Despite my lifelong fear of lake fish, and despite owning a fish whose life I value more than most of my worldly possessions, I went fishing for the very first time a couple of weeks ago. It's one of my boyfriend's absolute favorite things to do, and I didn't think very hard about what kind of conflict it might ignite in my crazy head. So I decided to hop on a boat and cast a lure.
I caught a little bluegill within a few minutes of setting anchor. This is what he looks like:
I released him back into the water after posing with him. He seemed just a little bit ruffled by the incident, and I could've sworn he flipped me the bird before swimming away.
The next fish I caught was just as tiny. But my hook got him pretty bad. Chuck struggled to unhook him, and it got to the point where I had to turn away and focus my mind at the still lake. When Chuck released him back into the lake, the poor thing didn't move. "He's gone!" I screeched. "No! No!"
I stared at that fish for the longest time, and then buried my head between my knees and sobbed. And then, in a scene right out of a bad comedy, a seagull swooped down and snatched the dead fish up and away from me.
Chuck took turns comforting me and trying very hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But I was inconsolable for a little while. I spent the rest of the afternoon casting the lure as far as I could, and reeling it in so fast that no fish could ever catch it.
