because the original nephew's new home is just down the street from a creek and a pond, there is nothing to do but take the worms out of the fridge, coat ourselves in bug spray and take the whole family down to the water.
the sweetie, the original nephew's father and i have scouted out the area for fishability already, finding a shallow creek full of little fingernail fish and a drought-stricken pond the locals insist is full of catfish no matter what it looks like and it looks for the most part like mud. while the sweetie wisely stays on clearly marked park territory, the brother-in-law and i roam into uncharted territory and find the trail neighbors have promised goes right from the creek on up to the house. we manage to wade ourselves into a pile of chiggers somewhere on the trail and pay dearly for our recklessness. if you don't know what these beasts are, consider invisible frankenstein creatures cobbled together from ticks, fleas and mosquitoes with a little chicken pox sprinkled in. they are larval parasites. they live in colonies. if you find one, you've found hundreds. but this is a story for another day.
it is at least 95 degrees when we head out, an hour or so before dark, the parents, all three sisters, all three husbands, two little boys. the women in my family are, none of us, fisherfolk, but we are willing to sit ourselves at the edges of water and smell the evening air and watch the bats and lightning bugs while other folks try to trick fish.
there are varying levels of success in terms of the fishing, including two fat catfish caught one after the other late in the evening, the first by the sweetie and the second a minute later by the original nephew's father. the sky gets deeper and deeper but the heat does not give in to darkness. nobody says much that late in the evening. i have been fishing many times and have come to believe that above all else, this is what fishing is. the sound of the cicadas and the bullfrogs. the smell of the water and what's left of the day's heat. the quietness of standing there with people you know are yours and the promise of fish.
because the original nephew's new home is just down the street from a creek and a pond, there is nothing to do but take the worms out of the fridge, coat ourselves in bug spray and take the whole family down to the water.
the sweetie, the original nephew's father and i have scouted out the area for fishability already, finding a shallow creek full of little fingernail fish and a drought-stricken pond the locals insist is full of catfish no matter what it looks like and it looks for the most part like mud. while the sweetie wisely stays on clearly marked park territory, the brother-in-law and i roam into uncharted territory and find the trail neighbors have promised goes right from the creek on up to the house. we manage to wade ourselves into a pile of chiggers somewhere on the trail and pay dearly for our recklessness. if you don't know what these beasts are, consider invisible frankenstein creatures cobbled together from ticks, fleas and mosquitoes with a little chicken pox sprinkled in. they are larval parasites. they live in colonies. if you find one, you've found hundreds. but this is a story for another day.
it is at least 95 degrees when we head out, an hour or so before dark, the parents, all three sisters, all three husbands, two little boys. the women in my family are, none of us, fisherfolk, but we are willing to sit ourselves at the edges of water and smell the evening air and watch the bats and lightning bugs while other folks try to trick fish.
there are varying levels of success in terms of the fishing, including two fat catfish caught one after the other late in the evening, the first by the sweetie and the second a minute later by the original nephew's father. the sky gets deeper and deeper but the heat does not give in to darkness. nobody says much that late in the evening. i have been fishing many times and have come to believe that above all else, this is what fishing is. the sound of the cicadas and the bullfrogs. the smell of the water and what's left of the day's heat. the quietness of standing there with people you know are yours and the promise of fish.
2 comments:
Having not seen any "real" fish come from that pond, I still do not believe they are there. Maybe another night.
i was there for both catfish. they were real catfish-sized catfish, all fat and shiny.
i hear your nephew has some fish from that pond in his freezer. go check them out.
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