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Essays on fishing
Essays on fishing
My personal narrative: my experience of fishing
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The breeze pushed my hair behind my ears. The water rippled as I stared down into the empty ocean, dreaming of a fish. My legs felt like jello and my hands were shaking. I was sweating in my heavy-duty rain gear. I had been standing in the corner holding my fishing pole for what felt like hours. Almost instantly my pole was pulled towards the water, I quickly pulled the pole back to reel in my line. My muscles were aching and I wanted to let go of my fishing pole but my heart would not me. It was August 2017. My family and I were in Homer, Alaska, the halibut capital of the world. My whole family loves fishing but I was never excited about going onto the water for hours at a time. I have always enjoyed being around my family but the motion …show more content…
Want some goldfish?” Nana’s kind voice asked as she handed me a short fishing pole and a thick pair of gloves. “No thank you, I’m fine” I replied. I stood up and started to prepare. I grabbed a 3-pound weight, a big chunk of bait on my hook and added some shrimp spray and blue heron juice to release the scent. I positioned myself across from the bait ball and let my weight hit bottom. For a long time, I had been my Grandpa's deckhand. I was never allowed to fish but I knew how to bait the hook, read the ‘fish radar’, and untangle line. I sat there with my pole and looked at the glaciers and beautiful mountains surrounded by the calm silver water. My hands were sweating but somehow shivering at the same time. Some Humpback Whales were putting on a show in the near distance. They flew up into the air and then landed on the calm water. The mist blew out of their blowholes as they moved out towards the open sea. The porpoises were behind them, jumping with the same energy and excitement. I watched them leap through the air one after another. They were beautiful. I was so distracted by the sea creatures, I barely noticed when something tugged on my line. Then a force so strong, it felt like it could pull my arms off. I put two hands on my pole and pulled it straight up to set
The fish had a look of sorrow as if it had let the Universe down by being silly enough to confuse a bit of metal with something naturally provided for its sustenance. While I was grateful for its capture, we were both grateful for its release. I didn't actually get to see the grateful look as the fish disappeared, quicksilver like, and left me there with my own grateful self. I caught no more fish that day, but Artie did, and from that time on I was captivated by fly fishing. It took me awhile to get capable of it. It took even longer to get passable at it. Nowadays I can actually teach folks how to do it, including my girl Sammie. I've heard it said that you understand a concept when you can describe it to your grandmother in a manner that she can understand. Both mine had dearly departed before I had a chance to test that theory; It did work on Sammie though, who some days out fishes me. I have gotten to the point where I love to fly fish even without catching fish. I love where trout live. I love the bugs they eat. I know their names in Latin...Baetis, Tricorythodes, Heptageniidae. I'm grateful for that trip with Artie, and more grateful for the fish I catch, then set free. I can never be grateful enough for the sacrifices
"The sun was going down, and I couldn't see in the water. Montalto is a serious, soft-spoken young man with a sturdy build, who was a hockey player in high school. "I was throwing a bluegill colored swim bait, jerking it to make it look as if it were dying on the bed. "Another cast, jerked it once, and the fish took off.” Montalto was prepared--sort of. He had a Johnny Morris Titanium 8 casting rod, and a Bass Pro Qualifier reel loaded with Power Pro 50-pound braid. "I set the hook, and the fish felt small. Then I realized I just felt air because the drag was loose. It hit close, so it didn't take long to get it in. "I got on my stomach to scoop it out, because there was a drop-off at the bank with weeds and grass. I had to bear-hug it out of the water. "I put it on the scale, and it read 16.75. I put it on again, and it still read 16.75. I was like, okay, here's a big fish.” The article continues on to describe the way he makes money after catching the fish and how people are always trying to beat his “behemoth of a bass”. He was just shy of the state record but says he will continue fishing probably his whole life… “The violence I feel through the rod promises the fish of a lifetime.” This quote describes how a man was fishing and had hooked a big fish. He knew it was a big
It was the 26th of March, and we had excitedly, albeit wearily, arrived; concluding twelve excruciatingly long hours of travel. However, my father and I had one thing in mind, to land a powerful saltwater game fish. Despite the previous year in Hawaii where we had caught only miniscule lizard fish, we were determined to change our fishing fortune in Puerto Aventuras, Mexico.
