Fishing

What can I say about fishing?

Some, I guess. The first time I went, I skipped the pier and headed straight to deep sea with my cousin. We were maybe ten years old. In those days he often warned me about my reckless behavior. That was our dynamic. It usually just egged me on.

“Be careful with that hook.”
“Of course I’ll be careful.”
“Ok good. I don’t want you to hook me in the face or anything.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I’m not gonna-”

I spun around with my fishing pole and the hook sank into his cheek. They’re so light, so sharp, and the length of the string really brought in some momentum, and the hook really stuck into his flesh with no problem at all.

The company that chartered the trip later ended up employing me. Not because they were impressed or anything, but just as a coincidental and unrelated event. I didn’t go on the boats, but stayed in the office selling tickets and pretending I knew how the fish were that day.

I don’t take fishing very seriously. Because of that I enjoy it quite a lot. I know what it’s like to take a hobby too seriously and start losing the enjoyment of it (bowling was probably the most embarrassing thing to take too seriously). Fishing poses no such danger. Whether or not a fish is caught is of little importance to me. Just the fact that I’m hanging out with friends in front of a body of water, being lazy and present, is enough.

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Is this a special sort of wave? Or is he telling me he caught three? Skadar Lake, Montenegro. 

 

 

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