Fishing

I’m not an ice fisher, so when the lakes begin to thaw, I have to go searching for my tackle box that I put in some dark corner of my house in October, thinking that I wouldn’t be needing it anytime soon. My tackle box is generally at the bottom and back of a large stack of outdoor gear, mostly because it’s made of a sturdy plastic, which makes it ideal for stacking other boxes on top of it. After finding the tackle box, I always experience a wave of depression: all my Power Bait is too dry to use anymore, my pre-tied hooks are all tangled up because I didn’t take the time to organize them before shoving them in the tackle box, and more than half of the lures I bought the previous year are missing because they got caught on a rock or other obstruction while fishing and I had to cut them loose.
As I’m sure you can tell from my tackle box, I’m also not a fly-fisher, although I can tie flies. A mentor from my youth tried to show me how to fly-fish once, but I was only 13 and neither my patience nor attention span were my strong suits then. Fly-fishing appeals to me now (even though I still don’t know how to do it properly) because I find it to be the poetic form of fishing, and if anyone would like to show me the finer points of the sport, I’m available most Saturdays (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). The movie “A River Runs Through It” is one of my favorite films, and the fly-fishing scenes always make me want to run out and buy a bunch of gear to go fly-fishing with. However, when I arrive at the sporting goods store, I realize that good fly-fishing gear is not exactly within my budget, and I end up buying a Frisbee or something else so I don’t walk out of the store looking like I can’t afford anything.
The only kind of fishing I’ve ever really participated in is the “lazy” kind. You know, where you find a lake, find a big rock or log near the lake, cast your line out, lean your pole against that rock or log you found, set up a camping chair and veg out until the pole starts to jerk. That kind of fishing requires minimal effort, especially if you’re fishing for trout. Trout are so easy to fish for, considering the fact that they’ll swallow fluorescent pink Power Bait. I tried that stuff once (I didn’t ingest it, I just licked); it tasted like Play-Doh. I’m guessing the trout are swallowing it because it’s so pretty and smells like it should taste good (to a fish anyway; I never cared for the smell). Once a trout has swallowed the Power Bait, though, it probably thinks, “Omigosh! That tastes nothing like it looks or smells!” and then tries to spit it out. Unfortunately, the pretty pink Power Bait is stuck to a hook and as the fish spits it out, that’s when the hook catches in its lip. That’s how the stuff works. Pure physics.
The only part of fishing I don’t enjoy is the gutting. I remember going fishing with my brothers, dad, and some friends, and after catching 20 or so fish, I was the only person who had ever gutted one. I sat there for about an hour as my brothers watched on, both of them fascinated with the insides of the fish, yet neither one wanting to get their hands dirty. Oh sure, they’d catch the fish, but I had to finish the job. I felt like a Mafia goon. Since then I haven’t cared for ripping out the guts of a fish. It’s like plucking a chicken: it’s not fun, but if you want to eat it, someone has to do it. The only thing that makes the gut-ripping worth it, is when the fish is hot off the frying pan and sprinkled with lemon pepper. So here’s to fishing with Power Bait on a line that’s leaning against a rock!