The alarm clock rang at the peak of the morning. I woke. It was 9am. Immediately I jumped out of bed and slid the shutters open. The sun shone down on the crystal clear water. It crawled along the grass, peeking its head into the nearby windows of the tourist apartments.
One foot outside and I began to feel the blistering burn from the fireball in the sky. I lathered on a coat of sunblock and off I went. Step after step, the closer I got to the sand, the less I was able to tolerate the heat. I stepped on the brown beach. The sediments from the sand gnawed at my feet. Realising I was unable to reach the water by foot, I decided to go fishing instead.
I gathered my gear together and off I went. The boat was only a minutes walk as it was anchored at the nearby dock. I swiftly visited a nearby shop to gather resources to keep me cool through the intense weather. After scoffing down two double scoop, vanilla ice-creams dipped in dreamy chocolate sauce, I was
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It had a golden sparkle among it as it had been freshly polished. I leaped on board and waited for a few others to embark the charter. Inside was even better. The ligneous flooring had been freshly buffed, and the spiral staircase leading to the top deck was freshly vacuumed, with newly laid, white carpet.
The powerful engines were started, and the journey had begun. The boat flew along the water, and soon enough our destination was in sight. Anchored down near a small island was the perfect place to be. Hundreds of fish roamed this area, and I was bound to catch something.
We were ready. Ready to launch our poles out into the deep dark sea. My right hand on the reel, my left on the pole. With one swift move, the rod swung behind my head, and shot the lure out into the air. The sinker and hook landed a fair distance from where we were stood. Once I was fully satisfied with where my bait was sitting, I handed my fishing rod to the
We set out early the next day just as dawn awoke to light our way. We wanted to put distance between us and the island of the cyclops. I had thought that the ram I had sacrificed the night before had brought us good fortune, but I was to be proven wrong. The sea glittered like millions of lustrous jewels all dancing in the placid waves of the ocean. The ocean seemed to lap at the boats, encouraging them to sail faster towards the distant lands. Wisps of white fluffy clouds streaked the light blue sky as if a painter had lazily taken his brush and dabbed it in a few places; it seemed accidental, but in reality it created a master peace. The fresh sea breeze blew in our faces along with gusts of wind that danced in the air and propelled the boats on; it seemed to beckon us to explore the ocean. It was one of the days that seemed as though nothing
In the emerging daylight floating debris could still be seen drifting on the surface. The captain maintained speed pushing the drifting flotsam from the tugboat’s bow. It was not long before the first swells of the Bay of Biscay slid beneath them giving their ferry a gentle rise and fall. They overtook a small fishing boat on its way out to start its day’s catch. The Breton fishermen gave a somber wave to the overcrowded tugboat, returned with enthusiasm by the escaping refugees.
A wide net was cast into the green abyss of the swamp. In an almost mechanical fashion the net was raised along with an abundant, silvery bounty of fish. They flopped in the net, in a futile struggle for freedom. A worn down, tan hand reached for the struggling bass. The same hand transferred the fish to another worn hand.
He rowed towards it, but a thought frightened him: just because you get to land, doesn't mean you'll be any less lost. He shook his head and continued to row, getting into a pleasant rhythm, enjoying the arc of his shoulders and arms and the predictable resistance as his oars pulled his boat through the water, leaving behind a steady wake. He reached the dilapidated dock and reached over the side of his boat, tying whatever could be tied to keep his boat anchored.
With stress on my mind and a cookie in my hand, I headed towards the wooded area behind her home. At the beginning of the trail, there was an old rotting tire swing barely hanging onto a low-hanging branch. The extensive amount of muddy puddles and the surrounding damp grass made me hesitant to follow through with my grandmother’s suggestion; the mountain of homework that waited for me back at home convinced me to continue. Trees towered over me, adding to the existing weight of stress that sat upon my shoulders, as I carefully maneuvered around the biggest puddles, beginning to become frustrated. Today was a terrible day to go for a walk, so why would my grandmother suggest this? Shaking my head in frustration, I pushed forward. The trail was slightly overgrown. Sharp weeds stabbed my sides every few steps, and I nearly tripped over a fallen tree branch. As the creek barely came into view, I could feel the humidity making my hair curly and stick to the sides of my face. After stopping to roll up the ends of my worn blue jeans, I neared the end of the trail. Bright sunlight peeked through the branches and reflected off the water. The sun must have come out from behind a cloud, seeing as it now blinded me as I neared the water. A few minutes passed by before I could clearly see
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
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.
