The fishing opener is the weekend and with friends and family gearing up for another year on the water, I started thinking of some of my favorite fishing stories.
There was the time I was fishing with my grandpa and aunt and caught a sheephead as big as my 4th grade torso.
There was the fishing opener where it stormed all weekend long and the only fish I remember catching was a bass, the meatloaf was delicious and the milk tasted like wine. Seriously. It was gross.
There was the first trip to the Northwest Angle and the first four walleyes I caught were each the biggest walleye I ever caught.
Then there was the time when six of us made a boundary waters trip. We canoed in for a day and none of us really knew what we were doing. It was just fun to be on the water in good weather and try to catch fish. We didn’t catch many. We mostly almost caught a bunch of fish. We’d get them to the boat and they’d shake free. It was frustrating to say the least but we were all saved when Steve, who borrowed all his fishing gear (and was explicitly told to be very careful), went to cast towards the shoreline and the rod slipped out of his hand and into the water. Right next to the canoe. We watched his only fishing pole sink to the bottom of the lake in the crystal clear boundary waters. The only words he could muster as it sank out of reach was “Oh crap.”
We canoed back to the campground in silence. Well, he was silent. I laughed and laughed and laughed the entire way back. How do you throw your rod into the lake?! It was awesome. Sure, we tried to grab it as it was sinking. Sure we tried to reach it with whatever we could but the deceiving thing about crystal clear water is it doesn’t look deep until… you know… you can see your rod at the bottom of the lake and can’t get to it!
There’s my favorite fishing story this week. It seems to change depending on my particular nostalgia for the day. What’s your favorite fishing story?