Hooked

Hooked

It all started about two years ago. My husband, a keen fisherman lost his driving licence (due to having a lead foot) and so persuaded me to transport him to one of his favourite fishing lakes.
It was quite a brisk morning when we left the warmth of our home. Not being one for such an early awakening, I was not in the best of moods. My husband loaded the car with his fishing equipment and a spare chair so that I could be comfortable! while he was fishing.
It was just what I needed; a Saturday spent sitting watching someone’s plastic bouncy up and down thing. I could think of much more interesting things I could have been doing.
Apart from having a few more hour’s sleep, I could have been watching the TV or listening to some music. Anything would have been more preferable than to be going out at such an ungodly hour. Picking up a flask of coffee and a packed lunch, I closed the front door and walked down the path to the car.
“ Cheer up! Amanda “ he said closing the boot of the car.

“ Huh! “ was all I muttered, as I opened the driver’s door and got in.
It only took an hour to reach our destination, as we pulled into the small car park I could see the outline of a large building.
“ What’s that? “ I inquired yawning, still sleepy.
“ That’s the Information Centre and most important the toilets “ He replied, as I turned off the cars engine.
Paul got out of the car and went to the back of the car; he opened the boot and started to unpack his fishing gear.
Realising I had no other choice but to get out of the car, I opened the door and joined him at the boot. Looking around the small car park, I noticed that a lot of the parked cars belonged to people walking their dogs and not for fishing.
A small path led off right towards a small clump of trees, while another path forked off over a small hill.
“ Which way? “ I asked, gathering my chair and bag of provisions.
“ To the right “ he answered, nodding towards the clump of trees.
I closed the boot and locked the car, then following the retreating figure of my husband, plodded behind him.

The path was uneven and I soon wished that I had worn my trainers and not my fancy sandals. Small stones infiltrated their way under my feet, causing me to lag behind. By the time we had reached the lake, I had to stop at least a dozen times to dispel the offending interlopers.
Trees grew in batches around the lakes edge, in between empty spaces, bull rushes swayed gently in the summer breeze. Many different ducks and water birds floated on the almost still water.
Paul walked a short way around the lake until he came to a slight slope.
“ This swim will do, “ he told me.
“ Swim? I’m not going swimming in that! “ I answered, referring to the murky water.
“ No “ he laughed, “ a swim is what this clearing is called. It is where you are supposed to fish from. “ He put his knapsack down with his bag of fishing rods and set up his chair.
I placed my chair down to the left of him and plonked down in a huff. Looking around the lake I could see another man fishing, just off to the right of where we were sitting.

Paul put his pieces of rod together and I watched as he threaded the line through the rings on the rod. He then threaded a weight and tied a hook to the end. He put a couple of corn pieces on the hook and then tipping the rode behind him quickly brought it forward. The weight sailed out across the lake and then with a small splash, dropped into the water about thirty feet away. He placed the rod between two funny shaped sticks that he had knocked into the ground.
“ Bank sticks, “ he muttered, looking over at my puzzled expression.
I watched as he wound back some of the line until the end of the rod slightly bent.
“ That’s so I can tell whether I have a bite, “ he explained as he made up another rod. “ If a fish takes the bait it will rather bend more, or if the fish swims towards the weight, the rod will straighten. “ He flicked the second rods line out and then placed the rod on another pair of bank sticks.
“ We just have to wait now, “ he informed me, sitting down.
I sat there waiting but nothing seemed to be happen, “ How long do we have to wait? “ I grumbled.

“ However long it takes! “ he replied gruffly. “ Pour out some coffee and stop bugging me! “
“ Touchy “ I snapped, but just as he had requested I poured out a cup of coffee.
“ Any luck? “ a voice asked from behind me, looking around I saw a young man standing watching us. He was weighed down with tons of fishing equipment.
“ No, just set up “ Paul answered.
“ Good luck mate “ the man said, as he continued around the lake to take an empty space.
“ Luck? I thought you said it took skill to catch a fish? “ I sarcastically asked.
“ Yeah ten per cent skill and ninety per cent luck, “ he laughed.
Suddenly a high pitch buzz went off, “ what’s that? “
“ Don’t worry “ Paul answered, “ its only someone’s bait alarm. Some fisherman uses them to tell when they have a bite. “
Paul grabbed his fishing rod, “ damn I missed it “ he said annoyed. He reeled in his line and re-baited his hook. With a flick of the rod he sent the line flying back out over the lake.

I sat there quietly, not wanting to make him lose another fish. Two mallard ducks swam up to the bank, nosing around for some scraps of food. I watched as a strange looking bird dived under the water, I waited for what seemed like twenty minutes until it resurfaced. When it did, it was at least twenty feet from where it had dived and in its beak it held a small fish.
“ What kind of bird is that? “ I inquired, pointing towards the diving bird.
“ It’s called a Grebe “ Paul answered, as he poured out a coffee.
We sat there for hours, Paul watching the tip of his rod and me watching the fishing progress of the Grebe.
“ Look after my rods “ Paul asked, getting up out of his chair and stretching his back.
“ Look after your rods? What am I supposed to do with them? “ I asked apprehensively, not wanting to lose him a fish, or come to think of it his rods.
“ If you get a bite just strike the rod, “ he explained.
“ What hit the rod? “ I asked.

“ No! Just lift it, like this “ He demonstrated.
“ Why can’t you look after your own rods? “ I whined.
“ Have to go to the little boys room! “ he joked, “ I doubt you will get a bite anyway. “
I sat in his chair and watched as he walked back towards the public toilets. I turned and focused on the fishing rods, “ please don’t bend! PLEASE don’t bend! “ I kept repeating to myself, praying that I would not have to, what was it he said, oh yes? Strike the rod.
Time seemed to slow to a snails pace, my eyes started to hurt from starring at the end of the fishing rod. A buzzer went off just over the other side of the lake and I saw a large figure running over to it and grab the rod.
I started to relax, “ Paul won’t be long now “, I thought to myself. He was probable right about me not getting a bite. I looked over to where Paul had disappeared; I could just see his outline returning. “ Oh no! “ |I whispered, as I watched the rods tip bend. “ Just pretend nothing happened, “ I thought to myself.
Paul’s figure came closer and closer, but my idea of ignoring the moving rods tip was fast fading away.

The tip bent so drastically that I thought it might bend in half. Realising that if I didn’t do something quick the rod might just go for a swim, I grabbed the rod and raised it. Line spun out screaming, as the fish realised that it had been caught, I took hold of the reel and tried to wind in the fish. Nothing happened apart from more line running off and then, it suddenly stopped.
“ Try winding it in now? “ Paul said just behind me.
Sighing with relief, I tried to pass the rod back to him.
“ No, you bring it in “ he told me. “ Keep the rod up and wind it in slowly, just let it take line when it runs. “ He continued to explain what to do.
I wound in the line; suddenly the fish broke the surface of the lake.
“ Is that a fish? “ I gasped in surprise, “ it looks more like a monster! “ Before Paul could answer, the fish flicked its tail and dived down taking even more line with it. My arms ached with the fight and of trying to keep the rod upright.
“ Keep the rod up! “ Paul shouted, as the rods tip started to lower.
I raised the rod again and tried to wind in the line, without warning the line went slack and I could wind in with no effort at all.

“ Don’t worry “ Paul reassured me, “ that often happens. The fish has just spat the hook out. “
“ Well it won’t happen next time! “ I replied enthusiastically.
I turned to him and could see him smiling. It was then that I realised that like the fish, I too had been hooked.

THE END