I can so catch fish!
I have proof! I went on vacation, and caught a fish! {Love the hat.}Not just any fish, but a big, fat, 16″ bass-type fish. {Bass} I actually thought it was a log until it started moving from side to side, and of course, the flopping bass jumping out of the water is a dead give away, right?
I actually caught three: an 11″ & a 14″ fish in addition to the 16″, but this one was the one I had to fight for. You now how much upper body strength you need to pull this fat thing in? More than I have, it turns out. But I did it, all by myself.
{Note: the words “all by myself” do not include taking the fat fish off the hook. Overwhelmed with guilt and a little afraid to touch the fat fish, I looked on as Shawn took over and unhooked the fish for me. I named him George, then we threw him back.}
It was gorgeous the last couple of days we were there, with beautiful blue skies turning into loud, thundering rainstorms:
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- Fish Weather
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- Fish Weather II
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- Sunny Skies!
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- Mid-Rain Clouds
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- Sudden Sun II
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- Yes, I am safely inside. The rain was coming down so hard it knocked over planters.
It was counterintuitive to me to go fishing in bright daylight like this; I was raised in a family where we get up at 3 a.m. and drive out to a lake in the middle of nowhere, where I would then have to either disguise my height or cast to shadowy places across the river and under logs to trick the fish into biting the cleverly constructed fly tied on the end of the line. That’s what you do for trout, a.k.a. “smart fish”. Bass are not “smart fish”. Bass and Pike, I was told, are known as “irrationally angry fish”.
Guess which one is more fun to catch? Since I’m 5’9″ and about as sneaky as a bull in a china shop, I am clearly meant to be going after “angry fish”. These are fish dear to my heart because, bless their souls, I could be standing right in front of them with a big sign that says “this is a trap, stupid fish” and they might even be more likely to bite because I called them stupid! Here I’ve spent my childhood getting skunked in trip after trip failing to outwit the “smart fish”, when there were fish just a few states over who would swallow the bait even if they knew for a fact it was a trick. The casts that didn’t hook bigger fish still had about six or so pissed off tiny fish that would bite the bottom of the worm, and not let go. They chased that sucker till they got bored with it, and as soon as it moved, they were on it again. Love. It.
{My father is designed for “smart fish”, and can go all KGB on them quite well in our….grey, cold, rainy Northwest weather. I eventually moved on to kicking around in a float tube with a book and two bottles of iced tea. I’m pretty sure the fish spent these trips hiding underneath me.}
After the rain and thunder blew over, we ventured out and I raided a nearby raspberry bush, now cleaned by the rain:
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- All mine!
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- Raspberry!
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- Raspberries!
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- Raspberry II
…you know who else likes raspberry bushes during a rainstorm? It turns out that mosquitoes do. Giant ones, that rise up in an enormous cloud before you like something out of a Michael Crichton book. {Or the Great Pumpkin. But I don’t think these guys wanted to give me presents.}
So, I run screaming from the giant cloud of mosquitoes, cover myself from head to toe with “Off!”, and return to my raspberries. They were beautiful.
This was what the sky looked like as I headed off to roast marshmallows:
Evening…
…because when you’re stuffed full of raspberries, the next logical thing to stuff yourself with would be roasted marshmallows. A half a bag of them. I think I’m known as the “Queen of Sugar” now.
♥ Momo
