Gone Fishing
One catch and she was hooked!
It took one memorable weekend—and her first catch—to get this girl hooked on fishing for life.
As a kid, I always knew what Friday meant. Although to many people it meant fish for supper, to me it meant fishing all weekend. As soon as I got home from school, we’d pack up the camper and head out to our favourite fishing spot. It was kind of boring for a 12- year- old, but that was how it was. I was too young to stay home alone and not old enough to appreciate “parent time.”
Mom and I went along for the ride, but Dad really loved it. It was his joy, his thing. There would be no stopping for a stretch or goodies, as we had to get to camp before anyone else in order to get the best spot. Dad would be first out of the car, unhooking the camper and unloading the fishing gear. That done, he’d casually announce, “I’ll go catch supper while you girls set the table and get the fire going.”
We often didn’t eat until 7 or 8 p.m., but we’d patiently nibble on something—mom would sometimes have a glass of wine and some cheese and crackers. I preferred a big old chocolate bar, with chips and pop on the side.
Then came the weekend shortly after Dad had retired. Mom had been asked to work late, so best if we go ahead without her and she’d drive out the next day. Of course, we were disappointed but we packed up a few cans of beans and hotdogs—the “just-incase substitute dinner.” I grabbed some books and a sweater for around the campfire.
A few hours later, we pulled into camp and set up. Dad stood looking out at the lake, watching the sun shimmering on the water. He seemed unsure about what to do. Tentatively he asked, “I guess I’ll go get us some supper. Do you want to come along?”
Usually this was my parents thing, their Friday-night date; I’d stay back and watch the fire, but tonight was different. The fire could wait, the fish wouldn’t and neither of us wanted to be alone.
I picked up Mom’s rod and a couple bottles of pop. We sauntered down the familiar path to the little rock overlooking a quiet dark pool—the special pool.
“This shouldn’t take long.” Dad had his stance set and waited quietly for the right fish to come along. I’d propped Mom’s rod between my knees as I leaned against the tree reading my book. This was not exactly the position of someone expecting to catch a fish— but then it happened! The line started running out and the rod was jerking up and down like crazy. I had no clue what to do. I yelled for Dad, although he was only a few feet away. “Dad, help me, I’m going to lose our supper!”
Calm as usual, Dad put down his rod and assured me that I would do just fine.
“No, Dad, here—you do it. I really don’t like to catch fish. I just wanted to be here while you caught the fish.”
Dad took the rod and in a minute had everything under control while I just sat and shook. I needed chips, lots of chips.
Then I heard the words I knew Mom loved to hear. It was Dad talking to the fish and persuading him to give up