The Jubilator

Jubilate: a call to rejoice; an outburst of triumph

There was one this morning, at least that’s what the guys in the office said. A few dead crabs, couple dozen shrimp, no flounder. Not much to it. Red-eyed guys in shorts came into the office a little late, still sweating from a quick shower at home. Their wet fish chatter distracted us all from the dry paper and the flat screens before us this day. Thank God.

That’s the way most of us know about jubilees around here, by the stories of the near misses and the excesses, stories told by both the smooth pilgrims and the smelly veterans. In 23 years here, I’ve only been on two or three. There could have been more, of course, but maybe I don’t try hard enough now, don’t answer the 4 a.m. phone anymore, or don’t believe that it could happen every late summer night when the wind and the tide and the rains are right. Maybe I don’t believe enough, but I know a young man who does. He lives alone in his parents’ house on the Bay near Mary Ann Beach. He’s only 23 but talks as if he’s seen all the jubilees since he was old enough to walk down to the beach alone. Maybe he has. He’s careful, not greedy, another way to say “respectful.” He invented his own gig rig, like a lot of folks along the Bay, a single ground point, smooth, thin stainless steel rod (“Barbs tear up the fish and slow you down”) that flows onto a long stringer with a red gill-net float at the end of it. On his gift models he paints the tip gold, adds a few colored glass beads and signs the float. He gives them away freely.

“That’s the way most of us know about jubilees around here, by the stories of the near misses and the excesses, stories told by both the smooth pilgrims and the smelly veterans.”

You never hear him fussing and moaning about too many jubileal fish to clean, or sinful stories about throwing fish away. His daddy raised him right. Mostly what you see from him are the beautiful pictures, all posed well, the fish lit wet in the morning light, revealing colors from the sky that we don’t know are there. Sometimes he does a sketch or a painting of the morning’s surprise.

Read the whole story at Mobile Bay Magazine.