Sam jumps out of bed the moment she wakes up. Her room is completely dark, and it's only 5:30am, but she is suddenly wide awake. She fumbles with the screeching alarm clock, somehow managing to turn it off, and stumbles out of bed eagerly.

Her clothes are already laid out for her, carefully selected the night before and laid on the floor next to her closet, for easy access. Her outfit includes a blue one-piece bathing suit, a bright orange sun shirt, flip flops, a baseball cap, and sunglasses to complete the look. She throws these on, pulling the ball cap down over her choppy blonde bob last, and hurries out of her bedroom.

Sam finds the kitchen light on, and a sand-covered cooler sitting on the counter. She walks past this, out the front door of her house into the driveway, where crickets and other insects are buzzing and whirring loudly, and the first blue-green streaks of dawn light up the eastern horizon. The family car is lit up, the trunk open, and Sam spots her dad loading fishing poles, sand spikes, and a tackle box into the back of it. He also wears a swimsuit, sunshirt, complete with an Auburn Tigers ball cap, his sunglasses resting on its brim. When he sees Sam, he smiles.

"Almost ready to go kiddo?" he says quietly. Sam nods vigorously.

"Did you get the Fish Bites Daddy?" Sam asks.

"Yep. They're in the cooler. Hey, do me a favor and go get the beach bag. It's inside on the counter."

Sam runs back inside the house and grabs the large, pink beach bag. It's packed with towels, sunscreen, and Cheezits, a necessity for trips like these. She hauls it to her dad on her shoulder and he takes it from her, loading it into the car.

"Alrighty I think we're good to go," he finally says, sending Sam scrambling into the passenger side seat. Sitting "in the front" as Sam calls it, meaning the front seat of the car, is a rare and special occasion. Her dad climbs into the driver's seat beside her, and the two are off.

The drive to the beach is a short one, and soon the fishermen arrive at the shore of the great Atlantic Ocean, just as the first orange rays of the sun break the horizon, and shine out over the water, illuminating the spray of salt and mist created by the crashing of the waves.

Sam jumps out of the car as soon at is is parked. Her dad follows, and hauls the large metal fishing cart onto the pavement while Sam bounces impatiently nearby. Once he loads all the fishing poles, tackle, bait, and other paraphernalia onto the cart, the two begin the walk down to the water, and the hunt for the perfect spot.

As the fishermen trudge through the soft sand down to the sea, and then along the waterline, Sam strains her eyes, searching for two things: One of these things is a small crestation called a sand flea, a delicacy in the fish world, and the other is small, colored pieces of glass, weathered and roughed by the waves and sands of time, called sea glass. She loves collecting both of these items, one for the fish, and one for her.

Finally, the two find a good spot to set up camp. The spot is chosen because of two important factors. First, there is a run-out, a small river of water that goes out into the ocean from the shore. Fish are known to swim in its it's current to feed. The second is a sandbar a few yards out, which also means there is probably a deep hole on the other side of it, another place fish love to relax.

Sam's dad gets to work immediately. He orders Sam to set up the camping chairs and unload the cooler, while he skillfully ties a rig onto one of the fishing poles. Once all the poles are rigged up and ready, he asks Sam to bring the mallet down near the water, where the two drive three white PVC pipes, known in the fishing world as sand spikes, into the wet sand, one for each pole. Finally, Sam watches as her dad takes one of the poles from the cart. He wades out into the sea up to his waist, opens the bail of the reel, and casts the line far out into the water. Now the wait begins.

Once all the lines are cast, and the poles are set in their assigned spike, Sam joins her dad at the edge of the ocean. He looks out at the great sea, water stretching out all the way to the rosy horizon, and sighs.

"Look at this Sam. This is how we know God exists. This couldn't have just come from nothing," he says. Sam stares up at him, too young to fully understand what he is saying, but agreeing with it anyway. The two stand there, watching the waves and the screaming gulls flying overhead, waiting for the slightest jolt of a rod. The sun rises slowly, turning the sky first pink, then orange, then a deep red, yellow, and finally settling with a light, hazy blue. After what seems like an hour to Sam, her dad speaks again, still looking out over the ocean, shading his eyes from the sun.

"Look at that water kiddo. That's what you call pompano water right there. Perfect."

Sam follows her dad's gaze. The water is a beautiful aqua-marine, perfect for pompano. Pompano. Every surf fishermen's dream catch. A pompano is a medium sized, almost disk-shaped, silver fish. The species has bright yellow fins, and is popular because of its delicious, buttery meat. Sam's eyes glow as she thinks of catching one.

Pompano are fun fish to reel in. They put up a good fight and are smart, sometimes swimming towards the shore attempting to fool the fisherman into to thinking they're not actually there.

Just then, one of the poles bends violently towards the water. Both Sam and her dad jump to their feet, and Sam sprints over to the rod in less than a heartbeat. She grabs the line just above the reel, feeling with her index finger for any movement on the other end.
Jolt.
There it is. Sam begins reeling fast, but steadily. Reel too fast and the hook can be ripped out of the fishes mouth, reel too slow and the slack can give the animal a chance escape. Sam's dad walks up behind her and stands at her side, watching the tip of the pole.

"Is he on there?" he asks.

"Yup, and he's fighting too," Sam replies excitedly. The fish thrashes violently on the other end of the line, struggling to swim back out to sea, but Sam pulls him back. Suddenly, a flash of silver gleams in the shallows. Sam's dad walks to the edge of the water.

"It's a pomp'!" he exclaims, and Sam squeals in delight. She reels the fish onto the sand, where it flops and thrashes. A nice pompano.

"Woo hoo! There's dinner! Nice job Sammy!"

Sam beams as she kneels down and unhooks her catch, then picks the flopping slimy fish up and brings it to the fishing cart, where it can be measured. 15 inches. A nice sized pompano. She places it carefully into the ice-filled cooler, and goes to wash her hands of the fish slime. When she returns, her dad high fives her.

"Good job kid!" he says again.

"Nice job Daddy!" Sam replies. Her dad laughs.

"Oh Sam," he says, "I told you, that's pompano water right there."