I don’t fish.
When I was much younger, my dad would take a bunch of us out to a creek and we would all share a few fishing poles. Since then, no fishing. In fact, I became a vegetarian. I have no interest in fish or in fishing.
But my son, The Boy, does have an interest. He’s five and has been asking to go fishing. It seemed more than a passing fancy, so I agreed to take him fishing. First, we have to get the equipment.
“What do we need,” I asked him, “to go fishing?”
He listed the required items. “Worms, a stick, and a net,” he told me.
My brother-in-law, Paul, agreed to be our fishing guide. One afternoon, he called and told me to meet him at 4:00; he’d bring the poles and bait. I mentioned the net. He said we didn’t need a net. I didn’t figure The Boy would be satisfied if we didn’t have a net, so I went out to purchase one. He specified he wanted an orange one with a long handle and a long net.
At 3:30, I went to Gander Mountain to obtain a fishing license and net. At the time, I wasn’t sure I’d even put a baited hook in the water. I certainly didn’t want to catch anything. But, I wasn’t sure if the game warden would believe me, so I got a license.
I think I scared the clerk.
“I’d like a 24-hour fishing license, please,” I said, still holding out hope that sitting out there watching a pole not catch fish would relieve The Boy of his fishing fad.
“Starting when?” she asked.
“Right now!” I blurted.
“What time is it?”
“About 3:30.”
“Will you be catching trout?”
“I don’t plan to catch anything.”
It turns out, they (I’m not sure who “They” are, probably the bureaucrats in St. Paul) were trying to re-popularize fishing. For $2.50 more than the 24 hour pass, I got a non-trout half-limit season license. Someday in the near future, I’ll figure what the other half of that means.
So I get my license, and the lady says, “I’m sure you’ll catch something.” Not sure she got the point. Of course, if she did, she’d wonder if I got the point of fishing. So we’re even.
Next, the net. There were all kinds of long fishing nets. All of them at least triple what I wanted to spend. Nearby, there was a heavy-duty aluminum-handled butterfly net. Mine!
I went back to the counter to purchase it, even though the handle wasn’t orange. The same clerk was there. “You can’t use that for fishing,” she joked. Then she realized I had every intention of using it for fishing. “Or maybe you can.”
License purchased. Net purchased.
I went home and woke up The Boy from his nap. We got our stuff together (mostly hats and extra clothes because it was raining). As we were heading out to the car, he asked to see the net. The moment of truth had arrived.
He looked at the net. Inspected it. Then he found the magical voice which was quiet, almost a whisper, yet forceful, “Awesome!”
In the car we went. I drove two blocks away. I pulled into a driveway. Turned around and went home.
“Why are we going back?”
“I forget Uncle Paul’s phone number.”
Home. Phone number. Back in car. Away we go.
I got to Gamehaven Lake, where we were to meet. Paul and I decided drive down the road to see if we could get closer to the lake. About a mile down the road, we came to a boulder. We could either ram our way into the boulder, get stuck in the marshy area on the sides of the road, or walk. We walked.
And walked. And walked. Finally, we saw a building. It looked familiar. It was building near the parking lot we had left. We had come full circle. (Although, our cars were a half-circle back.)
We went to the ranger’s house and asked directions. We were pretty far off. The road we followed took us further away from the lake. On the bright side, though, The Boy spotted a wild turkey along the way–which we would never have seen if the adults were . . . how to say . . . competent hikers.
But we are adventurers, so we tried again. (And almost went another wrong route.)
The path to the lake was pretty long and wet. They had a wooden path to help us through the swampier parts. Helpful, it was, too, even though it was thoroughly slick from the rain and everything.
But we followed the path and ended up at the lake.
Time to get the tackle box open and start drowning worms.
So, we got The Boy’s hook baited and he was fishing.
Then we started get my hook bait …Oh! The Boy caught one! Good job, son! Your very first ever fish on your very first ever attempt. Let’s get some pictures. Good!
So, we got The Boy’s hook baited, again, and he was fishing, again.
Then we started trying to get my hook baited agai… Oh, The Boy caught one. Wow! Two fish caught before The Old Man got started! More pictures. Good.
So, we got The Boy’s hook baited, AGAIN, and he was fishing, AGAIN.
Then we started trying to get my hook baited, AGAIN. I’m to the point now where I can put a worm on a hook. I wasn’t then. Ugh, that’s an unfortunate experience. But I had a hook with bait and it was time to cast. Then I realized something.
I don’t know how to cast. I tried several times. (Often, the hook ended up behind me.) Finally, I messed up so much that the hook ended up in the water. Good enough. C’mon fish. Show me what you got.
A sense of humor; that’s what they got. They kept stealing my bait and leaving seaweed type plants on my hook. What’s that, son? You’re having a great time? That’s good.
After a long while, I caught a fish. Good job, Dad. Let’s get some pictures. Good. Now, I can say that I’ve caught a real live fi… Oh, The Boy caught another one. Good job, son. Yeah, I think we’re done with pictures for a while. Out of worms? So sad to hear it.
So, we took our bucket of water and fish, and dumped it back in the lake. The fish were home again. Terrified, injured, and lacking oxygen. But home. And fed.
It was time for us to go home and get fed. So we followed the path back to the parking lot. Then we followed that road back to our cars.
When we left the cars by the boulder, it was 4:15. When we got back to the cars, it was 7:45. In between, a lot of walking, a lot of standing, a lot of rain, and some wet shoes and socks. Not once did The Boy even acknowledge that he was tired or uncomfortable. I’m very proud of him for that. I would have given him a big hug, right then. But I was very tired and just looking at his wet clothes made me feel very uncomfortable, so I didn’t. We thanked Uncle Paul and went home to tell our stories.
Pretty fishy, huh?