There are mornings when I wake up before the alarm. I have been doing this work long enough that my body seems to know when it is time to get moving. The house is quiet, the sun is still below the horizon, and one of the first things I do is make coffee.
I usually drink at least some of it before I leave. I check the weather while the coffee is hot, think about the tides, and start going over the day in my head. Once I get to the boat, there will be equipment to inspect and decisions to make. Those few quiet minutes beforehand give me a chance to get my mind there before the rest of me follows.
I have been starting mornings this way for so long that I rarely think about why I do it. When I do, I realize that the routine goes all the way back to my childhood in Beaufort, North Carolina, and mornings spent fishing with my father.
I Learned the Routine Before I Understood It
My father, Daniel Silva Sr., was a commercial fisherman, and some of my earliest memories of fishing are from mornings when most people were still asleep.
He would have coffee with him. I remember the thermos, the sound of the engine, and how quiet everything seemed before sunrise. There was not much conversation at that hour. We did not need it.
As a kid, I was mostly excited about going out on the boat. I did not understand why my father seemed to move so deliberately before we left. He checked equipment. He looked at the water. He paid attention to the weather. Sometimes he would stand there for a moment, looking around, while I wondered why we were not already moving.
I understand it now.
He was not wasting time. He was preparing himself along with the boat.
The First Cup Gives Me Time to Think
These days, coffee is less about waking me up than giving me a few minutes when nothing is demanding my attention yet.
Commercial fishing can become busy quickly. Once I start preparing the boat, I am thinking about equipment, fuel, weather, tides, and where I plan to work. Once I am on the water, the conditions in front of me take over.
Before all of that begins, there is coffee.
I usually check the forecast while I drink it. Sometimes the forecast confirms exactly what I expected. Other mornings, something has changed overnight.
That is when the questions start. Is the wind going to become a problem later? Should I change where I planned to go? Is leaving at the usual time still the best decision, or would waiting help?
I do not always have an answer immediately, and I have learned not to force one before I need to.
A Routine Should Help You Notice What Is Different
People sometimes think routines mean doing the same thing without thinking. I see them differently.
A good routine gives me a normal pattern. When something falls outside that pattern, I notice it.
I know roughly what the engine should sound like. I know how certain equipment should feel. I know what I normally expect from the weather at different times of day. Following the same basic preparation process makes unusual things stand out.
That does not mean I blindly follow the same plan every morning. In fact, the opposite is true. The routine stays fairly consistent so the decisions can change.
If the weather is different, I adjust. If equipment needs attention, I deal with it. If something does not feel right, I stop and figure out why.
There are mornings when the coffee is finished, and the boat still does not leave the dock.
Some Mornings Bring My Father Back
My father has been gone for years, but parts of him still show up in my workday.
Sometimes it happens when I catch myself checking something twice. I remember being younger and watching him do the same thing. Other times, it is simply the combination of coffee, darkness, and the sound of a boat preparing to leave.
Memory can be strange that way. The big moments are not always the ones that return most clearly.
I remember ordinary mornings.
I remember being tired. I remember the low sound of the engine before sunrise. I remember watching my father work without realizing I was learning how I would eventually work.
There are habits I picked up from him that I probably could not trace to any particular lesson because he never sat me down to explain them. I learned them by watching him repeat them.
Now I repeat some of them myself.
Louisiana Changed the Water, but Not the Morning
Moving to the Louisiana Gulf Coast in my late 20s required me to change many aspects of how I approached fishing.
I had grown up around the waters of North Carolina. I understood those conditions because they were familiar. Louisiana was different enough to remind me very quickly that experience does not mean knowing everything.
I had to learn new fishing grounds and pay attention to fishermen who had spent far more time on the Gulf than I had. I had to become comfortable asking questions again.
The morning routine, however, remained familiar.
There was still coffee before sunrise. There was still weather to check and equipment to inspect. There was still that moment before leaving when I had to decide whether what I planned the night before still made sense in the morning.
That consistency helped when so much else was new.
I Do Not Rush the Quiet Part Anymore
When I was younger, I wanted to get moving. If we were going fishing, I wanted to fish.
I am more patient now.
I know that leaving the dock five minutes earlier does not automatically make it a better day. I also know how expensive rushing can become if I overlook a problem because I am eager to get started.
There are still mornings when I feel impatient. Maybe conditions look good, and I want to take advantage of them. Maybe I had a disappointing day before and want another chance. That is when routine becomes especially useful.
I make the coffee. I check what needs checking. I let the morning tell me whether the plan still makes sense.
Some Habits Are Worth Keeping
I could probably drink my coffee in the truck. I could carry it onto the boat and start working immediately. On especially busy mornings, I have done both.
Still, I prefer those few minutes before sunrise when I can.
They connect different parts of my life in a way I appreciate more as I get older. There is the boy in Beaufort watching his father prepare a boat. There is the younger fisherman arriving in Louisiana and realizing he has a new coastline to learn. Then there is me today, still checking the weather and wondering what kind of day the water has waiting for me.
The coffee is not what prepares me to fish. The routine around it does.
It gives me time to remember what my father taught me, consider what has changed since yesterday, and make sure I am paying attention before the day gets busy.
Then I finish the cup, head toward the boat, and start checking everything else.