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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2143053
Rated: E · Fiction · Activity · #2143053
A fictional narrative about a boy falling in love with fishing.
23 September 2017
My Fishing Success
Rough Draft fiction narrative


Since I was a little kid, the outdoors has intrigued me. I always knew that working in a small cubicle was not my cup of tea. The blindingly artificial lights and tight windowless spaces make me cringe. When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. Well, life handed me a fishing pole. Life literally handed me my first fishing pole when I was 4 years old. Investigating further into my passion, through out my life, I discovered it could lead to a rewarding career.

It was Christmas morning when my sister and I woke up. We were so excited to kick off our holiday vacation. I wasn’t in school yet, but my sister was in first grade. Patrice was two years older than I was. She was filled with maturity and grace. “Wise beyond her years,” my mom used to say. However, I had pent up energy from my forty year prison sentence at a neighborhood daycare. We had a standing tradition that Mom would prepare homemade hot apple cider, filling every room with an apply cinnomon orchard; while Dad froze outside shoveling the drive way. Both their tasks seem to get done simultaneously. Then we’d all sit in the living room, sipping our cups, and begin to open our gifts. I tore into my present and became more, and more thrilled. It was a Flash Gordon light-weight fishing rod. “Wow, that’s perfect for you” Patrice with all her grace complimented. Holding the rod I knew, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

The first few years proved to be difficult. Being so young, I couldn’t drive anything but my toy cars. Dad worked full time and Mom was usually busy with everything else. They managed to get us up to the family cabin, and on the boat as much as possible, throughout the summer. Dad and I would always scheme the night before. “If you make the bacon, I’ll make the toast” I’d tell him. And well before dawn, we were both up making food and debating where the new hot spot was going to be this year. He was the person who taught me how to navigate in the water. When Mom wasn’t there he would even show me how to work the boat. It went on like that for many years.

Finally, when I turned eleven, my parents said I could walk down to the river alone. It was not the Mississippi by a long shot. More of a crick that housed everything from little pan fish, to good size bass. If I was lucky, I might catch a northern or a walleye. My father had taught me the basics of respecting the water and the fish that live there. I spent everyday that summer right next to a little bend in the crick. Some days I would have a full string, some days an empty one. Patience was one of my biggest lessons that year. With the fundamentals carved, it was the time for precision.

Blew out fifteen candles, years later, with one still lit. Patrice of course accusing me of having a girlfriend. She was getting in her final blows in before rushing off to college. I had received my drivers license and put a boating endorsement on the back. The 37th annual Bass King Tournament was the second happiest day of my life. Second to my fourth Christmas. Drove up to the boat launch with my little twelve foot aluminum boat, in my trusty rusty pickup. I felt like a parent watching my kid start his first sport. We received our ID numbers and at ten o’clock the tourney started. I soared gracefully around the other boats trying to get to where I thought the best spot would be. Using the fundamentals my father gave me, I picked out a nice spot close by a big patch of lily pads. It was a full rush all day on that boat. The officials ended the tourney at four o’clock. I watched as the last of my competition brought their biggest bass in, one after another. When I pulled up to the docks the largest bass weighed in at 6.2 pounds. Mine weighed in at a beautiful seven pounds. First place! I was hooked. Pun intended.

Since that wonderful day, I have competed in and placed in thirty competitions. As a twenty three year old, I own and operate a bait and tackle shop just a few miles from the crick I used to walk to when I was eleven. When I’m not running the bait shop, I’m at a tourney. Tournaments ranging all across America. It has been such a blessing to find such a rewarding career in this great wilderness. Every time I hold a fishing pole in my hand, it’s Christmas time and I’m four years old.
© Copyright 2017 A.Herschberger (a.herschberger at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2143053