First Catch of the Day
“Grandpa, can we go fishing today?”
“Sure, sweetie! Do you want go now?”
“Can we?”
“Sure. Go tell Nana were going fishing and we will be back in hour or so.”
“Okay, thanks Grandpa!”
I ran off to tell Nana that Grandpa said we could go fishing. She gave me some food, a warm sweater and told me to wear my life jacket. Then she kissed me and quickly stuck a hat on my head. “You don't want any more freckles!” she said, as she kissed me on my already freckled nose.
I ran down the hill to the lake. Grandpa was loading the small aluminum fishing boat with fishing tackle, poles, two seat cushions and one life jacket just my size. I stepped into the boat, grabbed my life jacket and sat down. I was having trouble fastening the buckles and I asked Grandpa to help me. He got into the boat, fastened the buckles on my life jacket and cast off the line tying the boat to the dock. One big push and away we went.
Grandpa pulled on the rope and started the motor. We headed toward Grandpa's lucky spot, a shady cove near the north end of the lake. There a cold water stream fed into the lake and the fish seemed to enjoy eating there. Rocks and reeds were nearby, perfect place for any fish to hide.
Grandpa dropped the anchor into the water. He turned off the motor and turned to reach into the minnow bucket, which always seems to be full of lively tiny little fish. He took hold of the end of my pole and put a fat, squirmy minnow on my hook.
“Drop that into the water over there.” Grandpa pointed towards the front of the boat. I carefully lowered the hook and minnow into the water and let out a little bit of line. Grandpa cast his line from the rear of the boat, and then plop, into the water it went.
We sat there for several minutes, just listening to the waves slapping against the sides of the aluminum boat, as the birds chirping in the nearby trees. It was beautiful morning to be on the lake.
I had been fishing with Grandpa before and I knew that we had to keep our voices down and sit very still so as to not rock the boat. The fish would swim away if they were scared. So, we both sat there, watching our red and white plastic bobbers float on the surface of the lake; waiting for our first nibble.
Within 15 minutes, I felt a tug on my line. The bobber went under the water for a second and popped right back up. I waited for it to go back down into the water. I let the line stay tight, just like Grandpa had taught me. I pulled the rod up just a bit, pulling the bobber up out of the water. The bobber went down again and I knew I had something.
“Grandpa, I have one.” I whispered excitedly. I looked at him and he nodded his head. I started to reel in the line. The fish was tugging on the line and tried to go under the boat.
“Hold tight,” said Grandpa, “this one wants to hide!” I held onto the rod with both hands As the line got slack, I reeled as fast as I could. Grandpa grabbed the net. “Pull the rod up a bit,” he said.
“He's heavy!” I was careful to stay seated. I didn't want to fall in the cold water and go swimming!
“Yeah, he is pulling on the line. See … the tip is bending over.”
“Should I let more line out?” I was nervous he might slip off the hook and get away.
“No - keep reeling him in. I think he is close to the surface now.”
Just then, I saw my catch. He was a Northern Pike, a long narrow fish with a pointy nose. I had caught one once before on this lake. But this fish was bigger; at least as long as my arm! “Look Grandpa!”
“I see him. Hold him tight. Let me scoop him into the net.”
I held the rod steady so as not to hit Grandpa in the head. My fish was a fighter. But Grandpa was fast and scooped the net right under the fish. In the net, the fish looked even bigger. “He beautiful!” I said.
“Yes, he is a beauty! And big enough to keep, too!” He carefully removed my catch from the hook and strung him on the line hanging over the side of the boat. He put my fish and string line back into the lake.
Admiring the fish, he said, “I bet he will taste good fried in a pan!” Grandpa always said the same thing whenever anyone caught a fish. He loved fried fish. Fish for breakfast, lunch or dinner – it didn't matter. He was happiest when he had fresh fish to eat.
We stayed a few more minutes to see if anything else would bite but it appeared all the other fish had learned their lesson and had gone off to someplace safer. He reeled in his line and he pulled up the anchor. I reeled in my line, too.
“You did good today, kiddo! Now let's go show Nana what you caught.” One quick pull of the rope and he started the motor. We headed back across the lake and to the cabin for lunch.
It would be a few more years before I was allowed to gut and clean my own fish. But that day, after showing the fish to a very proud Nana, I watched as Grandpa cleaned and filleted the fish for lunch.
Nana made a skillet of fried potatoes, then breaded the fish with flour, salt and pepper and fried the fish to a crispy, golden brown. It was a delicious lunch. I don't think Grandpa minded that he didn't catch anything that morning, he was just happy to have crispy fish fillets and fried potatoes for lunch!
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