Page 16 of Beck & Coll
“Fishing. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. Be ready.”
My fishing boat wasn’t luxurious, but it was a comfortable thirty-foot vessel with leg room and space for up to four adults. After driving for a little over a half an hour, we got on the waters of Lake Carson around seven o’clock. It was a little bit of a late start for me, but I wasn’t too worried about it. After getting us out to the middle of the lake, I cut the engine then turned to Collins.
“All right, city girl,” I teased, and received a grin from her for my efforts. “The wilderness experience isn’t about making you try everything. It’s more about exposing you to everything. With that being said, there's no way in hell that I’m about to even suggest that you put the bait on the hook. I’ll do that.”
She nodded in relief. “Okay. Good.”
“You also don’t have to take the fish off the hook. If you catch a fish or several fish, I’ll be responsible for removing them from the hook.”
She cheesed at me, showing all thirty-two of her pearly whites. “I love this little rapport we have going, Beckham. It’s like you’ve known me all of my life.”
“Definitely know women like you, Collins.”
We both chuckled.
“After I bait your hook, you’ll throw your line out, and you’ll be responsible for reeling in the fish if you get a bite. Sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
I turned my back to her while I attached a tiny minnow to the hook. Then I turned to her and questioned, “You ever fished before? I don’t wanna assume that you’re completely unfamiliar.”
She hedged. “I’ve gone fishing before. But I was usually jumping rope or playing with other kids who were forced to go fishing with their dads.”
“What?”
“Um, my dad used to take me fishing… Where I’m from you park your car then walk to where you’re allowed to fish. We didn’t get in a boat. My dad would sit or stand close to the shore of the lake and drop his line. Where my dad used to fish was by the park. So I would play at the park while my dad fished.”
I was trying to visualize what she described but figured it was one of those things where you had to be there. “So, you’ve never casted?”
“Nope. I’ve never touched a fishing pole.”
I spent a few minutes demonstrating the art of casting, handed her a pair of gloves, then let her have at it. The goal wasn’t for her to be perfect. The goal was for her to have the experience and to be comfortable with it.
“People say that you have to be quiet while you're fishing, but that’s not really true, is it? I mean, where my dad used to fish was by a park. We were loud as hell in the park. He stillcaught fish.” She paused. “We didn’t eat them. He wasn’t fishing for like… dinner. It was more like… sport. Fishing was a hobby. I don’t think my stepmom would’ve let us eat anything he caught.”
“Nah, you don’t have to be completely quiet. I’m saying, the water isn’t completely quiet. There’s all types of activity happening down there. But I wouldn’t recommend being obviously loud. What kinds of fish did your dad catch?”
“Uh, I think mostly catfish and carp. And probably alewives. They were always turning up dead on the shore by the hundreds. There must be a gang of those in Lake Michigan. He probably caught those. But like I said, he would throw all the fish back.”
After about an hour of fishing, she and I were both into a good rhythm.
“Fishing after a rainstorm typically gives you better fish activity,” I commented as I felt a pull on my line.
“I can tell. How many fish have you caught over there, sir?”
“About fifteen all together. About ten I can keep.”
“And you eat them?”
“I definitely eat them. My mother cleans them, and either my father or I will fry them or put them on the grill.”
“What are we catching?”
“Mostly trout, which I love. We also have a few bass. What I’m hoping for is some Coho.”
“What type of fish is that?”
“Salmon.”
