Ethera and the Island of Evisara: Book One of The Enrovia Series

by Anna J Walner

  For My Daughter:

  Hailey James Walner

  And a thousand thanks to my husband Matt, who dealt with my obsessive writing for days and nights on end.

  I love you both!

  Ethera and the Island of Evisara

  4:30 am: Thursday, September 6th

  My favorite time of year, because every year at this time we plan our biggest fishing trip to the coast. Sure we go for a long weekend in the summer, when the beaches are swarming with tourists, carefully on the lookout for an open patch of sand, but that’s not what I look forward to.

  Peak summer is the time to broil in the sun, watch the sandcastle competition, and join in the crowded splashing at the pool. Maybe even dipping our legs into the lapping waves along the beach or walking for miles one way and then back again, scanning the low tides for uniquely colored shells, and the occasional sand dollar. Saint Joe island is the best for shell hunting, but you must come prepared.

  The small jetty boat leaves the wharf downtown and won’t be back for at least a couple of hours. Water, snacks, sunscreen, and coolers are all pulled on board. Families are eager to roam a less crowded beach and fishermen looking for less competition on the jetty all climb aboard and make the short ride through the intercostal waterway between the north and south jetty.

  We usually stay for a nice chunk of the day when we go. My mom and sister are the beachcombers, and my dad never comes off the jetty until it’s time to leave. I tend to split my time between hunting for sharks teeth or shells and climbing over the huge granite rocks out to the end of the jetty, trying my luck alongside my dad. Summer fishing is fun, but the real action is later in the year. September.

  This year is no different. Only months ago we were here, renting a condo with a giant pool, and staying for a full four days. This time however we come with a different agenda in mind.

  September is a much more serious undertaking for our family. Whereas during the summer we only brought ourselves with a loaded down truck. This time around there’s the boat that follows us and the extra poles. This is a full week of fishing fun. The live wells need to be stocked, and the batteries checked. 10-gallon buckets will be filled with live shrimp and carried out to the end of our private pier.

  Because the only store on the island is small, we’ll also stop at the larger HEB on the mainland in Rockport along the way, stuffing the several large coolers with as much as we can, then cleaning and eating some of the fish we catch. We’ll also save quite a few to bring back home, which should last us until the next September trip. The coolers that held ground beef for burgers and lunch meat for sandwiches will be empty by the time we leave and ready to be packed full with baggies full of frozen fish. Trout, flounder, red drum. Whatever we catch we usually keep.

  Preparation starts weeks ahead of time for this trip, and the excitement builds until we can barely sleep the night before. We always plan to leave at a reasonable hour, but without fail we’re all up before the sun and hit the road early, giving us plenty of time to stop for our supplies along the way. The drive seems to take forever, but soon we’ll see the Copano Bay bridge, roll the windows down, and breathe in the first lung fulls of salty ocean air.

  Today is our last day here. Seven full days of fishing and shopping in town, aimlessly strolling the beaches and the streets without the commotion that overwhelms us in the summer. We are not tourists this time, we are more like locals, living somewhere else most of the year, but coming home to visit for a week.

  Taking the ferry from Aransas Pass onto the island is amusing. The lines that stretched for miles in the summer, hundreds of cars waiting on the shimmering pavement, are gone. Less than 30 now wait to get onto and off of the island.

  The main part of town is close to empty, the restaurants have no wait times of an hour or more, and the beaches look like beaches, not like a patchwork of multicolored rugs.

  This morning the beach house is quiet, the September morning sun still hidden under the eastern offing. The annoying seagulls that plagued us through the previous days of fishing are still sleeping, not yet bothering to beg for food, or still full from last nights’ hamburger buns they scavenged from the barrels off the bulkheads.

  I love this time of day. There is a sense of possibility first thing in the mornings, racing thoughts of what to do, how to stretch our day to the fullest. It’s also the best time to get first dibs at the bait shops down at the wharf. By mid-day they sometimes pull their flags, letting everyone know they’re sold out, which is another reason we bring the live-wells. We can buy plenty of shrimp early in the morning and keep them alive with the aerators all day.

  Late summer the sun rises early affording the best morning fishing of the season, September being great for the big bull reds caught right off the dock or in the flats of Aransas Bay by boat. And we’re not the only ones who know about this time of year. The flats and the jetties are both humming with activity. But not the amateur fisherman that come in droves over the summer. This is the time of year for the serious fisherman to come here, all angling for the best spot, looking out for flocks of gulls diving at baitfish just under the water, or slicks that give away the feeding frenzy of trout. And it’s not just during the day either, not in September, it’s an all-day and night thing.

  Once the sun dips below the horizon and the boat has been tied, and dinner has been eaten, it’s off again. This time toting the large white buckets down the pier to the very end where the underwater lighting attracts all sorts of fish. But what we’re after are the trout, diving in to hastily snatch a wayward shrimp, hopefully attached to one of our hooks. We can stay up all night, fending off mosquitos and praying the bait holds out. But by midnight we usually have our limit or are too exhausted to keep our eyes open, and the day begins again early the next morning, just like the day before, and the day before.

