That night, after our encounter with the pluff mud, we decided it was high time on our trip to go out for a real nice dinner, and I knew the perfect place. California Dreaming is a restaurant on the Charleston bay that has been converted from an old military fort. Being as such, it has a very interesting appearance inside and out. Inside you sit around the perimeter so that everyone has a nice view of the water. In times past, I have seen dolphins swimming around, but even without the wildlife getting to see the big yachts and deep sea fishing boats is pretty neat. Kelly would agree with this because we couldn’t even drive up to the restaurant without her wanting to get out and start taking pictures and talking to people. But I wanted to be sure we could get a table so with saintly patience she let me drive to the restaurant and see about a reservation. Turns out they don’t take reservations. It’s simply first come first serve. It was 6:30 and we wanted to walk around before the sun set so I asked if we could come back at 7. They said they would make an exception for us and make sure a table was available. And with that Kelly bolted out the door and down to the docks.
Right away we saw a guy on one of the fishing boats doing some work. This guy could not have been more of a stereotype. He had no shirt or shoes, a bronze tan, untrimmed hair under a ball cap, and was smoking a cigarette while drinking a beer. Kelly started talking to him and before we knew it we were on his boat being given a tour. Then he pulled out two fishing poles and some large frozen fish that were going to use as bait. He was distraught that Kelly had not been able to catch anything the night before, and he said, “we may not catch anything but I am going to try real hard.” Okay, the guy was a stereotype and that was the G-rated version, but you get the idea. Kelly and I fished for about a half an hour off the dock, but the best we were able to do was see a crab take Kelly’s bait and then run off.
About half way through, G.T., that’s his name, got frustrated and pulled out a fishing net used to catch bait. He felt that maybe the fish weren’t in the mood for the dead bait and that we might have better fortune if used something alive. After the first cast he caught two little minnows, which he promptly speared for us. It was a little sad seeing him do that. Even he apologized to them. And they sadly died in vain because they were of no help. G.T. kept casting that net, and Kelly and I kept fishing, but none of us caught anything. G.T. had a crab on the net at one point and a stick. So we left saying we caught 5 things. But it was fun and we learned a lot. G.T. was the one who told us we had found pluff mud. He also told us we were probably never in any real life threatening danger. This was a little disappointing because it was so much more fun to think we had escaped with our lives from some grave threat by our own athleticism and intellect but in the end we had just walked into a homogenous smelly mud puddle.
At this point it was 7:30 and since the sun had set we gave G.T. our thanks and ran off to the restaurant. Inside Kelly told the host and a manager about our fishing adventure and that if she had caught a fish she was going to bring it in and have them cook it. The manager said that they do that and he didn’t blame us for missing our 7:00 table. Dinner itself was amazing. But we didn’t have dessert. That we saved for the condo, where Kelly had Moose Tracks and milk, and I had Moose Tracks, cake, and Mountain Dew.
Right away we saw a guy on one of the fishing boats doing some work. This guy could not have been more of a stereotype. He had no shirt or shoes, a bronze tan, untrimmed hair under a ball cap, and was smoking a cigarette while drinking a beer. Kelly started talking to him and before we knew it we were on his boat being given a tour. Then he pulled out two fishing poles and some large frozen fish that were going to use as bait. He was distraught that Kelly had not been able to catch anything the night before, and he said, “we may not catch anything but I am going to try real hard.” Okay, the guy was a stereotype and that was the G-rated version, but you get the idea. Kelly and I fished for about a half an hour off the dock, but the best we were able to do was see a crab take Kelly’s bait and then run off.
About half way through, G.T., that’s his name, got frustrated and pulled out a fishing net used to catch bait. He felt that maybe the fish weren’t in the mood for the dead bait and that we might have better fortune if used something alive. After the first cast he caught two little minnows, which he promptly speared for us. It was a little sad seeing him do that. Even he apologized to them. And they sadly died in vain because they were of no help. G.T. kept casting that net, and Kelly and I kept fishing, but none of us caught anything. G.T. had a crab on the net at one point and a stick. So we left saying we caught 5 things. But it was fun and we learned a lot. G.T. was the one who told us we had found pluff mud. He also told us we were probably never in any real life threatening danger. This was a little disappointing because it was so much more fun to think we had escaped with our lives from some grave threat by our own athleticism and intellect but in the end we had just walked into a homogenous smelly mud puddle.
At this point it was 7:30 and since the sun had set we gave G.T. our thanks and ran off to the restaurant. Inside Kelly told the host and a manager about our fishing adventure and that if she had caught a fish she was going to bring it in and have them cook it. The manager said that they do that and he didn’t blame us for missing our 7:00 table. Dinner itself was amazing. But we didn’t have dessert. That we saved for the condo, where Kelly had Moose Tracks and milk, and I had Moose Tracks, cake, and Mountain Dew.
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