All the Comforts of Home

Fishing at Spring Lake has been perfected in a variety of ways. Some people especially those with young children, stand on shore. Some have rubber rafts which are propelled by oars or by the feet and legs of the occupant which hang into the water. Some people have one fishing pole, others have as many as eight. I've seen people fishing in water so murky it looks possible to walk on it, although I would have grave doubts about eating anything that came out of it. This morning we saw two men in a boat with a big Evinrude motor on the back of it, although the use of motors is not allowed in Spring Lake, so the propeller was pulled up out of the water. We were unable to ascertain how they were managing to steer. 


A small boy was greeted by his grandfather who managed to hug him despite the fact that both had fishing poles in hand. The young man began telling his grandfather about the two fish he caught (although his father's voice, emanating from behind a bush, corrected him saying he 'hooked' one but it got away).  I thought the boy should have been able to tell his 'fish tale' uncorrected. It all seems to be part of learning to fish. Why would one bother, especially if no fish are caught and one is not allowed to make up stories about what might have been?

I have gone fishing once in my life. Years ago, my father-in-law arranged for us to go steelhead fishing on the Rogue River in Oregon. We had to get up at the crack of dawn to meet the boat while the guide baited a number of hooks and hung the lines off the back of the boat. Things started looking up when a thermos of coffee was produced and we sat chatting while we watched the sun rise. Well, I watched the sun rise, the guide was obviously watching the lines off the back of the boat because he suddenly leapt up, grabbed a line, hooked a fish and handed the pole to me. I learned quite a bit about landing a fish as he coached me through the process for the next half hour. When I finally got the fish close enough to the boat, the guide netted it and took us back to the harbor. My fish weighed in at 18 pounds before he whisked it off, gutted it and cleaned it and presented it to me as if I had done it all myself.

I was suitably proud….