Corinne Trang

20.5" NITRO 898

I can’t wait to give the boat a closer look…

I love the outdoors and every opportunity to connect with nature. I’ve been into fishing for a long time, but have yet to catch a fish. Still, the idea of someday battling a fish at the end of my line is something I look forward to experiencing.

Last month, I was invited to go fishing in Connecticut’s Long Island Sound by my friend Frank who shared with me his passion for the sport. I remember him asking me “do you know how to swim?” as we headed out farther and farther away from the dock.  Giving him a curious look, I answered,

backing into the Tennessee River...

“well… yeah.” Hearing the words come out of my mouth, I quickly realized that I had taken his question for granted. After all we were not in a swimming pool with anything to hold on to, but rather surrounded by water with currents, not to mention bluefish, which I hear bite anything in sight. I started paying attention to Frank more carefully as he spoke, while enjoying fishing from a boat for the first time. Though there was no catch that day, I had but one desire…to keep trying!

I have some friends who fish on a regular basis and they know that when my number shows up on their cell phones, the conversation will eventually lead to fishing and eating the catch. Planning my trip to Alabama to visit Chris Lilly, a good friend, fellow chef, and celebrated pitmaster of the legendary Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q joint in Decatur, I mention to him in passing that I’m interested in going fishing in the area. Chris reminds me that his brother Owen loves to fish. With a couple of weeks left before heading to the airport for this adventure, I call Owen and inquire, “are they biting there?” I can feel his smile as he answers, “Come on down South! I promise you’ll catch a fish or two.” Two weeks later, life-jacket on and secured, I’m on a bass-boat riding high on the Tennessee River, fishing the Muscle Shoals area, a place famous for its music and history-”The Rolling Stones recorded ‘Brown Sugar’ here,” mentions Owen, well-mannered and soft-spoken with a charming accent only one would expect from a Southern gentleman.

L to R: Owen and Steve

We’re on the Tennessee River “flying…”

We’re in Florence, AL, where Owen grew up. It’s a beautiful sunny day as we pull up to the parking lot of a dock. Owen points to his friend Steve Humphries standing next to his massive “heavy-duty” white pick-up truck with a beautiful boat on a trailer attached to it. I can’t wait to give the boat a closer look and do. The fact that it’s a 20.5″ NITRO 898 means absolutely nothing to me, but it’s definitely cool looking. Tall and built somewhat like a quarterback, Steve says “Hi,” shaking my hand with a rather strong grip. “So you want to fish, huh?” he continues, noticeably smirking. “You bet,” I say with confidence, nodding a definite “yes,” to further express my enthusiasm.

Steve casting the net for bait.

Taking charge, Steve instructs, “Ok…Corinne, get in the boat! Owen, get in the truck and back it up slowly down the ramp.” I know instantly that I’m in good hands. The rear tires of the truck almost halfway in water, Steve unhooks the boat using a crank to lower and release the boat gently into the river. He gets in and sits to my right, steering the boat toward the landing where Owen jumps in.

We’re on the Tennessee River “flying,” the boat going so fast it feels like the bottom of our vessel is gliding on the surface of the water. It’s invigorating. Steve, our guide and an expert

la friture!

angler who manages to fish several times a week, heads toward the Wilson Dam to catch small bait. There, he casts a round blue net heavy with weights sewn in around the edge. Pulling it back a minute later, he releases the baby fish into a tank filled with water got from the river. Looking at the small bait, my taste buds fully activated and mouth watering, I can taste them, dusted with flour, deep-fried, and served piping hot drizzled with freshly squeezed lemon juice and sprinkled with cracked black pepper and sea salt. This is the way my French grandmother Jeanne used to prepare them when my uncles came home from fishing with several pounds of the stuff. Referred to as la friture, the tiny golden fish, no bigger than anchovies and served head to tail, were delicious and as crispy as French fries.

as easy as 1-2-3...caught a few that day!

“I bet you she wants to cast her own line next time.”

Snapping out of memory lane, water tank full of bait, Steve rides along the river and comes full stop to one of his favorite spots. I pick up my fishing pole and get ready to cast. Steve tells me to “swing the line.” “What do you mean?” I ask. Watching him demonstrate, he pulls the wire out at a 45° angle, a technique I recognize and associate with fly-fishing. Then rather than throw the line overhead, he swings it with a swooping motion, sideways and out far. I’m having trouble with this new technique. Concerned that I may not get it on this trip, rather than have me cast my own line, Steve does it for me, then hands me the pole and says, “let it sit there for a while. Don’t reel it in too fast. You have to give them a chance to bite.” (This is something he repeats to me on more than one occasion. Indeed, patience is a virtue.) Owen knows me and tells Steve, “I bet you she wants to cast her own line next time.” We laugh.

A day in the life of Owen...nice office!

Out on the boat, with our lines dragging in the water, we shoot the breeze, talking about everything and anything including life in general, food, and fishing of course. I ask Steve about his services as a fishing guide. Owner and operator of Fish The Shoals, he admits to having recently started the business because of the rising interest in the sport and this particular area, which is regarded as one of the best fishing destinations in the U.S.

…something big at the end of my line is fighting me.

my first catch

The fish are abundant here, full of catfish and bass as we finally get some action. Steve catches a bass, as does Owen soon after. As I’m waiting for a good tug at the end of my line, Steve offers a few words of wisdom. “Fishing is more than just catching. It’s about the time you spent with friends enjoying the day and a good beer, even if fish don’t bite.” And with that something big at the end of my line is fighting me. I’m reeling it in, then releasing the wire a tiny bit to “tire him out.” Negotiating with the fish, I repeat this exercise several times more until its head finally appears on the side of the boat. I smile. “That’s a flathead catfish right there,” says Owen, “why, it’s probably between 3 to 4 pounds. Good one!” My first catch ever. It’s a fine moment, one for the books. Excited and proud, I turn to my friends and say, “well boys, how about blackened catfish tonight?”