It has got to be true.
I mean just look at a day fishing!
Grampa was a fisherman.
All kind of weather, any kind of day.
I got to go with him and my Dad once.
Daddy taught me to cast, under Grampa's watchful eye. Then the hours of evening in the shady yard practice began. Standing in the middle of our front yard, holding what seemed to be a mile long pole in my right hand, ever so carefully angling the tip of the pole over my right shoulder, so as not to snag a nearby kid, toy or self, while using my miniature thumb to press the button on the reel. Plop! The heavily weighted end would drop to the ground. *Sigh* Cranking the handle reeled the line back on.
This process was repeated to many times to count.
Eventually I did master the fine art of pressing the button at the right time, to send the weighted line soaring through the sky all the way across the lawn, until eventually it sailed smoothly over the neighbor's rose bushes, coming to rest scant inches from her front sidewalk...I had arrived.
Call it a graduation of sorts, but it earned me a fishing trip with Grampa and Daddy!
I was given a pole, a drink, then situated along the rock strewn water's edge, while they continued a little farther down the bank, with the admonition, "Please don't talk to much...or to loud." Daddy added just loud enough for me to hear, "And what ever you do...do not throw rocks in the water okay?".
It was hot.
It was boring.
I was young.
I did not see the fun in fishing. I did not see it at all.
Then it happened!
My precious little red and white bobber dipped furiously below the water then came bouncing back up, once, twice, three times! In a panic, I dropped the pole and screamed like the Banshee herself where swooping down on me!
I heard Grampa curse softly under his breath, "Well dammit Brant, there goes the fishin'. I'm going farther up."
Daddy wove his way back down to me shaking his head. Then he glanced out to where my bounce waving finger was generalizing the magic area of the bobbers dance. Chuckling he confirmed, "You must have caught a whale! Grab your pole and give it a good strong tug backwards to set the hook."
Scooping up the pole I started backing up, tripped over a rock and landed flat on my fanny! Daddy was laughing as he set me back on my feet telling me, "It was the hard way, but that should have set it. Start winding the line in, not to fast or to slow." He helped me set the pace.
I was reeling, biting my lip and sweating up a storm.
"It must be a big one. Whatta ya think? A trout maybe?" Grampa's excited voice sounded just behind my Dad.
I was given more advice on playing a fish than any little girl should have to endure before I heard the word's..."Grab the net, we should see it any second. Don't stop reeling it in until we tell you."
Scooting up to the waters murky edge while bending down on one knee with the net firmly in hand Dad poised, Grampa leaning to catch a glimpse. Both smiling like the Cheshire cat. Then the boisterous laughing.
They could see it!
My first catch!
Turning and lifting it so I could see what had put up such a fight...
A moss covered boot?!
Laugh if you must.
But it was a boot.
A single from a pair of men's, black rubber, winter galoshes. Sporting a rather large hole in the bottom that caused the water to flow through just enough to emulate a fish on the line...
I can honestly say with a head shaking smile, it took me years to want to go fishing again. I did catch some fishy creature from the depth's of the Snake River up in Idaho a handful of years ago, even have pictures of it some place. Now day's I stick to my collection of camera's instead of a pole, Honey takes care of the fishin' while I wander around or kayak about.
No matter how you go fishin', it really is a good way to spend a day.