Ruth at Body, Soul and Spirit just did a post on fishing wherein she quoted “there are two types of fisherman – those who fish for sport and those who fish for fish.” I’m actually the former, I fish for the sport of it, to hang out with my friends, or I used to do it to hang out with my Dad.
So one time we were at a family reunion in Manistee on Lake Michigan, and my male cousins, uncles and Dad wanted to go fishing and my Dad wanted me to come along. Yay! I was all for that! So we rented a man with his fishing boat for a day and headed for a deep part of the lake. I was intrigued with the equipment this guy had wherein he could see where the fish were – kind of cheating, right?
We took turns whenever a fish was hooked on a pole. My cousins and my uncle all went first. My one cousin got a trout, and the other guys lost their fish. My Dad, being the gentleman he was, let me go before him. A pole indicated a fish on the line and I got all nervous on the inside, but I got up there and followed fish man’s instructions and my Dad’s instructions and didn’t listen to all of the other advice everyone else was trying to give me. I had a big, heavy fighter on the line. And it had to be tough and circle underneath the boat to the other side. So here I am slowly, carefully, taking what seemed like forever, reeling in this big, heavy, fighting fish:

As soon as you can stop laughing at the big hat (I borrowed it), the big sunglasses and the big shoulder pads, and whatever other icky style thing I had going on, I’ll continue my story. . . hey, all of that stuff was “in style” at one time!
The fish put up a big fight, but I continued to be very slow and methodical even though I was getting very tired (and everyone was offering to take over for me – uh huh, I don’t think so!) and I eventually, after what seemed like forever, WON!! And here’s part of the big salmon I reeled in, along with the fish man (not my Dad) taking the hook out of it’s mouth:

Unfortunately my Dad didn’t capture the whole fish on film, but it was about 36″ long. Fortunately, fish man also gutted it for me (blech!!!!). All I had to do is cut it all up, which took f-o-r-e-v-e-r.
It fed us all for dinner that night (hmmm, probably about 30 of us), and my parents and I both took it home and put it in our respective freezers and had it all winter long. Oh, and all of my male relatives were so pissed off at me they wouldn’t talk to me, but my Dad was very proud and said “that’s my girl!” even when it was brought up years later.
This is my big life-time fishing story. Thanks Ruth, for reminding me of this wonderful day I had with my Dad!
I really do just do it for the sport of it. Which reminds me, I need to get a new license. So I can just hang out by the lake or wherever I want to go and hopefully not lose any lures to the lake.
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