  Yesterday my dad and I spent most of the morning on the bays, catching our limit quickly then returning later that evening with an empty bait bucket. Once we limit out for the day, we either skip the pier and get an early night or catch and release just for fun.

  Ever since I was old enough to hold a pole I’ve loved to fish. The anticipation once the hook lands in the water. The slight tug on the line that signals you to set the hook, the fight to reel in your prize, and see what you caught. It never gets old. For all of my seventeen years, I’ve enjoyed anything to do with the outdoors. But I think above all fishing and just being at the edge of the ocean in general, that’s where my heart is. That’s my passion.

  We stay at the same house each time we come to the coast. A two-story square box on stilts, with the bottom level being the garage and fish cleaning station, while up the first flight of stairs hosts our kitchen and living areas with the largest bedroom, which of course my parents occupied, and a smaller room with bunk beds which my sister had all to herself.

  The best part of the house, however, is hidden, only accessible by the winding staircase off the back. The loft, as the owner describes it, is a circular room with two beds and a wall of windows giving me a 360-degree view of the ocean and islands in the bay. In the morning you can watch the sunrise from the east, and lay down while watching it dip below the horizon in the west. It is my hideaway, my favorite room in the entire world.

  I love it here. Every summer’s end we come and stay.

  My memories of this place are cemented in my brain, like writing my name or how to form my lips when I whistled. I was never sad here, this place could never hold those kinds of feelings, the happiness and peace I felt here wouldn’t allow them.

  I kn
ew that when I was grown and able, this is where I would come to live. I was drawn to the water, the ocean, the seashore. This was my home. We’d come here all my life. I have pictures of being a baby, barely old enough to crawl, let alone walk. Pictures that were taken on the same beach we visited just a few days ago. My love of the beach and this place began the moment my fingers first grabbed the wet sand.

  Now sixteen years later I was still here, and this year would be special. We’d upgraded boats in all those years, stayed at different places, and I had grown up along the way. I could drive to the movies or a friend’s house if I wanted, I drove to school all last year. And just last month I turned seventeen, one year away from being a full-on adult.

  All summer long I’d been dropping hints to my Dad about the boat. I’d take over a lot on the lake when we went crappie fishing in the spring, more than once he let me run the boat up on the trailer to pull it out of the water or back the trailer in. Every opportunity I had to show I was just as capable a captain as I was a first mate, I took.

  We had been down at the coast for a few days when I asked to take the boat out by myself. Of course I’d been helping the whole time, throwing out the anchor, navigating through the bays and tying up at the marina, easing alongside the cleats and throwing out the bumpers, tying us off stern and bow. He’s watched me with a knowing look. I was going overboard, no pun intended, with my show of skills.

  Over dinner last night I finally asked the question I’m sure he knew was coming. Mom had gone into town that day while dad and I were out and found some fresh table shrimp at one of the local bait shops. Along with bait they also sometimes sell freshly caught gulf shrimp. The meal was perfect and everyone was satisfied, so I casually threw out the topic, like it was no big deal at all.

  “So,” I paused.

  “Dad, um, I was going to see if maybe before we load up, I could take the boat out myself once this year.”

  The obligatory glance from parent to parent followed as I expected it would. An unspoken form of communication they had, where words weren’t needed. Like they’d already talked it over. Like they knew it was coming. I braced myself for the answer, convincing myself that no matter what, I wouldn’t act disappointed.

  “So, Hailey, your mom and I already talked about it.” Ha! I knew it.

  Mom jumped in next. This wasn’t good. The parent double team usually meant a “no” was imminent.

  “It’s not my call to make. This is between you and your Dad. I’m out on this one,” she said, glancing over to my Father.

  Dad hadn’t said anything yet. Slowly I raised my eyes and looked over at him. He of course was still staring at my mother, until finally, he shot me a smile.

  “So here’s the deal Hales,” Ugh I hated it when he called me Hales, but I let it slide. “You stay in the bay, stay in the flats. No intercostal, don’t turn your phone off, carry the portable charger . . .”

  There was probably more, but I stopped listening after it became clear I was going out tomorrow on my own! We’d go over the details later, but for now all my mind could do was race with the possibilities of what awaited me. Man would it be hard to sleep tonight!

  “Thank you, Dad!” I walked around the table and hugged him, then Mom. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll get to use my tag finally.” I smiled at the thought. Each year you get to keep one oversized red drum with a special tag, and this year I was still hunting for the big one. Last year I bagged one nearly 40 inches! It took me almost thirty minutes of fighting to wear him down and bring him in. He barely fit in the net.

  After dinner was through and I did my part with the dishes, barely hearing my mother going on and on about how worried she was and how I needed to be so safe, we settled down for the evening. I wasn’t even interested in fishing the pier tonight, I was more focused on the adventure of tomorrow.

  As always, the TV stayed tuned to the Weather Channel. Wind direction, rain, and tides were all important when you were at the coast, not to mention the weather has a habit of changing from moment to moment so up to the minute information is crucial.

