This is a personal esay I wrote when a friend asked me to go fishing with him. I am not big on going fishing becasue I just end up feeding the fish all day and don’t catch anything.
Gone Fishin’
It is the final day of August, 2005 and the “official” end of summer. Labor Day, the herald of a new school year, is upon us; although by then BSU students will have two weeks under their belts. My friend Sam and I only have classes Monday through Thursday, and this menas a four day break for us. He wants to go fishing.
What’s worse is he wnats me to go with him. Not that I have anything against him, for we are long-time friends-to-the-end and would do anything for each other. What elisited the ‘what’s worse’ from me is, the fishing part. Oh, I’m sure there are many virtuous things about going fishing, and I’ve read that catching fish doesn’t even have to be the point in going. Oh, really? Then why call it ‘fishing’? Why spend all that hard-earned money on gear, gas and grub if the point is to sit in some serene place and blissfully contemplate how better you could have spent your money? Or sit and watch the fish, which are too smart to swallow it hook line and sinker the way I am supposed to?
What are we fishing for, peace? Then why drag all that stuff around? I could find peace just about anyplace (as long as I don’t forget the Deep Woods Off) and save a bundle of money and be immensely more at peace with my wallet by leaving all that other stuff at the store.
Besides, there are fishermen, and I use the term loosely, who are not that fond of eating fish. Once, when I actually worked for a living (delivering auto products and fuel), I heated some fish sticks in the microwave at work for my lunch. I expected “Oohs” and “Ahhs” coming from the other employees, because almost all of them talk about fishing all the time. Some of them had pictures above their desks of deep-sea fishing trips they’s been on, holding marlins or tuna that were as big or bigger than they were. They complained that the fish was, and I quote, “Stinking up the whole building.” I could only stand there, stunned, and muttered something like, “And you call yourselves FISHERMEN?”
Getting back to the coming weekend, I don’t know which day we will leave, but I do know one thing: it will have to be an all-nighter or I’m not going. Why? Because, by the time we finally get going, and finally get there and finally get set up and finally start to actually get some fishing in, it will probably be too late to get any good fishing done, and by the time we get back it will be WAY past our bedtimes and all we will have to show for the trip will be a grand collection of skeeter bites. But, if we leave one day and take our time going there, set up camp and have fun around the camp fire and get a good night’s sleep, then on day two we can get up before the fish start looking for breakfast and get some real good fishing in for most of the day, and still have time to get home at reasonable hour.
I’ve been on a few fishing trips in my day but do not consider myself a pro. Heck, I’m a few pegs below amatuer except for two things about fishing. One: I am the world’s best fish FEEDER. It doesn’t matter if I use a big, fat, juicy, wriggly worm or just squirt WD-40 on some popcorn, the fish nibble my bait to death without as much as a jerk or a vibration. If I leave the hook in the water too long, pretty soon a note floats by on the water, asking where the next course is. They don’t even say “Thank you.”
The second thing I know about fishing is: where the best, dog-goned fishing spot ever dreamed of is located. But can I get any of my buddies to go there? No. Yet it is comfortable, close to home, and by the time you get back and check your wallet, it is considerably fatter than from any other fishing trip you’ve been on. Talk about serenity; even the god of my belly is happy with all the great-tasting fish I’ve eaten.
So, just where is this fisherman’s Garden of Eden? It is as easy to find as looking in the phonebook for the nearest Skipper’s Fish and Chips restaurant. And, you don’t even have to clean ‘em!
