of South Carolina meant leaving Harbour Town somewhere between 3 and 4 a.m., full throttle to the Gulf Stream. To keep himself awake and our spirits high, our Captain prepared to take the music of Jimmy Buffett along, singing “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” “Margaritaville,” “Son of a Son of a Sailor,” among all the famous others.

It was early morning, and the crew was busy making sure there were no loose, tangled lines, no items left out that could be tossed about in rough seas. All things were battened down, behind railings, and in trunks or cabinets when not in use. From my position on the fly bridge, I could hear their footsteps, commands being relayed, and sounds of work being done on the deck below.

The rhythmic clatter of the diesel engine, a heartbeat against the morning silence, signaled the boat’s awakening. The hull creaked as ropes were now released, a groaning whisper of farewell to the sturdy dock. Seagulls cry overhead. I could hear the gentle lapping of water against the hull —a comforting melody and a reminder of the journey ahead.

As we pulled out of the harbor, reflections of the boat shimmered on the water, mirroring the boat’s movement away from the harbor. Soon, the harbor structures rendered with soft outlines faded into the background. I could smell a subtle hint of diesel fuel, a reminder of the boat’s power. At that moment, I was beyond my comfort zone, embracing the unknown, leaving the safety of the familiar to face the challenges that lay ahead. This was a voyage of self-discovery, chasing dreams even when the path was uncertain. I was excited and nervous at the same time.

“Does this boat embody the spirit of resilience and determination to face any challenges that lie ahead?” I knew that to achieve anything great, one must first leave the safety of the harbor and set sail into the vast ocean of possibilities.

The wind began to pick up as we pulled out of the harbor. I could hear the rhythmic groaning of the boat itself as it flexed with the waves, and now I began to smell the crisp, salty scent of ocean air.

Next to me was Captain Buddy, who showed no signs of slowing down as wind and waves began crashing against the hull. The boat swayed, rocked, and pitched as he navigated the waves, winds howling along with the sound of Buffett still singing “Cheeseburger in Paradise.”The vast majority of his songs sound just as good sober as they do if you’re, well, wasting away in a grass skirt and a coconut bra. I hung on, tried to listen to the music, and braced myself, anticipating the next wave.

As we continued toward the Gulf Stream, the ocean eventually began to “lay down,” and I began to feel exhilarated by thoughts of the catch.