Two weekends ago, I went canoe fishing on Sagatagan with my Dad-o. It was an overcast day, but that made the sunnies easier to see, and I've always loved being choosey with the fate of my worms. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven -- up they came, energetic and yellow-bellied and big enough to eat, and I wondered aloud why I'd let a year pass since I'd last made time for the canoe, for fishing rods and nightcrawlers and an afternoon at the lake I've come to for most of my life.
The best part of the afternoon was when Pop hooked a bigger fish with his rapala. It took ten minutes of struggle, of detangling the line from the weeds, of waiting the bugger out, before a monster big-mouthed bass emerged, and I am not ashamed to say I screamed! for the sheer joy of it! the shock! because I've never been witness to such a big fish being pulled from such shallow water. My lack of restraint made my dad grin, which made me grin all the more, because--hey--life is sometimes so right you've just got to shout.
Where are your favorite places on earth, friends?
I have a few extra shouts in my belly, just waiting... :)