{ I led the canoe parade.}
{Preparing for launch.}
{They're off!}
{Fishing.}
{Karis napped like a mermaid diva.}
{Me? Fishing? It's legit!"}
{Stuart the fisher boy.}
{Me and my worm. Please go to bottom of post to read my worm story}
{Stuart built this little sailboat, designed entirely out of his own head. He carved it out! Um, out of wood, though, no this head.}
{Dad flipping burgers for dinner.}
{And the family, minus Sethy who had to work.}
Well, it was towards the end of our day. The only fish caught was a monster catfish taken in my Stuart. The rest of us had only come up $14.30 poorer. We stood at the edge of the lake, in the dark, underneath the Milky Way. Yes, it was as beautiful as it sounds. It was actually breath-taking. Scott and I were the last left fishing. The rest of the family was starting to pack up. By evil chance, my worm had come off of my hook, yet I was determined to catch a fish. Scott was busy; everyone else was up at the van packing. I knew what I had to do. Summoning every ounce of bravery, fortitude, courage and nerves, I marched over to the large rock with the bowl of night crawlers. Holding the flashlight in one hand, the sharpened knife in the other, I flipped a worm out of the dirt-filled bowl, prostrated its victimized body against the rock, and cut cut cut!! My howls of disgust and general grossed-out-ness drowned out the noise of the knife and my dancing in place while cutting enabled me to not feel it’s body contracting in agony. Two worms now lay before me. One had “hook” written all over it. Now was the real test. I took hold of my hook (why do they make hooks so small?) and with the utmost care to not touch the worm that was braced against the rock, I stabbed, stabbed, stabbed away at that worm until it was impaled on my hook. And I didn’t even had to touch it. The end of the tale is that I did not catch a fish, but at least I can say I baited a hook all by myself. :)
Now, my worm stories. Yes, that's plural.
Okay, and now here’s the worm story. I don’t like worms. It’s not that I’m afraid of worms, I just prefer to not let them touch me with their squirming, slimy selves. On this lake adventure, in addition to our party of 8 people, we took up three Styrofoam bowls of fresh night-crawlers. Even just the word night-crawler sounds disgusting. I was easily persuaded to purchase a day fishing license, but under the firm ejaculations that I was not going to put the worms on the hook. Ever. So, my two brothers graciously came at my beck and call to re-worm my hook (which wasn’t very often, since fish weren’t biting that day. Big surprise - who wants to eat soggy worm??). Anyways, Stuart decided that fishing off the canoe was going to be our best bet, so me, Karis, and Stuart piled into the canoe. In that order, me in the front. Note the fact that Karis was behind me. Not being overly proficient in either fishing pole management or canoe-handling, our effort in getting out into the lake was somewhat clumsy, but despite repeated run-ins between paddle and pole, we made it. We being us three and the few chosen worms who accompanied us, still attached to their hooks. Yuk. We got our lines into the water, settled in and really, it was quite peaceful. The soft breezes. The gentle rocking of the canoe. The lap-lap-lap of tiny waves against the boat….and then, squish. Something landed on my head. It was quickly retracted, but not before I head a chagrined “oops” from Karis sitting behind me. I’ve never been good at math, but I knew that adding “squish” and “oops” did not bode well for me. Frantically I asked “what was that???” My calm, composed sister’s voice came up to me at the front of the boat, “Um. My worm.” Her worm?? Landed in my hair?? Grossest upon gross! Let it be known, gentle reader, that I was not angry (it could have happened to anyone) but I was disgusted, putrefied and all around grossed-out. My hair was thoroughly washed out and disinfected immediately upon arrival home…but that was like 5 hours later…
Okay, and now here’s the worm story. I don’t like worms. It’s not that I’m afraid of worms, I just prefer to not let them touch me with their squirming, slimy selves. On this lake adventure, in addition to our party of 8 people, we took up three Styrofoam bowls of fresh night-crawlers. Even just the word night-crawler sounds disgusting. I was easily persuaded to purchase a day fishing license, but under the firm ejaculations that I was not going to put the worms on the hook. Ever. So, my two brothers graciously came at my beck and call to re-worm my hook (which wasn’t very often, since fish weren’t biting that day. Big surprise - who wants to eat soggy worm??). Anyways, Stuart decided that fishing off the canoe was going to be our best bet, so me, Karis, and Stuart piled into the canoe. In that order, me in the front. Note the fact that Karis was behind me. Not being overly proficient in either fishing pole management or canoe-handling, our effort in getting out into the lake was somewhat clumsy, but despite repeated run-ins between paddle and pole, we made it. We being us three and the few chosen worms who accompanied us, still attached to their hooks. Yuk. We got our lines into the water, settled in and really, it was quite peaceful. The soft breezes. The gentle rocking of the canoe. The lap-lap-lap of tiny waves against the boat….and then, squish. Something landed on my head. It was quickly retracted, but not before I head a chagrined “oops” from Karis sitting behind me. I’ve never been good at math, but I knew that adding “squish” and “oops” did not bode well for me. Frantically I asked “what was that???” My calm, composed sister’s voice came up to me at the front of the boat, “Um. My worm.” Her worm?? Landed in my hair?? Grossest upon gross! Let it be known, gentle reader, that I was not angry (it could have happened to anyone) but I was disgusted, putrefied and all around grossed-out. My hair was thoroughly washed out and disinfected immediately upon arrival home…but that was like 5 hours later…
Well, it was towards the end of our day. The only fish caught was a monster catfish taken in my Stuart. The rest of us had only come up $14.30 poorer. We stood at the edge of the lake, in the dark, underneath the Milky Way. Yes, it was as beautiful as it sounds. It was actually breath-taking. Scott and I were the last left fishing. The rest of the family was starting to pack up. By evil chance, my worm had come off of my hook, yet I was determined to catch a fish. Scott was busy; everyone else was up at the van packing. I knew what I had to do. Summoning every ounce of bravery, fortitude, courage and nerves, I marched over to the large rock with the bowl of night crawlers. Holding the flashlight in one hand, the sharpened knife in the other, I flipped a worm out of the dirt-filled bowl, prostrated its victimized body against the rock, and cut cut cut!! My howls of disgust and general grossed-out-ness drowned out the noise of the knife and my dancing in place while cutting enabled me to not feel it’s body contracting in agony. Two worms now lay before me. One had “hook” written all over it. Now was the real test. I took hold of my hook (why do they make hooks so small?) and with the utmost care to not touch the worm that was braced against the rock, I stabbed, stabbed, stabbed away at that worm until it was impaled on my hook. And I didn’t even had to touch it. The end of the tale is that I did not catch a fish, but at least I can say I baited a hook all by myself. :)
Despite those few hiccups, it was pretty much the funnest day ever! We ate, we laid around, we canoed, we fished. The $14.30 spent on my day license might not have bought me any fish, but it bought we a good time with my brothers and sisters. Looking forward to actually camping there next week!
