Today Leah caught her first fish, and her second, third, fourth and fifth. She didn’t want to leave the dock, she didn’t want to go to bed, she didn’t want a snack. She wanted to catch MORE FISH.
Earlier in the day after numerous unsuccessful attempts to lure the big bass with hula-jigs, crank-bait, kastmasters, spoons and sundry tackle tossed to the far corners of cover, we found that just dunking a worm off the dock nailed the bluegill.
Leah, with her brand new purple Shakespeare, pulled up a nice little bluegill. Being the princess that she is, she instantly grabbed the fish and yelled, “Cool!” After a quick release, she ran to get another worm. Add, rinse, repeat.
Jonah was getting a bit pissed at this point because he was trying the same technique in the same location without success. Unfortunately, dinner time was called and everyone went up. I stopped Jonah after looking at his face and realized it would be a very bad thing if we went up without getting him some much needed piscatorial satisfaction. I told him we’d stay behind to take care of business.
Jonah kept at it with me at his side. Lots of little bluegill nibbling the worms away, but nothing taking the hook. Another worm refresh, another dunk … WHAM! … something bigger takes the bait. I’m jumping up and down because I see there’s a nice smallmouth on the line. “A bass! Jonah, you got a bass!” Jonah is focused, concentrating, his face showing something not joyous, but … determination. He reeled and kept the line tight, the tip up. I continued my moronic semi-skip around the dock (no doubt freaking the fish out even further), but just as Jonah brings the fish up, it spits the hook. Jonah looks devastated.
No matter, I tell Jonah, let’s keep at it. Like a trooper, indeed, like an angler, he ignores history and experience and lets hope guide his hand back to the worm bucket. The fish gods smile down and five minutes later he lands a nice bluegill. This no consolation prize in his mind, he is ecstatic and triumphant. The fish goes to the kitchen for some butchersome filleting by my hand, but balanced out with a perfect fry with butter and garlic salt. Jonah eats and proclaims it good. The circle is complete.
p.s. I later sneak out to the dock to try for something a little more meaty. Five casts with a spinner jig thingie into the lake and I pull in two-foot northern pike. No one to witness it, so I do the mature thing and secure the rod, run to the house and tell EVERYONE to come outside and view my trophy. Jonah snaps a photo before it self-releases. Really, this thing was 3 feet if it was an inch.
p.p.s. Remind me to tell you of my monster Minocqua Muskie sometime. Rich, Julie and Carol still think I was lying.
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4 comments:
Great post Josh!
Awesome! Give a child a fish, and she won't eat it. Teach a child to fish, and she'll bait the hook.
great post, awesome writeup. word smithery in high gear. very cool. Jonah's persistence is a model to us all. and that four foot northern pike was nothing to sneeze at....
Nice write-up! Coincidentally we were on vacation on Champlain last week and had a few worm dunking bouts on the dock. The pumpkinseeds kept my 2 boys and 3 of their young cousins entertained. I found the best way to manage 5 eager anglers (ages almost-two to 7) was to have them take turns using one fishing pole (the Spider Man model). When their path-walking guide needed to end a fishing session, a fish would invariably, mysteriously swallow the hook, which would remain within the fish when the line subsequently parted. The 4 youngest enthusiastically demanded and participated in a breakfast fish fry. The secret ingredient was bacon fat -- not that I expect to convert you...
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