I’m not a superstitious person — at least not by the traditional definition. I’m more of a habitual one.
If I have a good day fishing while wearing a certain hat or shirt, chances are I’ll be wearing the same things next time out. I know damn well it doesn’t matter. I’ve tested the theory plenty of times and the evidence always points to my habits being completely useless. But hell — who lets facts get in the way of a good story? Especially these days.
I was looking for one of my favorite hats recently and spent way too much time trying to track it down, only to remember it had been stolen by that damn dirty bastard, Davy Jones.
And no — not one of the singers from The Monkees.
I’m talking about the one who lives in the depths, responsible for taking custody of everything lost overboard — hats, glasses, gear, and occasionally lives. I was simultaneously relieved and pissed once I remembered where it was. From there I started thinking about how much of my stuff he’s accumulated over the years. Sure, it’s not a ship full of treasure — but some of my most beloved items have disappeared into the depths, never to be seen again. At least not by me.
It’s probably a close race between hats and sunglasses.
Hats blow off while you’re running. You whip the boat around almost instantly, knowing there’s no way it could’ve sunk that fast. In reality, it’s already gone. Forever. Forgetting a hat is in your lap and standing up — watching it slip overboard in slow motion — is a different kind of pain entirely. That one stings because it was completely preventable and you know it.
Sunglasses are another item Mr. Jones seems especially fond of. I’ve lost well over a thousand dollars’ worth over the years — including two pairs in the same spot within two weeks of each other. One got knocked off my face when a hornet stung me behind the ear. The other flew off my head when I got launched off the bow of my own boat by a buddy who swears to this day it wasn’t his fault. Less painful than the hornet sting, but losing another pair of $200-plus glasses into a backcountry creek didn’t exactly soften the blow.
I’ve also lost shirts, jackets, towels — some witnessed, others discovered missing only once I was back on dry land. I’ve heard stories about people losing watches, jewelry, electronics. Things you can’t imagine parting with. For a while there was even a rash of people losing AR pistols overboard, which raises questions I’ve never fully wanted answered.
My losses have mostly been manageable. Annoying, but manageable.
Except for one.
The biggest loss was my wedding band. Which is always a tough conversation — especially when it happens on the first day of your honeymoon.
After settling into the room, we decided to go wakeboarding. It had been years since I’d done it and I was excited to get back in the water. I jumped in, got my feet into the bindings, gave the operator a thumbs-up, and he hammered it.
I was up and riding like I’d never stopped. Made a few hard cuts, a couple of small jumps. Nothing fancy, but it felt great. On my last jump I landed a little sideways and went down. I popped back up, waved to my wife as they circled around, and for no particular reason looked down at my hand.
Gone.
My stomach dropped. I knew immediately there was no finding it. When I climbed back aboard and showed my wife, her exact words were, “How the hell did it come off?”
Your guess is as good as mine. But I had a pretty good idea who had it.
I bought a replacement at the jewelry store in the hotel lobby. It was cheap and it looked it, but it got me through the honeymoon without further incident — which, given the trajectory of the day, felt like a win.
I’ve always wondered what the statute of limitations is on how long Mr. Jones holds onto the goods. We’ve all heard stories of treasures resurfacing — priceless jewels, old Spanish gold, the occasional floating kilo of something that fell off the wrong boat.
Me?
I’d settle for my hat.
Or gold. Either one would work.