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A Fish Tale


I find myself in the mind of remembering the last time I went fishin'. I was 16-years-old, and me and Grandfather and my Uncle Russ decided to see what we could reel in. I'm not talking about ocean fishing or even Great Lake fishing - I'm talking about a little, murky, mucky lake (prob'ly di'n't even have a name) in Michigan.

The boat we used was just this li'l piece o' junk aluminum with spiders crawlin' all over it. I *hate* spiders. But that di'n't seem to bother Grandfather or Russ none - they just told me to brush 'em off. I shuddered right down to the soles of my shoes. Ew. Brush 'em off? OK, gimme a broom or somethin' so's I can do the job right. But, spiders or no, we set out in this little POS (that stands for piece o' shit, pardon my language, for those who don't know) boat for the middle, more or less, of this little lake, and set our bait and started castin'.

An' it's funny, but all we caught that night was this damn' snapping turtle who had a taste for the minnows we was usin' for bait. Stupid turtle - every time we tried to remove the hooks, he would go for our fingers, so we had to cut the lines and leave the hooks in. By the time we called it a night that turtle had no fewer than five hooks in his flippers, I swear to god!

The only reason we kept fishin' (or tryin' to) was 'cos we would see this big fish jump or almost surface right next to the boat, temptin' us to keep tryin'. An', actually, I *did* hook that sumbitch, only to lose him in the reeds that we were anchored next to. But, of course, while we were in the boat, Grandfather and Russ kept egging me on, telling me what a catch it'd be if I could just hook it, telling me how big it was; but when we got home, *of course* they made it sound like it was no bigger'n a sunny or a bluegill.

I don't think I'll ever go fishin' again, neither, because that was something that Grandfather and I used to do. And now that he's gone, I just can't imagine settin' bait and castin' with anyone else. But I'm glad that I had those times with him. Maybe next time I'll tell you about the time there was a rattler in our fishin' area, an' how skeered he got. I never thought I'd see Grandfather skeered, but it turns out he feels about snakes the way I do about spiders.
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Requiescat en pace, Grandfather - believe it or not, I miss and love you very, very much.

(c) musecalliopeia's author, 9/25/2010
 
 
 
 
 
 
what a great story.

i'm sorry for your loss.
Thanks. :) I was sitting, reading a book written by a friend of a friend, and all of a sudden, this "voice" came into my head, clear as day, and it fit this story to a T. So, before I lost it, I jumped up, ran to the computer, and captured it.

And thank you, additionally, for your empathy. He's been gone about five years now.
I'm not big on fishing myself.
Honestly, neither am I, but it was something my Grandfather liked to do, so I learned how to do it so that I could spend more quality time with him, y'know?