Yesterday, I caught a fish. I never have before, at least, not that I remember.
It’s always bothered me a bit that I have Dillon get my pole all ready, and this time, I was doing it myself. I put on the sinkers, tied on the hook, put on the power bait, and cast my pole into the water.
The lake had recently been stocked. I didn’t feel anything on my pole, and then it got snagged in a bush shortly off shore, so I reeled it in.
And there, on the end of my line, was a fish. A fish! It was a large mouth bass, according to Dillon.
I was too squeamish to actually touch the fish, get the hook out of its mouth, and throw it back into the water–I let Dillon do all that. But nonetheless, I caught a fish. My first fish ever.
And, like all good fish stories, I forgot my camera. So you’ll never know how big it was . . .
Okay. It was about three inches long. But it was a fish! That’s what matters.