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Wednesday, May 6, 2015

A fishing adventure


Life, like fishing, has no immediate evaluation, no immediate currency. We can be aware of minutes only if those minutes contrast with other minutes, or are too cold, too hot, too uncomfortable, or immensely surprising by how much joy or pain they represent. We revel in contrasts, in disappointments, in unexpected events. We revel in moments that turn out to be "memorable".

At our house, we still talk about the day our youngest caught his first fish in this lake. He had spent days with a pole in hand, waiting, casting and waiting, unraveling the line and casting again, and waiting. Re-setting the bait, casting and recasting, and pulling in weeds and debris. Fishing is addictive if at certain intervals, by some kind of unknown pattern, the fish bites and you can pull it up, and show it off to the audience around. It happened for Brian when he had no audience. We heard his yell of victory from the house and our response to his victory was not what he had anticipated.

We told him the fish was too small to keep.

He unhooked the fish, and dropped it back in the water. Later, when he returned home, he showed us the fish's real size. We had mis-interpreted. That was the last time Brian fished in this lake.

I have seen people attempt to fish all day long catching nothing. I have seen people spend two minutes and catch all the fish that they are allowed to catch.  "Fish" stories about the big one that got away abound all over, at every waterhole. We tell the story of the fish that everyone thought was too little to become lunch.

11 comments:

Dr. Kathy McCoy said...

Fascinating reflection on all kinds of levels, Rosaria! A wonderful post!

Grandmother (Mary) said...

Sometimes the most important thing is the being as we're doing what we love rather than just the doing. Sound like Brian experienced that no matter the outcome.

Velva said...

I grew up with a cane pole and using bread as bait fishing in the canal behind our apartments. There was no telling from day to day what a day of fishing would bring..mostly small red snapper mullet and catfish. Soem days absolutely nothing.

Velva

Tom Sightings said...

I admire fishermen. I don't know why. I find fishing very boring. Maybe it's because I don't have the patience, and I admire people who do.

yaya said...

Sometimes those moments that seem so trivial turn out to mean much more later on. My Dad loved to fish and once I asked if I could go along. He was hesitant and I could tell he didn't think my going along was a great idea. But when I said I REALLY, REALLY, wanted to go he relented. Then he told me that I wouldn't be able to speak all the time we were fishing because it scared the fish away. That made me question the outing. But I went and, although it killed me, I never said a peep...and never asked to go fishing with him again! It took me a while to realize that fish don't have ears...anyway, I never forget that story any time I come near a fishing hole!

ellen abbott said...

my brother-in-law is one of those people who catch a fish the moment he drops his line in the water. I'm the one who feeds the fish.

Soumyendu said...

Reminds me of the Old Man And The Sea by Ernest Hemingway! Did you try some fishing for yourself?

Vagabonde said...

Do you mean that the fish was large enough for Brian to keep? How disappointing for him. I think many people go fishing just to be away from crowds and to have a place to meditate. But I may be wrong!

Rian said...

When I was young, we had a fishing camp on Grand Isle in Louisiana. I loved to fish... but it was the *men's get-a-way*. It always irked me that my brother got to go and he didn't even like to fish. Dad did take me a few times when none of the other men would be there.
And fishing is more than just catching fish. It's a time for quiet contemplation and peace. Catching a fish is just extra.

Becky Jerdee said...

The fishing pier is one of my favorite places to visit...as an onlooker!

A Cuban In London said...

Beautiful post. It reminds me of the time we went fishing in Scotland. My son caught a tiny, little fish.

Greetings from London.