On Friday FD and I, buzzing with excitement, left BG for Port Clinton.
Once we arrived at Holiday Village, we unloaded the car, changed into our swimsuits, and jumped in the refreshing water. As a pool junkie, I was ecstatic to swim and tan and be happy.
FD was ecstatic to drink beer and watch me swim.
After many rounds of Blink, devouring pizza and salad while watching the Simple Life (nothing else was on--seriously!--and we didn't feel like CNN), and reading quietly, we were joined by the other Rz family members.
It was our yearly fishing charter on Lake Erie--a time we relish to bond, laugh, tan, and hook some fishies!
Friday night we all partied it up--played Euchre, Concentration, and Blink; drank some wine and beer; listened to 80s music; and laughed it up. Nothing out of the ordinary or crazy. Just usual fishing pre-gaming.
After some wine, I usually crave Taco Bell (aka TB), and luckily, my sister-in-law Q had brought some with her. FD, my other sister-in-law T, and I split a Chili Cheese Burrito.
A little while later the girls went to our room where we shared a beer, chatted it up, drank lots of water, crowded around an US Weekly, shared fond stories of Britney's craziness, and went to bed.
I woke up in the middle of the night with a nasty feeling--Taco Bell working its way up. (Trust me, it wasn't drinking puke. I hadn't drank enough for that.) I went to the bathroom and, luckily, didn't puke. But my body did rid itself of TB. Or so I thought.
Us girls were woken up at quarter to six by the guys knocking on the door--and then running away. A, T's husband, did come back to bring coffee, though, which was super nice.
We got ready in a NY minute, and then hit the docks, ready for some fishing. We were all smiles. All happy. We were tired, but who isn't at the time in the morning?
Motoring out of the marina, the sun rose over the calm water. All seemed right with the world.
Then we got to Lake Erie, where the water was choppy. No big deal. I've been through water like this before. Just in case, though, because I have started getting motion sickness during long road trips in the past year, I bought and wore Sea Bands.
About 3/4 of the hour run into the lake, my stomach sloshed and I knew things had gone from good to bad. When the boat stopped and I stood up to get my pole, I started dry-heaving. I had to sit down and put my head between my legs. I waited for it to pass.
Then FD puked over the side. Then T. Then me. It was like the scene in Stand By Me.
(Photos not available.)
From 7 in the morning until 1 in the afternoon, one of the three of us was puking. Sometimes two of us at the same time.
The three of us who don't ever get sea sick and who took precautions against sea sickness. (Stokes, you can vouch for me. Have I ever gotten sick while on the boat?)
The three of us who ate TB the night before.
I had planned a lovely photo journal post of our fishing and fishies caught. But no. Instead, on Flickr I posted photos taken by me, wearily lifting my arm to capture something, anything (even a edge of a head or arm) before passing out again.
I was a good sport during my bouts of hurling. I made a few good jokes about puking. Laughing really seemed to take the edge off.
And God Bless, T, who fished the first two or three hours in-between puking her guts out. I told her she became my new hero.
After the morning and rounds and rounds of gross bile puke b/c there was nothing else in our systems to puke, T and I shared the center bench and slept and FD went down in the hole to sleep.
I woke to see this sight. I snapped this picture.
How symbolic, right?
Bummed out, exhausted (physically and emotionally) we drove home, where we fell in and out of sleep while watching Law and Order SVU on USA. Watching my favorite detectives made the rocking motion a tad bit more bearable.
It didn't make us feel better, though, knowing that the "well ones + T" caught only 8 (EIGHT!) walleye. They just weren't biting. Anywhere on the lake.
I really love the tasty treat of fresh walleye.
Maybe next year...