In my opinion, there is nothing quit like fishing, whether you are participating the beautiful, articulate, practice of Fly Fishing with the ever-so-pleasing swoosh of the line. Or just simply spinning your lure out into the lake, hearing that satisfying “plop” of it hitting the water’s surface as the wind brushes gently again your face, bringing with it the fresh smell of the lake water and pine trees. To me, it is a very surreal experience. It has always been, ever since my uncle bought me my first fishing rod for my tenth birthday. I remember opening the gift and thinking to myself “what the heck am I going to do with this?” because neither of my parents nor any of my siblings were very accustomed to
Fly fishing is a very big part of my life. Catching your first steelhead was right of passage at my house. Steelheading has taught me to persevere even when you’re expected to fail.
Fishing is an escapist an opportunity for thoughtful reflection and avenue for
I untied the boat and my brother ored us back to shore. When we arrived, it started to sprinkle and we hadn't even started a fire to cook our fish over. We gathered a bunch of dead sticks and snached cardboard from the caboose. We had the fire roaring with flames in a matter of seconds. My brother cleaned the fish and would hand me the meat to cook as he was still cleaning the fish.
Finally my father grabs the net and plunges it into the water as the fish makes its final approach I menubar the line and fish swim perfectly into the net, victory! The joy I feel is immense a feeling that before this moment myself had never had the pleasure of feeling. I lift the fish from the net and crack the hook from its mouth with minimal effort. The fish is hard the touch pure muscle, teeth sharp very easily one of the apex predator of the lake. The snap of the camera signifies the end to the battle as I stand next to my father slain beast in hand
When you have to learn what bait to use for a certain fish or what color based on the water clarity and water pressure it becomes hard to be good. ”The hook had to be swung in a large arc upstream to where the water pounded out of the spillway.” The way you have to cast is a complicated art form you have to perfect. When fishing you have to deal with the fact you can’t fish some places. ”Once or twice a day the warden comes by with knife and cuts the lines and lets the hooks fall into the water and tells us if he catches us there again, he will arrest us, but we know he is only saying that to scare us and when he is gone second hooks come out, or third or fifth-however many it takes” When you fish illegally you can lose your license to fish for over a year.
His eyes re-focused onto the unfiltered light at the end of the barrel, he turned his head toward the face of the wave, his reflection rippling across the flow. He saw the sadness in his eyes, not for the fact the ride was almost over, but he felt something so unexplainable, something more than just sadness swell inside him. It was needed. But before he could illiterate on his thoughts, he felt the morning air, ice against his wet skin, and his focus returned to his footing, bending his knees one last time, he leaned slightly inward, sending the board upward toward the Crest of the wave. He took one last glance at the curve of
The smell of barbeque was moving down the dam at Lake Carlyle. Families and friends come here to fish, eat, and relax in the sun. There were kids who mindlessly played on the slides and swings at the playground. The kids were loud as they were screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs. People were fishing almost everywhere.
But when we got there I saw a sleek wooden structure with sturdy 12’’ by 12” wooden beams going across. Rushing water flowing through the old logging dam it was maybe twenty five feet across and apparently had been opened in the 1870s and was in service for about fifty years and was added to the national list of historic places. Now I had no idea that this was the spot that we were going to be fishing at I had assumed it was going to be some place on the shore. So we walked down the side of the dam to a little spot right at the end.
Thankfully, the waters were much calmer here. As Papa lowered the anchor, I helped Nana get the fishing poles all set up. I watched as they attatched the bait to the ends of each pole. The fishing poles were still too heavy for me, so I had to rest it against the side of the boat as I sat in my small folding chair. Nana caught the first fish.
About three miles down the river we spot the tip of a canoe just above water. We investigated and concluded it was ours. The canoe was submerged underwater so we had to use rope and a tree to get it out. We got in our canoe and eventually found our paddles. The people at our campsite fished all the bags out of the river as they passed.
Grabbing the line, I waded down into the water and maneuvered towards my opponent. As luck would have it, the fish reacted violently once I entered the water pulling me off-balance and into the water. Feeling the cool water soak into my clothes, I feebly made my way over to the fish, unwilling to give up the battle. Carefully grabbing the fish, I pinched its lip and pried the hook out. Slowly waddling out of the water and up the bank, I hurried to our water cooler to deposit my catch and to dry myself off.