The cold wind blew through the wooden shutters with the smell of the fresh salt air. Connor lay there a second, wanting to go back to sleep, but suddenly realising what today was. "Grandpa," he thought. He quickly got out of bed, pulling on his brown pants that lay wadded up on the floor. He grabbed his red flannel shirt off the edge of the brown dresser.

"Breakfast is ready!" his mother called to him.

"Don't have time, got to see Grandpa."

"Enough time for toast, all fisherman have time for that."

Connor could smell the eggs and bacon in the kitchen. His father and brother, Tim were discussing something, loudly. However, he did not care what it was, because he was going with Grandpa, he thought as he buttoned his last button.

"Now where are my boots?" looking under the bed pulling out his Superman comics, dirty socks.

"Found one!" he scratched his head.

"Mom, where is my boot? I can't find it."

"Don't know, You need to look for it, then you will find it."

A lot of help she was, he thought. Connor kicked at a pile of clothes in the corner, hitting his foot on the heel of the boot, "Aw!" he rubbed his toe and put on his boot. He walked into the kitchen. His mom was standing at the sink drying her hands on her pineapple apron.

"Dad going fishing this morning?" his father asked looking up from his newspaper.

"Sure is."

"Take your raincoat. It looks like rain."

"Ok Pop, see you later." He said as he grabbed his coat off of the rack by the door.

"You won't catch anything," Tim said as he made a face at Connor.

"Now be quiet Tim, he might surprise you and really catch something nice." Mom said as she leaned down to kiss Connor's cheek.

"Bye Son, tell Dad I will be over later."

"Sure will Pop." The screen door slamming behind him. On the porch he picked up his tackle box, rod and reel.

Connor ran down the rocky path, around the corner to his Grandpa's cottage. He saw Grandpa outside getting the fishing gear together. He looked very nautical in his navy blue jacket and navy blue cap he always wore. His grey hair peeking out from under his cap. The lines in his face could really tell a story. And he always had plenty of them to tell. About the old days, about high tides, and all of the fishmongers that he had known throughout his life. Connor especially liked the stories about when his grandpa was young. He would tell how he had helped on the big fishing boats that once docked in the harbour. Connor waved down to his grandpa.

"Grandpa!"

"Hello shipmate, ready to get the big one?"

"I sure am."

"Everything is ready, let's be on our way." He said as he picked up his gear. And they walked along the path to the dock where his grandpa's small fishing boat was. They loaded their gear and Grandpa put the boat in the direction of their favourite spot.

"Looks like a cloud coming up out there," Grandpa said as he took his cap off and rubbed his head.

"It sure does."

"We will have to head in earlier than we thought, shipmate."

They had been there awhile and Connor's stomach started rumbling. However, he did not care because he was busy throwing pieces of bread in the water, watching the seagulls fly down to get them. There was plenty of time to eat later. Then he felt it.

"Grandpa!" He felt a huge jerk on his line. "Grandpa!"

Grandpa was half-asleep.

"What!" he said as he realised where he was.

"I think I have one! I think I have one!"

"Hold it right there, remember what I told you."

"Yeah, I remember, slow and steady. He kept pulling back the line.

Grandpa grabbed the net.

"That's it keep it coming."

"Look, there it is!" Connor smiled from ear to ear.

Grandpa put the net under the line. They both leaned over the edge of the boat. When all of a sudden the fish flipped off of the line.

"Oh no, it was so big. No one will believe me." Tears started to well up in his eyes. He put his hand up to wipe one away.

"Well that sure is a shame, but we will get him next time." Grandpa said as he rubbed Connor's blond hair. A bolt of lightning went across the sky and the wind began to pick up.

"Shipmate, better head back before we get caught up in this storm like me and a old fishmonger did in the spring of '33."

"Okay. What will I tell everyone back at the house?"

"Well let me see. Grandpa said. Why don't you tell them something that Hemingway might say in a situation like this?"

"Yeah, Grandpa that's it." A big smile came across his face. Connor sat down in the boat thinking about the tale he would tell, especially to Tim. Grandpa steered the boat for home, singing "Blow the Man Down."

"Connor!"

"Yes?" He said, as the present came crashing back. He blinked his eyes and raised his seat up. Karen, his assistant, was standing in his office.

"Where were you? You seemed a million miles away."

"I was thinking about Hemingway," Connor smiled.