You either love it or you hate it. If you hate it, we probably don’t have much in common. I grew up going to the lake with my family, and my grandpa was always ready to take me out on the boat. I was always ready to go out on the boat. I loved the serenity of being far out where it was quiet. Besides the occasional sounds of scrambling when we thought we had a bite.
He and my stepdad were always so proud when I caught a fish (big or small). When we’d get back they would brag to everyone how I out-fished them, even if I didn’t. I remember the smell of scales on my hands after I’d catch one. I always wanted to get it off the hook myself. I’d grab it by the lip (and to my fellow fishermen/women out there, you know what an addictive feeling that is), and then put it in the tank for us to fry up later that evening.
I learned a lot out there on that boat with my stepdad and grandpa. I learned patience. I learned that you truly value what you work to get (those big suckers sometimes take a while to get in). I learned to stop and enjoy the Earth. To really take in the beauty of the calm lake, gorgeous sunsets, trees as tall as buildings, and the people you love sitting right there on that boat with you.
On a funnier note, I also learned to shut up. And that size really does matter. And that you lose the expensive lures after your very first cast with them. And that is doesn’t matter how long you’ve been fishing, you’ll inevitably (at one point in time) say “here fishy, fishy, fishy”.
Those moments are some of the best memories I have, and since my grandpa has since passed, I cherish them so much more. You never know when it’s going to be your last time fishing with someone who means so much to you.