Star Trek Beyond is in town, and I, once a devoted Trekkie, had wanted to see Amazon Founder/CEO Jeff Bezos—an actor before forming the longest river of commerce in the world—play an alien. But given the hours we keep, the reasonable show times all seemed like good times to go fishing.
We no longer care about seeing Star Trek. The “I’d rather be fishing” ethos has prevailed. I no longer comprehend a desire to sit and watch even a big-screen spectacular, when I could be out at a pond or on a river, catching Rainbow trout or Smallmouth bass. Last night we caught trout. Showtime will have to wait for snow time.
My husband has been removing the hooks from the mouths of the fish I catch for me, because I do not care for the prospect of holding a writhing fish barehanded. I am daunted by scaly texture, and worse, by the prospect of the fish’s escape. When we’re out in our boat, I hurl the fish I catch into the boat, and I land them on the sand when fishing from shore. But fish out of water are jumpy creatures, and I have left hook removal and neck snapping to my husband.
Last night I decided I would like to see my catch through, from casting to ice bagging. Today I bought a pair of fish-gripper gloves for just $2.99, and now I feel more brave and competent. I deem myself equipped to declare, “Squirming is futile!” We’ll see.
An 11-1/2 – inch trout grabs my lure; I reel him in.
I land him on the beach in the sand.
I glove up and remove the hook.
After I remove the hook, my husband breaks the trout’s neck and eviscerates him. Those steps will take me a bit longer to wince-proof myself and accomplish.