Gone Fishin'

The other day I called my husband while I was on my way home from work.  I was wrapping up a work week that was overwhelming.  Very long days, on call three nights in a row and some symptoms that were a challenge to manage. My mental exhaustion also included the projects I have been working on for the Humane Society, normal family issues and my sadness over the pathetic state of my garden.  So, I called Rick and whispered those words every man our age longs to hear, “ Stop what you are doing, go change your clothes, I am in the mood….to go fishing.”

I barely had the car in the driveway when Rick was backing the truck out of the pole shed.  I quickly changed out of my nursing uniform, invited Ande but received a look that I interpreted as “Really? Really Mom?  You have known me for all sixteen years of my life. When have I ever gone fishing?” and she went back to texting.  I am not sure Rick completely stopped the truck so I could jump in but we were headed to the river.

A quick stop at Pronto for bait and a few sodas and we headed down The Great River Highway. Usually we head north to the Genoa Dam but this time we were adventurous and turned south towards Ferryville into unknown shore fishing territory.

I have driven up and down this highway countless times since moving to Wisconsin. I even received a speeding ticket the first week we lived at the rental house. There is something about the Mississippi River that is commanding yet peaceful that can lull you into going just a little faster and faster and pretty soon you learn cruise control is your best friend when traveling this slightly curving road parallel to one of the most beautiful rivers.   With Rick behind the wheel driving the speed limit, it was my job to find a good spot to pull over to fish.

The town of Ferryville in the distance.

On this trip I could not remember where I have “always” seen people fishing off the shore.  Luckily we remembered there was a boat landing in town and found it quite easily.  Across the railroad tracks, tucked in behind some quaint homes, we found more then just a boat landing. Rick pulled the truck into an expansive parking lot that lead to a clean grassy area with picnic benches, a shelter, a large port-a- potty (also clean), and two outcroppings of rocks. It was beautiful.  We unloaded the poles, tackle box, a cooler for our catchings and looked for a good spot.

After putting a worm on the hook I carefully made my way to the furthest point out into the river, set my line and gently sat down. This little exercise of balance reminded me that I am not the graceful dancer I once was. I was glad Rick and I had the area to ourselves because getting back up was not going to be pretty. But that was a few hours away so I took off my shoes and socks and enjoyed the breeze.

Crayfish courtesy of the internet.

The river was moving at a quick clip and my bobber soon was close to shore. From my sitting position I cast again, nearly tangling my line with Rick’s.  I slowly reeled in. Did I feel a little nibble or was I getting caught on the rocks?  I could see the hook before it was out of the water. I caught the tiniest lobster I had ever seen. It was only two inches long and Rick informed me it was really a crayfish.  Later I would learn these are invasive.

For the rest of the afternoon I mainly fed the fish.  Few nibbles here and there, reel in and the worm was gone.  So, I changed my strategy and my location.  I walked back up the rocks and over to the other outcropping. I found there was a small dock that I hadn’t noticed before. Again, I cast out, sat down and just breathed. Isn’t this what I really came here for?  No cell phones, no computers, no demands.  I had needed to reconnect with what is important- a breeze on my skin, sun on the back of my neck, the lapping of the water on the shore, the occasional bird call and looking across the landing at the silhouette of my husband.  I fell a little more in love with him that evening.  The sparkling water, sun setting behind him, just watching him cast out and reel in, so peaceful, so content.

Then, in the midst of my peaceful moment the line wiggled. Was it the rocks? Another crayfish?  The pole bent ever so slightly. I tried to remain calm. I tried to remember what I was supposed to do. Wait for the next wiggle and jerk the pole back. I waited…and pulled! I had something. My heart got a little excited as the line was being pulled; something was swimming away from the shore.  Yippie! Not seaweed or a stick this time. I reeled in and paused.  Reeled in and paused. Then I just kept reeling in until I could see it under the water. I called for Rick but he did not hear me as my back was to him and a train was rumbling by just 100 yards away.   It was a northern pike….25 inches!

Fish story?