Then it finally dawned on me! Eating those fishy prawn bastards wasn't enough. No, I would have to capture (and release) these creatures to truly bring some form of creativity and lust back into my life! Plus it would be a truly ironic follow up.
So I decided to temporarily take up the fine art of fishing.
I didn’t come to this decision on my own like I make it sound. In all actuality it was one of my best friends who had been coercing me for about…I’d say three months, to get me to go fishing with him before I finally buckled down and said yes. Day after day he would call me and pester me to death. Begging and pleading me to go fishing with him, constantly saying that the only way to get stress out of my life was to go fishing, the only way to enjoy the summer was to go fishing, the only way to get rid of that nasty pale tone on my skin was to go fishing. I kept pushing it off saying “oh yeah, sure we will. But not tomorrow, maybe next tomorrow”. To be truthful I was busy most of the time and I didn’t have a license to fish, but deep down I was truly resentful and hateful to the task of fishing.
Why's that you ask?
The last time that I had gone fishing was when I was the tender age of 12-15 years old. My best friend at the time and I used to go almost every day, and fish in the creeks in the untamed lands of Priest Lake. These creeks were usually the only safe places to fish, mainly because it’s where you wouldn’t be attacked by the savage Neanderthal, since they had a natural hate towards the sound of running water. Our main reason for fishing was to go out, enjoy nature, try and catch fish and smoke cigarettes. It was a great time.
I think it was also fun for my best friend to humiliate me as well. You see he was able to constantly catch fish over and over again. While I on the other hand would sit there and stare at the water with hate. Hate knowing that my line would never catch a damn thing.
This went on for years.
One day it happened. My line started yanking, I started pulling, and I reeled in a fish! It was an amazing three inch long piece of crap that you couldn’t do anything with, but I was amazingly proud of it. I must have stood there for fifteen minutes yelping like a madman, drunk with accomplishment, happy with the fact that I had finally caught something other than kelp. I had the full intention of mounting this damn thing on my wall. We then took the fish, tied it off to a side of the creek that wasn't running and continued to fish. Not more than 10 minutes later I heard a noise.
I turned from my hard earned, pride filled fishing to see something absolutely horrible. Some goddamn dog comes out of nowhere and proceeds to eat my goddamn fish! My only fish! Every last bit of it!
I tried to scare it, tried to yell at it, but it just sat there eating it then promptly ran off. It didn’t even have the decency to leave me the head. My friend did have the decency to laugh at me. So there I stood, pole in hand, with no fish. From that point on I vowed never to fish again, mainly because I realized how pointless and boring it all was, but also because my one accomplishment from all those years had been taken from me.
Which brings us back to modern times.
After weeks and months of being badgered, I finally gave in to my best friend’s demand that I go out fishing with him. He kept insisting that it would be good for me and we would have a good time. I went out with him expecting the exact opposite. I drove out to the spot dragging my feet with a scowl on my face looking all around me for some ravenous fish hungry dog to jump out of the bushes.
But wouldn't you know it, the second I arrived there and started fishing I got the exact opposite of what I expected. I not only enjoyed the time I had fishing, but I also caught a fish. One that was more than three inches long. That little taste of capturing my most hated food enticed me to do more fishing with my friend.
Sure enough I did even more fishing and ended up catching an assload of fish (which cured my inferiority complex), but I didn’t stop at just regular fishing. I went trolling, drove a boat while others fished, learned about the different lures (and promptly forgot), I lost my pasty complexion and got super Tan/Burnt, and then lost that because it all flaked off in giant potato chip size chunks of skin. I even took my daughter fishing and she caught loads of fish (which was absolutely adorable image, and the pictures of her doing so deserves to be on every Hallmark card known to man).
All in all performing one of my most hated recreational tasks on my most hated foods ended being one of the most fun things I did this summer. It was great schtuff.
So It’s a Fact: I learned that sometimes it’s okay to pick up old hobbies that you once hated, and that sometimes even though you think you know better that sometimes your friends do know what’s best for you. And now I’m an effing fisherman because of it. Though I have to borrow everyone’s gear.
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