Went fishing this weekend. Just me, my Cowboy and our friend D. Little Boy was at my mother’s house, so we were able to stay down at the dock for hours without him whining about being bored or going home. He’s not quite old enough to enjoy the Being Still part of fishing.
But I am. That’s my favorite part. Just standing in the wind, watching the ripples on the water, the sun rays through the clouds. Listening to the lapping waves and the seagull cries. Smelling the marsh and feeling the movement of the tides.
It’s a good thing I like the zen of fishing because I suck at the actual fishing part.
I very rarely catch anything, although to be fair, nobody else down at the dock seems to either. We probably need to find another fishing spot. One where people catch things besides crabs and slimy sucker fish. It’s a good thing I don’t need to live off what I catch. I might waste away to normal.
Yesterday our friend D joined us, and even though she didn’t catch anything either, it was nice to have an experienced voice coaching us and our puny poles along. A few changes we need to make in our setup: bigger poles, stronger lines, better bait. Maybe I can post a wanted ad on Freecycle for a nice fishing pole or two. If I find something better for the grownups, then the Little Boy can have one of the wimpy poles.
To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do if I actually caught a mess of fish. I’ve never cleaned one in my life. I’m a little grossed out by the prospect of it, but I think I could do it. One of my wishes is to be able to eat fish that I caught about once a week.
I think I’m going to bake D a fresh loaf of bread and invite her fishing again.