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LuLu's Land of the Fey

All the news that bores the pants off anyone who cares.

Saturday, August 09, 2003

Poor Charlie

A few months ago, Robert and I decided that we wanted to try fishing. As luck would have it, the state holds a 'no license day' (or whatever they call it) in June; it was the next weekend, so we went out on a boat with Robert's dad to try our luck. Nolan has an interesing knack for making a sport where you sit around and try to convince (admittedly not the smartest) animals to eat your food and, thusly, become your food, fun. Needless to say, we both had a good time that day--I caught the first and biggest fish of the day, a crappie. Yay!

So the next weekend, Robert and I, who are never at a loss for enthusiam to spend money, went out, got our own gear, licenses (which would last only through the end of August), and started trying to fish on our own.

Now, when I say that I caught the first fish back in June, that's kind of a technicality. I held the rod and reel while reeling the fish in. I sat with it and watched for it to do the bobbing thing that I was told to watch. But that's it. Nolan likes to make sure things run smoothly on his boat, so he has a tendency to bait the hook for you (males and females), and he often likes to cast for you. And he keeps the fish you catch. But that's cool--when you're on his boat, and he's teaching you to fish, you don't mind making that kind of "payment."

Robert and I tried to fish on our own out at Tyler State Park, but that was a bust. The piers from which we were fishing were void of anything except those pesky perch that are too small to take home but who love to eat up your bait. (In retrospect, if I were a fish and I saw that my friends kept disappearing every time they went near the spooky wooden thing in my home lake, I might avoid it as well, which makes me rethink my whole opinion on fish intelligence.)

We have tried a few other times, also with little to no luck. We recently moved close to Caddo Lake State Park, so we've been out there several times. In between the dry runs we have made hither and yon, we have gone back out with Nolan on his boat and always caught at least a few, which reminded us of why we had started doing this in the first place, and why we had so much fun with it.

We had not been fishing for about a month because, as I said, we just moved. Pretty much the entirity of the last three weeks has been us unpacking boxes, taking trash to the dump, replacing appliances, and bitching about unpacking boxes, taking trash to the dump and replacing appliances. Not very much fun, admittedly, but necessary work.

We decided today that enough was enough; it was time to go to the lake and let the fish mock us.

After he researched the best way to fish for catfish, Robert rigged up our rods, packed some drinks and we headed out. We got to Caddo around 5:30ish, which to us seemed a good time--past the really, really hot time, but not quite night yet. We staked out our section of the bank along the river, and we cast in.

Apparently, 5:30ish is a good time to lots of other people. Imagine that. We saw the boaters who drive through the no-wake zone at full speed, flying their rebel flags and pulling skiers. We saw the rednecks who insisted that everyone must want to hear Jerry Jeff Walker. There was the girl who walked over to Robert's area (clearly designated by his chair) while he was over at the table rebaiting his hook and began casting. There was the family of ten who walked by us, asked how the fishing was going, and set up camp within ten feet of us, screaming lot of brats and all.

And there was Charlie.

I had been sitting, watching my rod, waiting for something, anything, to happen for perhaps thirty minutes. Was getting a bit bored, but figured I'd try to appreciate the outing for the Zen appeal the lake has. It truly is a beautiful area--looks very primordial with moss hanging from trees and big cyprus knees sticking up out of the water. I'd be completly unsurprised to see a dinosaur come around the bend at this place, although I'd probably be more likely to see an Aligator.

Anyway, I'm Zenning out, enjoying the beauty, when the tip of my fishing rod starts to dip wildly. I grab it up, silently cursing myself for removing my flipflops, and start to reel in. I've felt this rush of excitement before, but in the past, it has always been extinguished pretty quickly by seeing the pathetic little perch that usually grabs my line. I was ready to be disappointed.

But then I saw Charlie. At least, that's what his name would have been if I wasn't going to take him home and eat him. You can't very well name the fish you have just killed if you are going to filet him up and drop him in boiling oil, even if you know he doesn't know the difference. "Charlie" is a twelve inch (just barely met the state minimum!) channel catfish. Robert, ever great husband that he is, ooohed and ahhhhed over him for me, and removed the fish from the hook for me. We dropped him in the cooler, whereupon he creeped us out for the next two hours by flopping around, fast at first and slower and slower as time went by. (Actually, in retrospect, it reminds me of listening to microwave popcorn in reverse.) In the end, that was the only fish caught today--even the pesky little perch weren't biting. I personally think it was the evil heathen childen who scared them off.

Anyway, here's a picture of me and "Charlie," before Robert fileted him for me. And here he is after.

I've got to stop naming my food.

.: posted by amy 10:19 PM