Living in Eastern Oklahoma my whole life I’ve spent plenty of time on the water. In 2007 when I was living in Japan I had the opportunity to go deep sea fishing for the first time. Not knowing what to expect, I was anxious about what was to come. Spending twelve hours on a boat to come home with a 50lb. Mahi Mahi would be worth the wait. On the other hand, I feared the worst which was coming home empty handed.
On a dark, gloomy morning I stepped aboard my first fishing charter boat. At 2am the sky was black with endless stars in sight. A light breeze rolled over the water, causing small ripples against the boat. A mist of salt water brushed my face as we left the cove. The air was crisp with an overwhelming smell of exhaust fumes from
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Our fishing
poles were heavy duty with rather large hooks. Now that we were out at sea, the boat seemed
to be dancing on the rough waves. Within minutes a large group of fish started biting on the
lines. All of a sudden a heavy tug sent the tip of my pole straight to the floor. Full of excitement
I leaned back and started reeling in my catch. When my fish surfaced, it ended up being a 3lb
tuna. It was amazing how something so small could out up a fight.
As the sun started to rise the fish seemed to disappear. My fishing pole stiffly lingered
over the water as if time had stopped. The rocky water was now motionless across the horizon.
As my body became agitated I took a break for lunch.
The first mate pulled my tuna fish out of the live well and started to fillet it. His hands
were fast and the knife seemed to glide swiftly through the fish. Seconds later the only part
that remained was the carcass. A pleasant aroma filled the air as he grilled my meal.
Anticipating my fish to taste like can tuna I was shocked at how delicious it was. The meat was
tender, juicy and full of flavor. In comparison to canned tuna it almost seems like two
The goal in those days was to catch a double. (God! don't times change - now you're nobody until you've had a 40!) I was being pestered by bream that night, and had already landed two of quite reasonable size. What with that, the full moon, and the wind rattling the trees and bushes, I was having great difficulty in getting any sleep - which was crucial as I had to go to work the next day. It was one of those spooky nights, and each time I closed my eyes I was forced to open them again to investigate a sound which just may have been something nasty! But virtually on the stroke of midnight the wind suddenly dropped, and all the clouds cleared away from the moon. The lake went flat calm, and it was obvious something was about to happen. I sat up on the bedchair a little frightened. Out in the lake a carp rolled over the bait. It was so light I could tell it was a common, and it looked quite big. The whole scene was so weird and dreamlike I really did pinch myself to see if I was awake. I was, and became even more so when I heard the slight click of the contacts coming together on the bite alarm, followed by the weary buzzing of the bell - a noise both horrible and exciting. I struck with little enthusiasm, expecting another bream. It soon became apparent that this was not a bream, and after a long and thrilling fight on my old cane Sealey octofloat I was opening the folds of the
Life what a dangerous and adventurous voyage. One cloudy day, a sailor set out on a voyage. A vast storm had been forecasted that week. Author one describes the passage more in detail. Author two’s passage is easier to understand.
My first fishing experience was with my dad and my older brother when I was seven. Driving up to the creek, walking through the muddy path on the twisting dirt road. I could feel my dad’s pride
We cruised down to the spot as the sun was just peaking over the greasy calm water. When we got there we dropped down our live eels and the striped bass could not resist. I instantly felt the strike. It was a big fish. When it came to the boat I took my sharp pointy gaff and snagged the lunker in the head and hauled him into the boat.
I grabbed the net and dove back in onto our flimsy yellow boat, almost tipping it over. My dad had reeled in the fish, so I scooped it up with our net. We saw that it was a 4-foot long silver tarpon and we were so happy! After a few pictures, we happily tossed him back into the glistening sea and waved goodbye. We couldn’t wait to tell everyone about our
I awoke after a long night of storms and choppy waters, and all that was just to live in Maine. Though when I neared the coast I saw an unfamiliar color of water. It was royal blue and not a deep soft blue like in my home, and even after that I was sure about one thing which is work. I am not sure of how the mainlanders think of a North Carolinian though I kept my hopes up. I was sure it would be hard work to make a living and settle down though I have a plan. The only thing I don’t have a plan for is a supposedly savage native that will change my whole life forever.
November 2011, the first year I got to go hunting with my dad. I got excited for this year because I became old enough to shoot my first deer with my dad in the hunting stand. I thrived to get my first buck all through November (SV). The night before opening day my dad and I usually go out to chat with my uncles and tell hunting stories at our shack. My uncles always tell old stories of when they got their first buck, and I became nervous knowing I might have a chance at one tomorrow. We drove home that night and I didn't get much sleep at all because I had constant excitement flowing through my body knowing I get to go on my first hunt tomorrow.
My family and I have always enjoyed fishing. My brother, Justin is even majoring in aquaculture. So the fact that this happen during a relaxing afternoon with my family came as an unwanted shock. The exact moment I’'m talking about happened on a father's day trip to the Chesapeake Bay when I was thirteen. My dad, my brothers, C.J, and Justin, and I all sailed from Old Saybrook on our thirty six foot Hatteras boat.
I had always loved going fishing on my grandparent’s boat. In the summer Nana, Papa, and I would drive to Seward and go out on small boat trips for three or four days. I would never actually fish, being that I had just turned 6 years old. Instead I used my little, pink plastic fishing pole with an orange fish attached to the end. I would throw it in the water and reel it back up just like I was truly fishing.
At 3am my left rod tore off along a deep margin and I was soon playing what felt a better fish, after a nice scrap there a rather short, plump female sat in the net and it looked mid double, at least 15lb was my guesstimate. She had quite a distended belly, in fact it could have matched mine on a lesser scale and she was in perfect condition with a proud set of barbules, weighing less than I had estimated.
The sun is shining, and the sky is crystal clear. The air around me is crisp and cool, reminding me that autumn is just around the corner. Trout season at the Chattahoochee River is coming to a close. I know that today is the day that I will catch my first fish ever.
The visual surrounding the lake was perceived before the mountains was beautiful and serene. The lavender flowers near the water mirroring the colossal mountains smelled of spring. The sunset illuminated the sky making it purple and orange. The huge rocks were faultless and could be used for sitting and thinking. The warm breeze reassured that springtime was near. The lake was ideal for swimming, it was so clear. The cabins around the lake were perfect for summertime with family and friends. The clouds looked impeccable as they were angled over the mountains, their rectangular shapes resembled fluffy pillows. The snow had almost completely melted off the mountain in the distance. The environment was well needed for break within a busy life.
I remember a time in my life not too long ago when my family and I went white water rafting for the first time. We had been spending some of our summer vacation at a cabin in the Smokey Mountains, close to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The next day we would experience feelings of exhilarating excitement, with a sense of suspense and anticipation as we rafted down the Nantahala River.
One of the most unique creatures are fish. As I am sitting here in my room, my fish are swimming about with not a care in the world. I wonder what it would feel like to be a fish.
This lukewarm water was deceiving though, because it only seemed lukewarm due to the drop in temperature and misty rainfall. The waves were rushing toward me like a bull to a matador’s red flag. My mouth tasted as if someone dumped a whole shaker of salt on my tongue. The wave pushed my further and faster as it I could feel the wave breaking on my body and there I was back at the shallows again floating in with the white wash and was ready for another wave. As I stood back up and ran back out to the deep water I saw one of my surfing mates catch the most perfect barrel it was rad. It would have been a great snap shot. I caught another wave, this one was even bigger. The thrust of the wave was twisting my body and I was pulled towards the sea