Throughout my life I have learned people possess mainly two opinions about an activity such as fishing: they either love it or they absolutely detest it. I, being, part of the former group, grew up with a family who enjoyed fishing. There was just something wonderful about waking up early in the morning, often before the sun rose, and heading off to the river or lake.
But this story is not just about fishing. It's about so much more than a rod, line and hook. It's about fear, hesitation and doubt. It's about courage and triumph. It's about patience. But most of all, it's about believing in yourself and the abilities you have been given to venture out and find a way when it seems there is none in sight.
It was a wonderfully warm and bright day. Being the month of May, the warmth was an exciting treat compared to the dismal drizzle of the past few days. A nearby lake had just recently been stocked with trout and steelhead, and I was exuberant to drive on down and drop our neighbor's old, rickety aluminum boat into the cloudy water. Of course, I had been fishing before. But this time it was different. This time, we were fishing for more than just the "puny" little trout that we usually went after. No, there were steelhead in this lake. Bigger and faster than a shimmer of sunlight on a wave; I will admit I was a bit terrified of these fish. I had no idea what to expect. But nonetheless, we brought the boat down to the boat launch and soon set off into the circular body of water.
Having had my dad assist me in baiting my hook with a fat and squirmy worm, I cast out my line, albeit a little nervously.
Sudden bile rose in my stomach. Shifting unsteadily, I turned to look at my dad. His face was calm, possessing no worries. Why was I so afraid? Was it because of the potential size of a potential fish, that could potentially be a steelhead, that could potentially decide that my bait looked much more appetizing than the one on my dad's line!? My head reeled with the possibilities. I tried my best to swallow my doubt and fear, and to make the most of my time.
Ten minutes passed, and soon ten more. And absolutely nothing had touched either of our lines. Face scrunched up as I looked toward the sun, I noticed some clouds beginning to collect, bringing with them a bad omen, I thought. I was beginning to feel frustrated. Had I seriously had a minor panic attack earlier for absolutely no reason at all? I felt stupid, and angry: a bad combo. What had I been expecting? That all the big, scary fish in this lake would just come up to our leaky craft and throw themselves inside, practically begging to be caught?
I cast once again, after having reeled in what felt like a thousand times out of impatience to make sure my worm was still in fact on the hook. And it had been still on the hook. Every single time.
A jerk and a lurch, and adrenaline suddenly pumped through my veins. This was it! Finally! I stood up rapidly, rocking the boat in my hurrying. I began to reel in the line, both anticipation and nervousness blanketing my mind.
The tip of my pole bowed down low, waiting for me to applaud it's work of hooking me a monster. But not just yet, because whatever was on my hook felt like more than a monster. My goodness, this was a whale of a fish! Whatever it was, it must have been a real mule, because there was absolutely no way my line was budging, not even a centimeter.
Seconds turned to minutes. The boiling fire in my stomach had long since returned to a simmer. Despondent, I yanked my pole back. On my third yank I practically sailed back into my dad.
My line was finally free from the wicked clutches of some demon-spawn fi----this was most definitely NOT a fish.
Mouth agape, I slowly reeled in a slimy, algae-covered twig. All that work, all that anticipation, for a nasty stick. Wow.
I was thinking about calling it quits and throwing in the towel. I mean, all I had caught in the past hour was an inanimate object that had a very animate temper.
My dad had had no luck either, except for a couple snags and lost worms.
Tummy rumbling and foot tapping in exasperation, I was ready to get out of there and get some chow in my belly. This day had turned out far, far different than how I had expected. It had left me tired, frustrated and more gloomy than the gray skies above.
Firing up the little electric motor on the boat, we slowly made our way back to the dock. As we approached, I noticed something strange. People were crowding the dock like angry bees, but these people weren't angry. They were excited. Finger pointing and legs jumping happily, a girl closest to us yelled, "Look! Look! There's a fish!!!!"
Looking to my left, I held my breath in awe. An absolutely monstrous steelhead arose from the water fifteen feet from our boat. The sounds of screams and cheers echoed through the forested edges surrounding the lake. The fish jumped again, even nearer to our boat this time. Then, like an angry bull, it leaped up and into the little boat, nailing me in the upper left thigh.
I stumbled back, stunned. The beast flapped it's tail fin and squirmed in the boat, right next to my feet.
~~~~~
Now, this may seem simply like a fun story, and it is. But what I have learned through fishing is that it is not so different from life.
The world can seem frightening, full of danger. We can sit back safely on shore and watch the river run its course. Or we can pick up our pole, bait it and cast it into the treacherous waters.
We may get snagged along the way in the wrong things, the wrong friendships, the wrong relationships.
We may fear that what we may hook on our line will be too big and strong for us to reel in, and that we'll be drug into the water and swept away by the current. When the world steals your bait, pick yourself and your pole back up again.
Don't let the icy waters get the best of you.
Don't let your joy be stolen. Keep on casting that line.
But don't keep prematurely reeling in to make sure your bait is still clinging on.
Trust yourself. Trust your abilities in the wide open water. Brave the rapids and furious currents.
Don't give up - not yet, not ever.
Because in the end, all that time spent, through the rainy days and through the sunny days, through the snags and twigs, through the frustration, fear and pain, your patience and determination will pay off in more beautiful ways than you ever imagined.
You'll never know what you may reel in until you throw your line in the water.
Keep on casting, friends.
