We’d been out on the water since 6 am without any luck. I
think the fish knew it was too hot and rightly stuck to the bottom of the lake
where our bait didn’t reach. It was nearing noon, and I was ready to call it
quits, and relax in the cool basement with some biscotti and a diet
caffeine-free coke (the kind in the gold cans that I only like in Georgia). I
was rounding up the gear and started up the rocky path to the house when my
grandpa gets a sly look on his face and says, “Hold on, you’ve never used a fly
rod before, have you?” I replied, “No.” “Run up there and grab one, we’re gonna
try for just a bit longer.” My countenance (probably very noticeably) fell as I
pictured more hours in the sun with no reward for my efforts. But, I obeyed and
got the rod.
Grandpa took me straight across the lake to the other side.
One of his many “spots.” If you could have anti-hope, that’s what I had for
this little lesson. Grandpa was smoking a big cigar and asked me if I wanted a
puff before we started. He handed it over to me with one end completely covered
with saliva (ew!), but I still tried it. I don’t think I did it right. Anyways,
he taught me the basics: flick of the wrist, a few moments pause, then out of
the water again. Handing the rod over to me, Grandpa had a solemn look, as if
he was passing down a sacred rite that oughtn’t be derided. I cast my first few
poppers a bit awkwardly but soon caught the rhythm of it. It is fun, learning
something new. It has a way of reminding you that there will always be some
part of you that is a child who needs to learn.
As the sun settled at its peak, I was busy casting and
recasting. ‘This was fun,’ I thought, ‘not too bad.’ Little did I expect that
within seconds I would see the lure submerge in a wink to my grandfather’s
elation. I remembered his admonition, “Wait a second, then strike.” And soon
was reeling in my surprise, sunny day fish. And what do you know, it was a
Sunny! I will absolutely never, and I mean never forget the shine of blue and
silver as the little fish wriggled in my hand. (That’s right, it was an average
size Sunny, but don’t you forget that I hold the Sullivan Lake record with a
23lb bass!) We didn’t have a camera to take a picture, but we didn’t need one.
During the burst of adrenaline, I managed to paint mental portraits of this
precious moment. And now I deposit them here, for my family, for my Grandpa.
Here’s to you, Grandpa.
Love,
Anna Jo
