A fish in hand is worth....

Thanks to an invitation from the Son-In-Law and Granddaughter, I went fishing yesterday. My (not quite 4 year old) Granddaughter outfished me, I’m pleased to announce. In the time I was with them, she caught (and released) one sunfish while I, using a popping bug, had two strikes. Neither of the fish who took a swipe was big enough to get its mouth around a bluegill bug. I should have changed to a smaller fly but wasn’t sure I would be able to see it in the small waves that covered the lakes surface.

one of these might have been better than the popper

Photo by J. Harrington

Although I was outfished and came home empty handed, I accomplished several worthwhile objectives. First, I established I haven’t entirely forgotten how to cast a fly, even into a 10 mph (gusting to 15) headwind, despite a distressing lack of casting exercise over the past couple of years. Second, I demonstrated, to my satisfaction, that I know how to undo a “wind knot” in a leader, created by not being careful with my backcast into the aforementioned wind. Finally, I reconfirmed that the fun is in the fishing at least as much as in the catching. Now I need to haul myself off to a local trout stream and check out how my wading skills are holding up despite a lack of use. I will wait until the wind is topping out at 10 mph or less for that exercise. Today’s 20+ mph breeze is more than I can cope with.

Fishing Before You Know How to Fish

https://www.awakin.org/v2/read/view.php?tid=2574

Through the pines and the one maple I hear her.

I shouldn’t have gone fishing if I didn’t know how to fish.

I shouldn’t have gone fishing if I didn’t know how to fish.

There she stands

legs impossibly long

pink and black polka dot swimsuit baggy

pole in her hands

and a little oval sunfish impossibly on her hook.

I don’t tell her, but I do think

Oh, sweet girl, life is always like that.

Fishing before you know how to fish.

Leaving before you know how to leave.

Speaking before you know how to speak.

Fighting before you know how to fight.

Loving before you know how to love.

Dying before you know how to die.

We are all the child with the pole

worrying about who we’ve hurt.

And we are all the fish on the hook,

hoping for mercy.

Her aunt hears her muttering prayer

and though she hasn’t unhooked a fish in 30 years

grabs the wriggling innocent in her hands

and dislodges metal from cheek.

And this, too, is all of us.

Saved again and again by prayer we didn’t know we were saying

and a witness we forgot was listening.

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