After we ate our delicious cliff bars and water, we started a
At this moment we had to stop and admire the beauty. So, we went and sat in the middle of the calm lake and relaxed with our friends. The sound of soothing music and the cool air began to fall over us as it started to become darker. I thought to myself, “nothing is better than laying here, watching the beautiful sun set,
Walking on a land of gold, the sand being so soft and smooth, glistens as it reflects the suns rays with joy. Cool, light and refreshing, the breeze gently eases up against my skin and glides through my hair, sending a gentle shiver up my spine. The rustling of leaves, small array of birds and delicate splashes of the sea are amazingly soothing and relaxing. The whole beach itself looks like a painted picture with a spectrum of colours all merged with one another. The sea also showing off a wide range of colours that reflects of the surface, like a dancing peacock showing off its finely detailed feathers.
The dull light of the sun somehow manages to kindle my senses in a way I had never seen or felt before. Everything felt like it came to a standstill and the effect of the light made the scene look like one in a painting. The waves break gently into white foam on the black beach. The small crystals in the sand glimmer and twinkle brilliantly against the sunrays. The seagulls ride with the wind and the soft sand cushions my toes.
Fishing tests your patience; if you want to catch a fish, you’re going to have to wait. I dip my feet into the icy water of the river and wait, wait, wait. I feel relaxed, surrounded by nature, but the air around me is also buzzing with the excitement. Goats graze on the grass that grows atop the rocky cliff across from me, and a gentle breeze whispers through the ivy that drapes over it. My hands are gripped tightly around my rod, ready to reel up my first catch, ready for the weight of a monster fish, ready for anything. Out of nowhere, I feel the slightest tug on my line and see a flash of rainbow scales beneath the water. I see my fishing rod bending with weight, which could mean only one thing: FISH ON! I begin to reel it in, inch by inch. The trout flies out of the water, glistening as the setting sun reflects off of its scales. The sky is ablaze, full of different shades of magenta, orange, and scarlet. It was as if an artist had painted the sky with the skillful strokes of their paintbrush. I hear my parents gasp with awe behind me. The first
I turned off the car and took a deep breath. Looking slowly up into the pink sky, I began to watch the golden sun go to sleep. The beach seemed deserted, quiet, but peaceful. I opened my door and put my feet out on the soft sand. I started taking my shoes off, then my socks. I threw them in the passenger seat, and then shut the door. I looked out over horizon of the lake and started walking towards the still water. With each step I took, I could feel the warm sand crunch between my toes. Then suddenly, a sharp rock, but not sharp enough to break the skin.
We arrived at the Lodge at night and before I went to sleep, the only thing that entered my mind was catching an enormous fish this year. I was in Canada, not Ohio and could not wait for what tomorrow would bring. I leaped from the ground onto the soft cozy bed and rested my head upon the fluffy marshmallow like pillow. I attempted to go to bed, but could not stop thinking of what tomorrow would bring. I had to try to sleep; otherwise, I would be exhausted all day on the boat. So far the biggest fish that I caught was a 41 inch, which is big but I was hungry and determined that I could beat my record. Beating my record has always been a goal of mine, and I hope it can happen this year. Bitterness was all throughout my mouth and I was committed of catching a bulky and larger fish this year. I carried my jacket, fishing pole, and snacks to take on the boat. I love to go fishing when the weather is nice. The first day that we started fishing was a quiet warm summer day. The peaceful lake was a mirror as I could see my reflection in the cold shallow water. The occasional bird chirps bounced off my ear as I patiently waited to catch a fish. The blue fishing rod is tightly close to me. I casted the bait out and when it hit the water a faint plop arose. All of a sudden, the fishing pole
When my father and I arrived to our destination, at five o’clock that morning, the smell of freshly cut grass slaps me in the face, almost taking my breath away. As I unloaded my dad’s 1997, red, two door, low rider, Sonoma truck, my dad called me to this dirt pile. But this dirt pile was no ordinary dirt pile. The dirt smelt like an “outhouse”. My dad said, “Rose, this is where you will be getting your bait to fish.” I was thinking to myself, “There is no way I’m putting my hand in that crap.” I pulled out my little tackle box full of hooks, weights, and every color of artificial worm a person could think of and said with a frown, “Dad! I am just going to use these worms today and I will use the real ones next time.” My dad laughed, pulled ...