X-posted to Myspace-a fishing story...
Cut for length
It all began with a fishing pole.... two of them
in fact: One was left to me by my step-great grandfather George which he
used for deep-sea fishing, and the other was a an awesome pro rod left by a
former roommate when he was incarcerated for his third DUI (No, not that one, -
it was Brad. The one you thought of first was not arrested in that year
as far as I know.... but a good guess anyway*^.^)
ANYWAY.... John and I live across from a large, artificial lake stocked with
all sorts of lovely fish, it seemed like a shame not to take advantage of it.
So, last week, I dug up some worms, went to the redneck gun, paintball
& tackle emporium (a large white building with bars on the windows and a
sign claiming, "All staff on premises are licensed to carry firearms-
Shoplifting will not be tolerated..."= Redneck or Libertarian. Or
both.) on route 313 and bought myself some hooks and some BDSM looking lures in
addition to dropping $27 on a fishing license. All said and done, it ran me
under $40.00 and I thought that catching my own food would be worth the
investment (ha ha.... how little I knew...)
It took us about 2 hours to figure out how to cast the lines without tangling
them, and to make things unbearably worse, a group of mallards sat on the bank
nearby calling at us with what sounded remarkably like laugher. Even
further- a very nice Spanish speaking family of six was fishing about 20 ft
away and every so often we would hear:
"Papi! Papi! We caught ANOTHER one! That makes it
Nueve!!" (Not what one wants to hear when tangled in 10 feet of line with
a hook snared in a nearby tree...)
No fish caught by us, aka Team Incompetence...however- towards the end the fish
became quite adept at stealing our worms and then jumping out of the water
right in front of us to underscore the point. At least we provided
adequate entertainment for them.
First the ducks, then the fish themselves mocked us-I can take an insult pretty
well, but that was a bit far even for me-.-
Even worse, the reel stopped working on my great-grandfather George’s fishing
pole-just as I lost one of the kinky-looking lures to a rock in the middle of
the lake as I was attempting (abortively) to fix the line.
Dejected, we asked the lovely family next to us what we were doing wrong- they
showed us that they were having great success with smaller hooks and small
minnows as bait. They also suggested picking up a bobber or two.
Yes. We fished without bobbers. We suck.
Undeterred, John and I decided to give it another go on his next day off-and exact
our revenge on those smartass little bluegill’s (and ducks...but that comes
later)
So back to the redneck emporium, with Pop pop George's fishing rod in
hand. Turns out the reel isn't worth fixing...some spring inside it rusted to
non-existence-but I was able to rig it to kind of work for the
day.
We bought another white spinner jig lure (I lost the last one under a rock in
the middle of the lake somewhere) 10 more hooks about a third of the gauge as
the old one's...and about 25 small live minnows.
This time we meant business.... We brought our Styrofoam cooler filled with
ice, a fridge pack of Coca-Cola, and bobbers. Glorious bobbers-and the
nice man behind the counter didn't even laugh at us outwardly as he showed us
how to attach them.
Made our way to the lake...the Spanish-family's spot was open so we set up camp
there first. No luck- so we crossed the pier to the other side.
After about 5 or six tries John and I learned how to bait the hooks without
"escape" or too much blood....
I was on the shit-rod, and John had the decent one.
On my rod the metal brackets securing the reel to the ancient pole
eroded. This forced me to hold on to reel for dear life each time I
casted or the entire apparatus ended up in the water...again tangling the line
past redemption.
Towards the end of the day, I was left with only about 30 feet of line, and the
reel ended up in the drink about three or four times-I stopped counting.
And even when I caught something, since reeling it in was next to impossible, I
usually didn't have a chance to reel in the little fucker- and lost my bait to
boot. I think I only had about 6 bites out of the entire 4 hours...but I
did actually manage to catch a modest size pan fish about 6 inches long with
little struggle when I did trick the rod into working.
As for John...
He caught a duck...who wisely spit out the hook and made off with his
minnow. Man, was he ticked off, - However, the duck seemed pretty content.
Then my reel flew into the water for the last time...line tangled, bait stolen.
Thus, we left the lake, sunburned, mildly heat stroked.... but successful with
our singular catch of one small crappie.
I came home, plugged into youtube with the fish still on ice and attempted to
teach myself to filet the little fucker....
...and found that Pop pop George’s Filet knife was about as good as his fishing
rod. After a bit of a struggle with the dull filet knife I managed to get
two boneless, skinless filets.
...About the size of one whole chicken Mcnugget in combined mass. Woot.
Undeterred. I rolled it all into a little ball, coated it with flour and
pepper and fried it in a tablespoon of butter, as my cat sat on my feet royally
annoyed that I refused to share any of this heavenly repast with her.
I wish I could say that one fish Mcnugget was a satisfactory end to the
day...and that the delicate flavor in such a small quantity was a gourmet
experience.
But, in truth, it tasted like buttered flour. When I added lemon juice, then it
tasted like buttery flour with lemon juice. Now I know why people usually
catch about 15 of them at a time.... it takes that many to make a meal for one
small child.
On the bright side, at least I have this story....
