Sometimes you go fishing to catch dinner. That’s called “keeping” and it means you have a lot of work ahead of you when you get home.
As we pulled our fishing poles from the back seat of Hubby’s car, I casually inquired as to whether we needed the bucket from the trunk.
“Bucket?” Hubby quizzed.
“Yeah…the bucket…for the fish…it’s still in the trunk from the last time you fished, right?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah…do we need it?” Hubby returned.
Did we need it? I wasn’t sure. And, I said so.
“Well, are we gonna keep ’em? Or, are we gonna let ’em go?” I questioned.
And, a good question it was.
And, an important one.
After a brief debate it was decided the bucket would remain with the car and if anything was caught that we deemed worth keeping, one of us would walk up and get the bucket.
We baited our hooks, slipped a float on the line and, after several attempts (it had been several years since I’d last used an open bale reel) flung that sucker out into the water as far as that little weight on the line would carry it. (I ended up attaching 3 more weights to mine for a longer cast.)
As soon as mine plopped into the water the float went UNDER – before I had time to flip the bale arm closed and spin the handle to tighten the line! Every time.
And, of course, every time the bait had been stripped from the hook.
Hubby had better results. He caught a fish his second or third cast.
It wasn’t a trophy catch, but it was a fish. He held it up and I took a picture of him and his fish.
Such a pretty little thing – about the size of my hand (…palm up and without my fingers…measured from the wrist wrinkle nearest my hand to where my wedding ring is).
Oh…I should probably mention that I have small hands. . . .
“Should we keep him or throw him back?” Hubby asked.
“It’s too small to go through all the trouble of cleaning if that’s the only one we catch,” I ventured.
“True,” Hubby responded as he walked 15 feet down the bank.
With a flick of his wrist, Hubby sent the sun perch back into the water, away from where he’d been caught.
“He was too pretty to keep, anyway,” I said.
“Too pretty to keep?” Hubby asked?
“Yeah, didn’t you notice all the pretty colors on him? It was like a sunburst!” I answered.
Hubby hadn’t noticed – his concern was on whether or not the fish was “eatin’ size.”
When other fishermen inquired about our catch, Hubby looked my way, winked and said, “She said they’re too pretty to keep.”
By the time Hubby caught the 10th (all different fish) he wished he’d begun keeping them. 10 smallish fish would have been worth cleaning and cooking.
Me? I didn’t catch any. I tried real hard not to after I’d successfully fed 20 crickets to invisible fish. You see, it’s hard to catch a fish when you don’t bait your hook. 😉 I even went to the extent of cutting my hook from the line and casting the weights and the float.
I was there to fish. And, fish I did.