Each year, our township sponsors a Fishing Derby on the first Saturday in May. The pond in our local park is stocked with 1,500 rainbow trout, and from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. you can fish ‘til your heart’s content. Or until you catch three fish – whichever comes first. I don’t mind the idea of fishing as a hobby, but our pond is usually an unrealistic and putrid shade of greenish-blue, and I would never dream of eating a fish from there. Well, I don’t like to clean fish, or eat fish, either, so I have always been a huge fan of just throwing back anything that is hooked. I blame Jacob’s newfound passionate interest in fishing on my nephew, Carey, who is a professional fisherman on the east coast. Carey took Jacob fishing last spring and guaranteed him that he would catch a fish. He made good on the promise. I have taken Jacob fishing at least 10 times since then and he has not had as much as a nibble. Even at the Fishing Derby last May, Jacob never had a bite, despite the fact that there were allegedly hundreds of hungry trout swimming in the pond.
The 2008 Fishing Derby was held yesterday. We got an early start, hoping to have first dibs on the stockpile of aquatic critters. After an hour of casting his line, not only did Jacob not have a fish yet, but very few people around us had caught anything, either. So where were all of these trout anyway? We stayed for another half hour, then took a break to go have breakfast. After eating, we returned to the pond to try again. Ninety minutes later, Jacob still had not snagged a thing – not even a stick or weed. Needless to say, Jacob is a bit disillusioned with this whole fishing business, but says he will go back to the park today to use up the rest of his worm supply. I really hope he will catch something so we can at least click a few photos and, if nothing else, prove to Carey that we are worthy anglers.
The water is now murky gray, not greenish-blue anymore.
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