This is going to be a long post; please consider yourselves forewarned. Saturday I asked Nolan if he would like to go fishing. He was very excited and said If we catch a big one, you can grill it up! I was certainly not planning on cleaning any fish, but he was adamant, and I simply smiled. It just so happened that the neighbors were spading up their garden, so we went over and gathered a few dozen worms. Brenda Harbach got on her computer and purchased a fishing license for me. After about an hour, we finally had the truck loaded (Weve GOT to take snacks, papa!) and headed out. We drove to our friends farm, unloaded and walk down to the pond. About thirty seconds after the first cast, Nolan brought in a 2 bluegill, and was very disappointed when I told him it was too small to keep. For three hours, we caught and released little bluegills. How about this one, papa? You could grill him up! No, buddy, hes too small. We had the same exchange at least 30 times. He was having a ball, but was dead set that we were going to cook some fish. At about 4:30, literally on our last two worms, we both cast out and I told him it was time to go once we reeled back in. Aaaaaaand......my bobber disappeared. I mean, flat out vanished. I gave the pole a yank and pulled in a 16 crappie. Unbelievable. I knew what was coming. That one HAS to be big enough, papa! He was right of course, so I was reluctantly putting the fish in a bucket (still planning on dumping him out when we left) when Nolan yelled, Papa! I turned and his pole was bent straight down, Nolan reeling like a madman. Another crappie, had to be 17, one of the biggest Ive ever seen. Put him in the bucket! he yelled, Ive got to cast out again! I told him I was sorry, but we were out of worms, and he was so crestfallen it made me sad. He asked if we couldnt (Please!) use some of the lures in my tackle box, and I didnt have the heart to tell him no, so I sat down on the bank and re-rigged the poles. Given my experience with lures, I was certain we would not have any more luck. I was wrong. Nolans third cast netted yet another huge crappie, and in the next 15 minutes we caught two more for a total of five whoppers. I knew I was stuck. Finally (after over five hours of fishing) I told Nolan it was time to go. He wasnt happy about leaving but was completely enthralled with the catch, so we loaded everything up again and headed home. With a sigh, I called my buddy Jeff to borrow a fillet knife. Luckily he was right down the street, and met us at the house. Nolan supervised Jeff cleaning the fish, asking countless questions and jumping around like crazy. At long last, I sprayed off the table and all the equipment, thanked Jeff, and went into the house with my precious fillets in hand. It was 7:00, and I was beat. Nolan was sitting at the island with Brenda, having a snack when I walked in. Me: Alright! Im ready to cook the crappies! Nolan: What am I having for dinner? Me, after a confused pause: Fish, of course. Nolan, wrinkling his nose, I dont eat fish. I shit you not.
Posted on: Mon, 28 Apr 2014 14:49:32 +0000
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