So, anyone want to come fishing?
It all began with a fishing pole.... two of them
in fact: One was left to me by my step-great grandfather George which he
used for deep-sea fishing, and the other was a an awesome pro rod left by a
former roommate when he was incarcerated for his third DUI (No, not that one, -
it was Brad. The one you thought of first was not arrested in that year
as far as I know.... but a good guess anyway*^.^)
ANYWAY.... John and I live across from a large, artificial lake stocked with
all sorts of lovely fish, it seemed like a shame not to take advantage of it.
So, last week, I dug up some worms, went to the redneck gun, paintball
& tackle emporium (a large white building with bars on the windows and a
sign claiming, "All staff on premises are licensed to carry firearms-
Shoplifting will not be tolerated..."= Redneck or Libertarian. Or
both.) on route 313 and bought myself some hooks and some BDSM looking lures in
addition to dropping $27 on a fishing license. All said and done, it ran me
under $40.00 and I thought that catching my own food would be worth the
investment (ha ha.... how little I knew...)
It took us about 2 hours to figure out how to cast the lines without tangling
them, and to make things unbearably worse, a group of mallards sat on the bank
nearby calling at us with what sounded remarkably like laugher. Even
further- a very nice Spanish speaking family of six was fishing about 20 ft
away and every so often we would hear:
"Papi! Papi! We caught ANOTHER one! That makes it
Nueve!!" (Not what one wants to hear when tangled in 10 feet of line with
a hook snared in a nearby tree...)
No fish caught by us, aka Team Incompetence...however- towards the end the fish
became quite adept at stealing our worms and then jumping out of the water
right in front of us to underscore the point. At least we provided
adequate entertainment for them.
First the ducks, then the fish themselves mocked us-I can take an insult pretty
well, but that was a bit far even for me-.-
Even worse, the reel stopped working on my great-grandfather George’s fishing
pole-just as I lost one of the kinky-looking lures to a rock in the middle of
the lake as I was attempting (abortively) to fix the line.
Dejected, we asked the lovely family next to us what we were doing wrong- they
showed us that they were having great success with smaller hooks and small
minnows as bait. They also suggested picking up a bobber or two.
Yes. We fished without bobbers. We suck.
Undeterred, John and I decided to give it another go on his next day off-and exact
our revenge on those smartass little bluegill’s (and ducks...but that comes
later)
So back to the redneck emporium, with Pop pop George's fishing rod in
hand. Turns out the reel isn't worth fixing...some spring inside it rusted to
non-existence-but I was able to rig it to kind of work for the
day.
We bought another white spinner jig lure (I lost the last one under a rock in
the middle of the lake somewhere) 10 more hooks about a third of the gauge as
the old one's...and about 25 small live minnows.
This time we meant business.... We brought our Styrofoam cooler filled with
ice, a fridge pack of Coca-Cola, and bobbers. Glorious bobbers-and the
nice man behind the counter didn't even laugh at us outwardly as he showed us
how to attach them.
Made our way to the lake...the Spanish-family's spot was open so we set up camp
there first. No luck- so we crossed the pier to the other side.
After about 5 or six tries John and I learned how to bait the hooks without
"escape" or too much blood....
I was on the shit-rod, and John had the decent one.
On my rod the metal brackets securing the reel to the ancient pole
eroded. This forced me to hold on to reel for dear life each time I
casted or the entire apparatus ended up in the water...again tangling the line
past redemption.
Towards the end of the day, I was left with only about 30 feet of line, and the
reel ended up in the drink about three or four times-I stopped counting.
And even when I caught something, since reeling it in was next to impossible, I
usually didn't have a chance to reel in the little fucker- and lost my bait to
boot. I think I only had about 6 bites out of the entire 4 hours...but I
did actually manage to catch a modest size pan fish about 6 inches long with
little struggle when I did trick the rod into working.
As for John...
He caught a duck...who wisely spit out the hook and made off with his
minnow. Man, was he ticked off, - However, the duck seemed pretty content.
Then my reel flew into the water for the last time...line tangled, bait stolen.
Thus, we left the lake, sunburned, mildly heat stroked.... but successful with
our singular catch of one small crappie.
I came home, plugged into youtube with the fish still on ice and attempted to
teach myself to filet the little fucker....
...and found that Pop pop George’s Filet knife was about as good as his fishing
rod. After a bit of a struggle with the dull filet knife I managed to get
two boneless, skinless filets.
...About the size of one whole chicken Mcnugget in combined mass. Woot.
Undeterred. I rolled it all into a little ball, coated it with flour and
pepper and fried it in a tablespoon of butter, as my cat sat on my feet royally
annoyed that I refused to share any of this heavenly repast with her.
I wish I could say that one fish Mcnugget was a satisfactory end to the
day...and that the delicate flavor in such a small quantity was a gourmet
experience.
But, in truth, it tasted like buttered flour. When I added lemon juice, then it
tasted like buttery flour with lemon juice. Now I know why people usually
catch about 15 of them at a time.... it takes that many to make a meal for one
small child.
On the bright side, at least I have this story....
So, anyone want to come fishing?