My Dad can proudly wear the title fisherman. I can not. Sure, I'll fish every now and then, but my skills haven't progressed much further than my 10 year old self. I want to change that, and the only way I know how is through some serious trial and error. The challenge is, who the heck has time to go fishing?
Turns out, I do. I've learned that if I stash my fishing gear in the car and drive to the closest possible fishing hole, I can get a full fishing adventure in, in about an hour. That includes driving to and from the water. I've now done this three times, and each time I do I feel like I'm playing hookey (which I suppose I am; but who's going to miss me at 6am?).
My fishing destination of choice has been adjacent to the Columbia Island Marina. Why? I can be there in about 4 minutes of driving, there's easy parking, there are signs that say fishing is legal. The mornings I've been there, I've seen plenty of signs of fish, including them jumping and one whopper of a catfish swimming up to the end of where I was standing. Sure, I haven't caught these fish, but it gives me hope.
So far, the experience has been oddly surreal. At 6:00am, there's only the occasional biker to intrude, and it's a way different experience fishing alone than with my Dad. Sure, my inner voice is hard at work convincing me that I'm acting silly, doing this all wrong and will make an ass of myself. But the fact of the matter is, this is fun. Different and fun.
And at 6:30am today I had a pleasant surprise, my first fish:
No, that's not an optical illusion, he really is that tiny. If there was such thing as a pity fish, he'd (or she'd?) probably be it. But still, I caught him (yeah, let's call him a him).
Every fisherman has to start somewhere?
So if we're on a conference call and you hear some splashing in the background, just ignore that. It's nothing. Probably just static on the line or something.
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