Gone Fishin'

Whoever claimed that fishing is a relaxing pastime has never been fishing with our family.

My Beloved got to do that activity a lot as a child- with the added luxury of his father owning a small runabout to run about in- so he’s a big supporter of the sport.

On the other hand, the closest I ever came to dropping a line was ‘crawbobbing’ in the creek behind our campus, and only did that once or twice throughout high school. Oh and unless you count the plastic fish with magnets-for-mouths that the kids used to cast about in the bath, they’ve never had a crack at it either.

So it was with much excitement and a little trepidation that we ventured forth the first time with our entire entourage in tow (consisting of 2 adults + 3 kids, yet strangely, enough food to sustain the SS Minnow on its three seasons lost at sea…you get that when you let kids pack the picnic).

Ironically, in spite of the fact that my Beloved had grown up with a boat in the family while I originally sat the test to impress him, we discovered that he had inadvertently let his license lapse so it was up to me to chart our course across the lake for a local fishing spot rumoured to be brimming with biters. Or so we’d heard.

Yet since it was his area of expertise, and I was worried about impaling myself on the hook given my history of hand-eye coordination, my Beloved was in charge of preparing the lines. Never mind his bait of choice was prawns and he happens to suffer an allergy to shellfish, he stoically sat and speared the soft flesh while the rest of us got our sea legs (or sea butts, to be more precise- the boat was way too small to stand up in).

We’d barely dropped anchor when the first cries of “I’m hungry” started across the stern, and barely had my Beloved got one rod ready before the chorus changed to “I’m bored”. But I was enjoying the sunshine and saltwater lapping at the sides and tried to engage our offspring in some bird-watching and sea-life spotting. That lasted about as long as it took for my Beloved to bait the next hook.

Seems the gentle bobbing of the boat was relaxing enough for our daughter at least, and she crawled under the wheel for a small snooze while the grownups tried to encourage the remaining two children to drop a line and please try not to scare the fish away. Easier said than done, especially with sons.

On the upside, we had a lot less weight to carry back across the lake as the boys proceeded to empty the esky of all edible contents, and made a small contribution to the waterline (not quite so easy for we females to achieve given the space and the circumstances). Our youngest even managed to reel in a bream and a whiting (both of kiss-&-release size) before deciding he’d had enough of this fishing stuff and was again calling for anchors aweigh. Ignoring his best efforts to frighten away anything living in the lake, we pressed on for a little while longer (if only to get our money’s worth out of the bait).

Unfortunately, in the process of catching and casting, my Beloved and I got a little too close for comfort and I ended up with a hook in my finger anyway. What’s worse, he also suffered a mild reaction to having his hands in a bucket of prawns (but then slept very well that night thanks to the combined effects of the sun, the sea, the stress, and the antihistamines).

Having dozed through almost the entire excursion, our daughter crawled out from her hidey hole just as we were making the return journey, and in the confusion that followed, our son lost his hat, which made like the waves behind us and was merrily bidding farewell until I caved in to his cries and turned the boat around, went back, and scooped the soggy cap out.

During the clean-up once safely back on home soil (which also did not appeal to the children, for some reason), my Beloved and I reflected on the whole experience:

All I managed to catch was a hat.

And all he managed to catch was me.

As for our daughter, she just managed to catch a few Zs.

But you know what, we just can’t wait for the next time we can all go fishin’!*

Jx
©2010