  Dad and I sat and watched the locals while Mom and my sister Madison played checkers at the table behind us. Thankfully she’d given up on her “be careful” speech, or maybe she finally noticed I wasn’t paying that much attention. They would probably spend their day tomorrow getting packed to go home, gathering their treasures they’d either bought or found, so the weather didn’t bother them much.

  I watched the screen show rain, but thankfully it promised to be later in the day, so I planned to be gone and back before noon.

  “Probably a good idea to head out early,” my Dad hinted.

  “Just what I was thinking,” I said, sounding as confident as I could.

  Soon enough it was inching closer to 10:00. I planned to wake up in plenty of time to go over everything, double-checking supplies and grabbing a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee before heading down to the dock about 5:00. I said goodnight to everyone and went out the back door the staircase which led around and around up to my special room.

  As I predicted, it did take me a little time to calm down and slip into sleep. Grand fantasies of not only fishing but simply flying across the water all on my own, the captain of my own ship, kept running through my thoughts. But slowly my mind went quiet and I drifted off.

  I was awake before the phone even started buzzing at 4:30, my mind already planning the day’s events and excited to get started. I swung my legs out from under the thin sheet, grabbed my clothes from the day before, and got dressed to go downstairs. I grabbed my jacket and my watertight pouch which would hold my cell phone and fishing license and pulled on my partially wet sneakers just inside the door to the loft.

  Remembering my backpack, I snatched it from the back of the chair and checked to make sure I grabbed everything I needed. I walked as softly as I could. The main floor ceiling creaked with heavy steps and I wanted to avoid waking everyone up. Taking one last look around the loft, I closed the door as quietly as I could before making my way down to the second floor.

  The breeze was steady but light, blowing out of the north, then alternating from the southwest. The dry front that blew through yesterday morning was backing up, feeding on the moisture over the warm water, and surrendering to the stronger south winds from the gulf. Hopefully, the weather would hold off until later in the day, but it would rain today for sure. Experience, not just the Weather Channel told me that much.

  I felt the urge again to be out on the water and back before the late morning. I made a mental note to grab my rain slicker as well, just in case. Not that I expected bad weather, but it couldn’t hurt to bring it along just in case.

  At the back door to the main floor, I could see the light in the kitchen, and smell the coffee over everything else. I knew I would find my dad, sitting at the bar, waiting to walk me down to the dock, a cup of coffee in hand. Some part of him was probably worried too, not nearly as much as Mom, but a little bit. To me, there was nothing to be worried about at all.

  After all, I’d been on a boat before I could walk, baited my own hook since I knew what a shrimp was. I’ve caught almost every game fish on the Texas coast, Redfish, Speckled Trout, Flounder, and Black Drum. I even know how to filet and cook them. I know how to pull a trailer and launch a boat using only mirrors, I’ve been through rough seas and I know how to tie off a cleat. I know my stern from my bow and my starboard from port. I felt confident. I was ready.

  I opened the back door and smiled at my dad, sitting just where I expected. My eyes were still heavy and the coffee smelled so good.

  “Mornin’, captain,” he grinned and gave me a little salute with his cup. I weaved around the bar top and pulled the carafe from the Mr. Coffee by the stove, pouring the hot black liquid into my waiting cup.

  “Still ready to go it alone today?” he asked, even though he had to know I’d been looking forward to this all night.

  “I am more than ready,” I assu
red him, as I tossed in a spoonful of sugar and hoped that was his only question.

  “Don’t get too happy,” he said.

  Oh great. I tried to keep my hopes up as I turned to hear what was coming next.

  “It’s 4:30 now, you’re on the water by 5:00 then back no later than 9:00. That’s 4 hours in the bay, more than enough time.”

  He could sense my disappointment, and honestly, I didn’t try to hide it. Most mornings we stayed on the water until early afternoon, sometimes all day if the fish were biting.

  “Weather Channel is calling for storms to start moving in just before noon now, and I want you back and the boat at the ramp by 10:00. I’m going to go ahead and trailer it, just in case the weather gets worse than they’re saying. Not to mention we’re leaving this afternoon, so might as well.”

  Number one, I couldn’t argue, it’s not my boat, and this was something I’d been hoping for all summer. I wasn’t going to risk arguing. Number two, I didn’t want to be out on the water with even the slightest possibility of bad weather, and alone.

  “No problem,” I answered. Hoping to avoid any further instructions I gently tested the taste and the temperature of the coffee. Too hot, and more sugar. I grabbed another spoonful and focused intently on stirring it in.

  “What’s the wind like this morning? It didn’t seem too stiff on the way down from the loft. Kind of switched back out of the south.” Act like you’ve done this a thousand times before, no big deal. Just keep the small talk going. I told myself. I brought the cup of coffee to my lips again, much better with the added sugar. I turned and took a seat on the stool across from him, doing my best to act like today was just any other day.

  He smiled, probably because my tactics were as transparent as a windowpane. “Hmmm, alternating winds from the northwest, swinging southwest, 5-10 this morning, but 15-20 by early afternoon.” He took a sip of coffee, mimicking me, and continued, a little more serious, “You know if the swells start building keep her starboard bow facing into the trough. Don’t let her get sideways on you . . .”