The birth of an obsession

This is my new blog to document my successes and failures as a fisherman.

I can’t trace my obsession to fishing to a particular event. It seemed to be something innate to me, something that I was simply born with, as others are born with 10 fingers and toes. My parents both attribute my obsession to a large mural of a multicolored fish that was hung above my crib for my initial years of life. Perhaps staring up at that same shape with over sized eyes and flamboyant fins bred within me a constant desire to be see one, touch one, or be connected to one even if it was through 50 yards of monofilament.

My favorite pastime was any activity that involved fish, whether it be at an aquarium, a hatchery, a fish farm, or a pet store. Once, when my family lived in Virginia, we visited the magnificent reflecting pool at the base of the Washington monument. Despite the majestic view, my 8 year old attention was immediately and irreversibly drawn to the miniscule movements within the clear waters of the pool. For I had spotted a tiny 2 inch goldfish ambling along the bank of the pool, and my mind was furiously working to think of a way to entice it to hook and line. Despite the fact that I had no fishing equipment, I hastily constructed fishing line made from my sisters hair, and a hook made of a bent stapler I had discovered in my mother’s purse. And while the crudely constructed apparatus never did manage to hook the tiny fish, I never forgot the anticipation that I felt while watching the fish approach my staple hook baited with some bread.

Although my equipment now may consist of woven spectra fibers or high modulus graphite, the excitement and anticipation remains the same for any instance when I fish. My heart beats faster, I breathe a little heavier. Time and time again, when I think upon my best childhood memories, I can see the vivid images of fish jumping, swaying in the current, and once in a while, at the end of my line.

Here’s to the past, present, and future. Where the fish that have fallen to my hook are revered and immortalized in my mind as wary, strong fighters who have graced my hands with their presence.


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