A Fish Tale

Last weekend, I went fishing with my dad. I packed the kids in my silver mommy van, waded through the 5 o'clock Friday traffic, and arrived at Lake Fork in time to meet Dad coming off the water. He'd found the "honey hole" and snagged two - one over six pounds, the other over seven! He knew where to take us the following day.

Saturday, he took out Ian, my ten year old, first at six AM. Ian going out for his first official early morning bass fishing with Pops is enough to melt my daddy's girl heart, and as expected, they had a blast. After they came in for lunch, Emily, my seven year old, and I crawled into the boat with Ian and my dad, and we returned to Lake Fork, the Big Bass Capital of Texas for another round. 

Initially, we cruised around in the hot Texas October sun. We found solace in the shade of an old bridge. We "wet a hook" as Dad would say but, sadly, with no luck. Then, evening hit. Fishing frenzy time. Dad returned to the "honey hole" and handed me the pole with the lure that attracted the lunkers the day before. Again, no luck. Then an artificial worm. Strike two. Finally, the chugger. I like a chugger; it makes bubbles and soothing gurgles as you flick it across the water. A hit! Emily and I each caught one simultaneously! We'd found the spot! Following photos and the obligatory fish kiss, we threw them back and returned to work. We knew we were onto something.

The sun met the horizon as the tunes of a wedding on a distant bank kept us singing with each cast. Our light fading, and we worked against time. 

Then, it happened. 

The. 

Lunker.

Hit.

My.

Line.

Dad immediately bent to reach for the dip net. My father, the fish whisperer, knew from the sound of the fish biting my line that it was a big one. I stepped back, pole tip high in the air, and reeled. The large mouth bass pulled and fought and then, for one beautiful moment, jumped high above the water, breaking the lake surface into shards of droplets. 

Ever seen one of those fishing shows where the pros make it look like they catch a 20 pounder every couple of minutes? Or those movie moments when the fading light glitters off scales of the biggest fish ever as it floats in slow motion in mid air before splashing back into the lake?

Yeah, it was that moment. Slow-mo and all.

And then, it was over. The lunker, while in his mid-air acrobatics, spit out my lure! The poor brutalized chugger landed with a teeny "plop" back into the murky lake water as my lunker crashed to freedom. I gasped. The kids asked, "What happened?" repeatedly as my face sagged. Dad stood up with the dip net in time to see the water calm again, and that I-know-the-feeling look spread across his face. He chuckled a little and said, "Aw, girl. You had him."

"Danggit."

"Sounded like he was pretty big!"

"Yeah, he was huge! His mouth was wide open! So huge!"

"I didn't even see it. I was getting the net."

"Danggit."

Following a few deep breaths, Dad gave the ten-cast warning, and the three of us went back to fishing furiously under his guidance. Despite Dad saying that the fish was probably already in New Mexico, it had sped off so quickly, I continued casting and casting, just hoping I'd get one more hit. One more bite. One more chance.

Swarms of mosquitoes set in with the darkness. It was past time to go. Regretfully, we packed it up and putted back to the dock and to our cabin.

...

Yesterday evening, one week later, I got a text from Dad asking if I remembered losing the big one at that same time a week ago. Yes, I remember. I'll always remember. I'll also remember the sheer glee on Dad's face as he watched each of us catch one. I'll remember his patience when we got tangled up or got grouchy with each other or didn't listen well to his instructions. And I'll remember the way my daughter stood at the front of the boat to my dad's right just like I did at her age. And the way my son looks at Dad and laughs while retelling their experiences. 

These daddy moments are my favorite. As I always say, I'm my dad's first son. He taught me football and fishing, and I'll forever be grateful.