Fishing Story

This week I'm writing a story on fishing. I dated a man who fished. I would row or paddle us out to the center of Mount Blue Pond in Maine and he would fish. I liked the exercise of rowing and paddling, however, I didn't like being quiet and burning to a crisp in the sun while said boyfriend, fished.

There wasn't anything really fun about it. But after talking to the Dale and Tami Casteel at Beacon's Landing on Lake Granby, I might try fishing this year.

The fun part about writing this week's column is the research. It also makes me want to know why I didn't grow up fishing. I talked to my brother and aunt about fishing when we were kids. I never did it and I don't know why. I'm going to keep digging and hopefully a story will emerge.

I love remembering. I love talking about family vacations and what I did as a kid. My brother told me a story today about how he and his friend Justin would fish from the concrete pier on Lake Champlain in Plattsburgh where we lived until I was 13. Just by his quick mention of that pier reminds me of so many family stories, memories of that lake where we swam; and it was just a mile down the road from our house. How lucky we were to live on a lake. I remember a life guard carrying a girl out of the water when she cut her foot on ice. Oh, the drama of that day.
Jason isn't a fisherman despite a few days fishing with our grandfather and some fishing trips with friends when he lived in Maryland. He's a beach person. So is my sister.

I never fished. I don't think I ever held a fishing pole in my hand.

But now I want to try it. When I lived in Steamboat and would tube down the Yampa River with friends, I was always amazed at the women flyfishermen we would float past. I could be a flyfisher-woman. I might just get my fishing license this year.