Fishing is about Fish

Saturday chores accomplished, my husband and I decided to go fishing in the Snake River beyond Asotin. We wanted to stand on a beach this time, instead of taking our boat. The fish were not biting, but a few jumped up from the water so we could know they were there, but they had no interest in coming home with us. We’ve had lots of fishing excursions like this, and we also have lots of freezer space occupied by cleaned, wrapped fish we’ve caught on several other occasions.

My husband loves fishing and fish. I love fishing and I am extremely allergic to fish and I never eat it. Fish are wonderful creatures. They can be beautiful, elusive, and eager to grab onto a lure, all within a few minutes or a full day. Sometimes I think I’m just there for the scenery. We can’t rule a fish’s instincts or choices; only fish can do that. We’re really just along for the ride. Fish have amazing skills we know nothing about.

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Skunked again–oh well. . .

We enjoy fishing, rain or shine, and whether or not we catch any fish. There have been only a few times that no fish preferred to leave their river and come home with us. But fall and summer are different seasons, and fish are known to change their routes and their behaviors with seasonal changes.

In summer, we routinely found fish willing to leave their river and come home with us. Now, their autumn attitude is to remain in their river where they are. That’s just fishing. Simply being out fishing on the river, from a boat or afoot on the shore, is agreeable whether or not fish come home with us, whether or not rain is falling, and whether or not other projects beg our time.

Today marks the third fishing Saturday in a row that no fish took an interest in our formerly enticing lures, even though the little spinning spoons were festive and colorful. Rain fell the entire time we were out. But after all, how can I blame them? What do the season-savvy piscines owe us?

Life has its consolations. We saw a wild ferret bounding into the tall grass and trees near the dock as we were putting in our skiff. The little sprinter was the first ferret I have ever seen in the wild. My husband fresh-canned the fish we caught over the summer, and still has a three-month supply. And I love it that Bob Dylan received the Nobel Prize in Literature.

My husband took all the photos in this post.