She Thinks My Crab Pot's Sexy

I am flitting around the house this past weekend trying to ignore the brilliant sunshine streaming into the window. By 7 a.m. I have gathered clothes to wash, stripped beds, and I am eyeballing the Hoover when Don calls from out of town. "I checked the tides and the wind on the charts—you should go fishing this morning." he says. I took one look at the pile of laundry and thought, "Heck yeah, I should go fishin." I throw on my "go to heck" hat, pack a small cooler, grab my rod and tackle box, and head to Pitt Bridge, stopping only long enough to get some frozen shrimp and coffee. I audibly breathe out an "Ahhhhhh" as I get out of the car. By 8:15 I am walking the planks to the end of the bridge. The air is still and so is the marsh, with the exception of the gurgling hermit crabs in the plough mud. Herons swoop from the brilliant blue skies. I greet at least 30 runners and about as many walkers and dogs on the trek to my destination.

Coffee clarity reveals a few shapes at the end of the bridge in "my spot." No problem, there are side slips that I like as well. Two teens sit cross-legged facing each other, they talk and laugh in low tones as they roll up and unknot line from a crab pot. They smile and we say our good morning's and howdie doo's and then I dart down the little slip to start fishing. My breath is almost taken away by the serenity of the morning. Cove Inlet is as quiet as I have ever seen it. No ships, boats, or noises other than the slow ebbing tide gently pushing against the barnacled concrete pylons. I just can't start fishing yet.

After a few minutes, the guy and girl get up and lean over the banister and ask me what I am going to fish for. "I'm not choosy, whatever wants a bite of these," I reply, holding up the line that I am threading a shrimp onto. "How about you two? Any luck?" I ask. She looks at him with a coy grin and nods, he does too. "Well, I had the pot out all night, but it didn't catch anything, I got it hung up in the pylons." he explains. "But, it's okay—she said yes." It was then that I noticed the steel boxed crab pot with plastic coated signs on all sides that read "Prom?"

Bobby Roscne tells me how he rigged the signage and came to set the pot last night with hopes that he would bring Kirsti down here this morning to check the pot and hopefully pull it up brimming with crabs. But he hit a snag. Before daybreak, he enlisted the help of his mother and they scurried down to get it untangled and reset. They succeeded. When Kirsti Robertson came down with him she was surprised, but no crabs. I told Bobby the glitches made the gesture more endearing. The both agreed. We say our fare-thee-wells. They are heading down the bridge, him unashamedly carrying his proclamation crab pot and she carrying the lines. I am overcome with the magic and promise of their young love. I feel a twinge in my stomach, a reminder of an era long gone. Before they could disappear and become a memory, I call out to them to stop. I thank them for making an already beautiful morning fantabulous and ask them if I can take their picture and tell their story. As the picture shows, Bobby and Kirsti said yes. They attend Ardrey Kell High School in Charlotte.

I fished on Pitt Bridge by myself until I left at 12 o'clock. As the tide crept back in that morning I watched two of the largest stingrays I have ever seen ease by me under the bridge. Dolphins dove and corralled their breakfast. Sailboats and cruisers slipped by as I fed the fish my frozen shrimp. The previous weekend I had been on the harbor looking to the shore from the Jabez yacht with the Ya Ya girls. I am so thankful for the blessings of Southern living. Seriously, all you have to do is show up. That crab pot beat the hell out of a dozen roses!