We is back. We is late, but We is always late. The good news is that We is, in most of We's life, anyway, consistently late. This means that We is usually late by the same margin of time, or that We is always on time, just not everyone else's time. In other words, We is not late, just out of sync with the rest of society. At least, this is what We likes to tell people when We is late, but the truth is that We is not telling the truth. We is simply late.
Anyway.
Today We went fishing. Not all of us, but just Dad, Micah, Samuel, Benjamin and I, while Mom and Hannah watched and commented. Benjamin had been wanting to fish for a while, and had just gotten a bamboo fishing poll that he was dying to try out. So, to pacify him and Samuel, we went down to our little pond to wet some line. It's not a big pond...maybe fifty feet long and twenty wide. 3' deep or so, at the most. We didn't really think there was anything in this pond besides mud and water, and we really just went down there to satisfy the craze of a zealous 5 year old and a little less zealous (but still enthusiastic) seven year old.
As it turns out, there are fish in We's mud hol--excuse me, pond. Lot's of fish. I went down there just to try out a new bass rod and to practice with a few new lures, but by the time I got there, Micah had already caught a fish. I proceeded with my lures, and before long he had caught at least one and maybe two more with the age-old float and worm-on-a-hook rig (this really embarrasses those people who insist you have to have expensive and man-made lures to catch fish, but I maintain my lure position by reminding you that I was only practicing for bass, of which I knew there were none in this pond).
That said, the temptation to join in the fun was just too great. I deposited my lures in my tackle box, got out one of those tacky little orange and white foam floats along with a crappie hook, and went for a worm. Meanwhile, Micah was still hauling in bream at a consistent rate, with a few bites and losses in-between each successful catch.
Benjamin and Samuel weren't catching anything and were losing interest. But that was because they weren't casting into the right spot. Micah had the spot down, which was located right beside the mostly-submerged metal pan of a long-ditched wheelbarrow, which in turn was the sunken remains of one of our many (and never successful) raft building projects.
I cast my line, and soon enough I was getting nibbles. More casting, and more nibbles. Even got a few serious bites. Then I got a real bite. A big bite. This bite was agressive. I had one.
I started reeling in, completely thrilled despite the fact that I was reducing my nice bass rod to the status of a bream catcher rigged with a method that was so archaic as to date back who-knows how many hundreds (if not thousands) of years minus the foam float.
I...didn't have a fish. When I first caught glimpse of the character in question, he appeared to be a catfish with a head the size of mine. Yes, that was scary. Then I hauled him on out. It wasn't a catfish. Nor was it a bream. But yes, it was alive. Very much so. And very large, too. Heavy also. It was a turtle Big, nasty little guy. I hauled him out and then ran up to the barn to get a bucket. I wanted to take him to the house and take a picture for this long-abandoned blog.
We left for the house not long afterwards. Micah had reeled in five bream, by this time, but had returned all but one on account of their size. Aside from my very angry turtle (who had the nerve to make us destroy my crappie hook when we tried to do him a kind turn and remove it from his disgusting little maw) there were no other catches, and we returned to the house.
At the house dad took the time to show Micah how to clean his fish, which I believe was then donated to two of the family cats for a Sunday afternoon treat.
Here's some pictures.
Until next time (when We hopes he will not be late, but doubts he will be on time)...
Eli for the Kings
Mr. Turtle (obvious, I know).
For a creature with a house on his back and really small legs, this guy could move. He tried to get away by climbing under the deck rail. Guess he missed the little yellow clearance sign...
Mr. Fish Catcher with his only keeper.
Hehe...this scene reminds me of the French Revolution. I'll leave you to construe the rest yourself.
Observant observers.
Dad wears this shirt all the time. I doubt he even thought about it when he put it on today.
The primary beneficiaries of the event.
