Personal Narative Ess@y

I took a moment to enjoy the beautiful summer scenery, tall pine trees waving with the wind, gliding through the bright orange sky like the strokes of a paintbrush. The sun barely peeked above the horizon, and the moon was centered in the sky already taking the sun's place. A cool breeze ran over my body, a sharp contrast to the humid, roasting air that we fished in for the better part of our day.

The breeze died down as our boat began to drop in speed. We had this spot recommended to us by other anglers, so hopefully I could strike some luck. The only thing I had caught all day were dinks: some small panfish, a couple of perches, one tiny largemouth. My mouth was practically foaming at the idea of hauling in a large walleye or northern. The image of my seven-year-old body dwarfed by the sheer size of my dream big catch was the only thing motivating me to keep fishing.

My dad said something about how if I wanted to be a “real man,” then I would have to set my own bait on my own hook. I looked back to see his wide grin, which confused me as I was too immature to understand his quippy humor. He was wearing his favorite light brown bucket hat, which was so big on his head that it would droop over his eyes if he didn’t have it propped up at the perfect angle. I wasn’t the only one having trouble catching fish, as my dad only managed to pull in a couple of crappies. He was staring out into the water, reminding me of a sailor dreaming about home. Maybe our lack of luck was finally getting to him, but more likely he was soaking in the environment. Sometimes it seems all my dad needs is nature to be perfectly content and happy.

With my newfound confidence, I plucked the hook, which was hovering in the air. The leech slipped right through the barb as I fed it on; its head, midsection, and rear twisted with the curvature of the hook. As I let go of the hook, it swung out over the water. I let the singular leech I had picked out sit on the bouncing hook as it wiggled for freedom, entertaining my young mind.

“You know what to do?” my dad asked.

I released the line on my pole and watched the leech drop below the water, picking up speed as the weighted jig head dragged the once feared creature to the bottom of the lake. Around ten minutes passed without a bite as I sat silently, the boat swaying, mosquitos buzzing, and loons howling in the background. An eerie feeling overtook me as everything slowed down, almost like time itself was waiting for me expectedly to catch something. The sun sank even lower, now partially hiding behind the trees. Because the lights on our boat were not the best, the loss of daylight meant we would have to call it quits soon.

Then, I felt my rod vibrating, as I could feel weight from the hook make its way up to the pole in my hands. It wasn’t a big tug, but I could feel the tension in my rod pulling down towards the water. With my luck, it’s just weeds I thought to myself. I began to reel in some line to test my hypothesis. To my surprise, the tension started to pull my line back and forth through the water in irregular motions. Fish on.

“I got something!” I hollered to my dad, who had given up and was enjoying the scenery. He quickly sprang up to see what I was about to pull up from the depths of the lake. By now the fish was really putting up a fight, and the pole was so bent the tip was practically parallel to the base. My hands clammed up with nervousness, making the fishing pole as hard to hold onto as a wet bar of soap. I continued reeling, as adrenaline started pumping through my body. Everything began to feel natural as I fought the beast down below, hauling it up to the surface. I didn’t have to think about what I was doing; I just acted out of instinct. The curiosity of what was on my line kept me feeling so alive and the time I spent waiting for a big catch seemed perfectly worth the wait.

Suddenly, I saw a sparkle a couple feet below the surface of the water. I had struck gold. The bright bronze skin of a perfect-sized walleye broke through the now calm and clear water. As the fish came closer to the surface, I think reality struck the fish, as it was fighting the hardest it had yet. Slicing the water like a torpedo, it swam back and forth trying to break free from the hook that was lodged deep into its mouth.

My dad was quick to grab the net. There was only one last step to land this fish, yet it was one of the most important steps because one wrong move and the line may break. My dad was a cat waiting for the perfect time to pounce on its victim, his eyes tracking the prey with no chance of losing his target. Once the fish was within arm’s length distance of my father, he scooped it up in one swift motion. The whole thing went by so fast. Surprisingly, I felt a bit disappointed catching the fish already because I barely got to enjoy the fight. Still, what a miracle!

The fish was no dink, probably weighing around four to five pounds. It was a little shorter than its weight implied, so it had a slightly gluttonous looking underbelly. My father pulled the fish out of the water, letting it lay in the net, flopping around viciously, bulging its eyes out, smacking its tail on the mesh. I don’t think the fish understood yet that it had lost the battle.

My dad informed me that since I had caught the fish, I would need to take it off the hook. Unhooking a fish was no complicated task when it came to smaller panfish, or even the juvenile bass I had caught, but for a fish this big it would surely prove to be difficult. With my dad still holding the net, I grabbed a pair of pliers and got ahold of the fish with my other hand by placing it just outside of the gills. Using the pliers and some force, the hook slipped smoothly through the buttery mouth of the fish. A sense of accomplishment hit me as I realized I had caught the fish all by myself.

To my surprise, the leech was still on the hook, looking like a half-eaten gummy worm. Its rubber-like skin was torn, and part of its body seemed to have made its way to the fish’s stomach. I set the pole aside to examine my catch. The fish was out of place in the net, looking trapped and uncomfortable. My dad asked to make sure I had been able to bask in my glory enough before he dropped the net back, giving the walleye safety in the water. The fish sat still for what felt like a minute, hovering in place, confused as to what to do next. It almost seemed surprised that we were just letting it go. But then, quicker than it had taken to pull in the walleye, it swam off and vanished under a dark blue blanket.

We could have kept the walleye since it was of proper size, but keeping such a large and beautiful fish seemed wasteful. We could have snapped a photo, but my dad had left his phone with our companions who were now on shore, likely enjoying the warmth of a campfire. But no picture or memory could ever compare to the feeling of reeling in that fish or the excitement of the fight between me and it. Whenever I go fishing, I look back and seek the emotions I felt when I caught that walleye. I will never forget my first big catch.