I watch the water as my earthy friend takes the plunge, hoops graduating out until they disappear back into the ebb. My boat rocks gently as I place my line back in its holder, leaning back in my seat. I listen to the sounds of the leaves, the birds, the plop of frogs taking their dives.
This has been my tradition. Every year, the day before October 4th, I go out onto the water to catch my wife a fish. For 12 years I’ve done this because if I stop the tradition now my wife says it will ‘make our anniversaries less special’. So here I am, with my line and hook, trying to get the best sized catfish I can find.
Thankfully I live in Missouri and it’s summer time, so it doesn’t take long to get a bite. Before I can even get comfortable in my plastic chair, my line is tugged. I jump into action, reeling in my catch with a grin, it’s slimy body wriggling in the open air. It’s at least a 6 pounder and that’s all I need.
I grab it tight, pulling the hook out before slapping it hard against the side of the boat. It immediately stops, going limp in my hand. A painless way to go but man does it make a mess! I dump my 6 pounder in my cooler, cleaning off my hands before cranking up my boat, whistling a cheery tune as I make my way up the river.
Once I get home I’ll descale, degut, and dehead the sucker. He’ll be cooked with lemon and pepper, served beside my wife amazingly roasted brussel sprouts. Then we’ll sit down on the couch and watch The Price is Right until she falls asleep in my arms. The perfect night.
Inktober Prompts: https://inktober.com/rules