Live bait, cheese puffs & mosquito bites.

I was rummaging through my collection of short stories to find one I'd like to post here in my blog.  I've got quite a few to choose from, but when I stumbled across this one.... I knew it was the one!

This is a story based on true facts! I wrote it for a contest way back when... I think it was "Chicken soup for the fisherman" or something like that.... Didn't win anything.  That doesn't matter though, because I've got a vivid memory on paper, and although I'll always remember these times, it's nice to read it once in awhile for a chuckle. 

My brother and I often discuss our fishing trips that we used to go on now and then..... our discussions ususally end up with both of us crying with laughter because our fishing trips were quite the spectacle.   No wonder we never caught any fish.

Anyway .... The following short story is based on real events.... and it's not embellished one bit ;-)
(I'm fairly sure my brother will attest to that)

So let's go fishing....


Live bait, cheese puffs & mosquito bites.

The sun threatened to disappear, and the full moon was ready to start its nightshift. I heard rocks pop underneath our tires as we drove down the gravel road. I could see the lake. My brother and I were excited about the prospects of catching our first fish.
“I’ll get the biggest fish,” he said and I just laughed and shrugged. I knew I would catch more fish than he would, and they would probably all be bigger than his catch.

As the car stopped, we unbuckled our seatbelts, flew out of the car, pulled out our brand new fishing rods and the bag of cheese puffs and a thermos of hot chocolate that we were looking forward to share while waiting for our first fish.
We approached the lake, found a nice spot to settle down at, and dad started teaching us how to assemble our fishing rods. He reached into his fishing bag and pulled out a box.
“It’s time for you to bait your hook,” he grinned as he popped the lid off, revealing a pile of squirming earthworms. I watched in horror as my brother bravely stuck his hand into the box and pulled out one of the critters. It was so slimy; he dropped it several times, before he finally was able to nail it with the hook.
He sent me a triumphant look that said: “I bet you’re too girly to touch these worm.”
Hah! I would show him!
Determined to do this, I shoved my hand into the container. I tried not to notice the cold, wet worm that was now squirming around in the palm of my hand. I grabbed the hook and quickly impaled the beast. I concentrated really hard to hold back my emotional outbursts as worm feces were squirting out of both its ends and all over my hand. However, I had proven my point!

It was time to go fishing!

Dad showed us how to throw.
“Looks easy,” I said and picked up my fishing rod.
Confidently I pulled the pole back and yanked my arms forward, listening for that “plop” in the water as my bobber hit the surface.
There was no plop.
I was brought back to reality and I realized that my hook and my line had not yet hit the water.
How far had I thrown this thing?
I heard my brother giggle as he pointed to my fishing line, which strangely enough had defeated gravity and stood straight up into the air.
“You realize that the fish is in the water, and not up in that tree,” my father calmly informed me while trying to unhook my fishing pole from the branches of the big tree that miraculously had appeared behind me.

I could have sworn I didn’t see a tree there before!

After 10 minutes of detangling my line and re-baiting the hook, I proudly threw my hook into the water. It didn’t fly as far as my dad’s did, but I was proud of the distance I managed to throw it. My brother had already had his hook in the water for 10 minutes, luckily though, he still hadn’t gotten a bite.

We watched our bobbers with excitement. If either of them moved just a little, we’d spring to our feet, hold our breath and be deathly quiet, then sit back down a few moments later, realizing it was the waves that were moving the bobber up and down.
My mind wandered to the cheese puffs and the hot chocolate, wondering when we would get to dig into the snacks. My brother and I exchanged looks, silently debating over which one of us should bring it up, when my dad saved us both the trouble as he grabbed our bag and started delegating snacks.
I was consuming my third cheese puff, when all of a sudden my bobber went under water.
I held my breath, waiting for it to appear again, but it didn’t.
“Dad!” I whispered.
He finished pouring his coffee and it felt like years passed by before he finally screwed the top back on to his thermos and came over.
“Look, my bobber is gone!”
It was really hard to whisper. I was so excited.
“So it is,” he calmly said and I grabbed my pole ready to reel in my big catch.
“Not yet." So he said.
What do you mean not yet???? I felt like screaming, I was hopping from one foot to another, deathly afraid that the fish would escape, not knowing at the time that this was exactly why we were waiting a few extra minutes.
“Looks like it’s on really tight, I don’t see the bobber at all,” my dad said. “I guess you can start reeling him in.”
I started working the reel. It got extremely heavy and I handed it over to my dad.
“Must be a big one,” I said, ignorantly unaware of the grin on dad’s face as he violently jerked the fishing rod around.
“What are you doing, we’re gonna lose the fish!” I said and tried to grab the pole back.
“Wait and see,” my dad said as the pole finally seemed to get lighter, and my dad reeled in the rest of the line.
“Congratulations, you just pulled out half the bottom of this pond.”
I gave my brother the evil eye, which didn’t stop him from rolling around on the ground, laughing hysterically at the big muddy lump of weeds that was attached to my fishhook.
I grumbled as I went back to the bucket of worms, dug a couple of them up, baited my hook like a pro and threw it back in.

As I waited for that fish to bite, I started noticing my surroundings. It was quiet tonight. I heard an occasional splash out on the lake. Bugs were buzzing by, making me slightly nervous, as I couldn’t see what it was. A mild breeze gently swept across my face, playing with my hair, and it was at that moment I realized that fishing wasn’t about how many fish I caught or who got the biggest fish. Fishing was about this whole experience, about sitting there, waiting in excitement for something to maybe bite on to my hook, being out here in the wilderness, enjoying scenery around me that people are too busy to even notice.
It was about spending quality time with my family, quality time that made such an impression that today, 20 years later, I’m writing a story about it.

Going home, my brother and I sat in the backseat, making up stories about the fish that got away, so we’d at least have something to tell people about our first fishing trip. My dad glanced at us in his rearview mirror and shook his head, and I stopped in the middle of our tale, looked at my brother and said:

“I think we’ll just say we didn’t get any fish.”

We exchanged looks and I knew he had come to the same conclusion as me.
We stared out the window as we drove home, already dreaming about our next fishing trip.
“But next time… I’ll get the biggest fish,” he said.
“I’ll get more fish than you,” I replied and grinned.

Our first fishing trip.
We grew up a little that night.