The Best Thing About Fishing

1946 – My Grandpa (center) on the Michigamme Reservoir

Spinning a fish tale is akin to being an artist or painter. You’ve got to know how to layer it. Once you’ve caught your limit and filled your head with memories to last until next time, the lying comes in. It is a sin to call it lying because it isn’t really LYING. It is taking a piece of nice fabric and sewing a little design on it. You sit around a campfire and gradually you swindle yourself into believing a rogue fish ran on you three times and was so big you had to grab an oar and slap him silly to get him in the boat. You might have even noticed a bear on the shore threatening to take your keep. Why, I’ve even caught the same fish twice once and reeled in a lure I lost last year.

You don’t just catch a fish once. There are certain ones you catch over and over again as you fall asleep at night. With closed eyes, you tighten the drag as the line spins off–with adrenaline at each end. Remembering the details of the day many times will eclipse the fish itself: the mist on the water at daybreak or seeing a doe and fawn at the water’s edge. Maybe you spotted an eagle perched on a crooked branch. Now throw in the taste of a sack lunch sandwich when your belly is growling, bug bites, and the things you forgot to bring and all the ways you made do. All of this makes the actual fishing of the fish a secondary thing.

When we are grown up and too old for fairy tales, a fish tale is a healthy thing. Without these fabrications, life is mostly a matter of adult things like work, taking out the trash, and thinking about the bills you haven’t got the money to pay. A fisherman who won’t toy with the truth is the kind of person who will do you one in the eye on a deal, kick his dog, or peek in your medicine cabinet. Can’t trust ‘em.

 Three blondes are sitting by the side of a river holding fishing poles with the lines in the water. A Game Warden comes up behind them, taps them on the shoulder and says, “Excuse me, ladies, I’d like to see your fishing licenses.” We don’t have any.” replied the first blonde.

“Well, if you’re going to fish, you need fishing licenses.” said the Game Warden. “But officer,” replied the second blonde, “we aren’t fishing. We all have magnets at the end of our lines and we’re collecting debris off the bottom of the river.”  The Game Warden lifted up all the lines and, sure enough, there were horseshoe magnets tied on the end of each line. “Well, I know of no law against it,” said the Game Warden, “take all the debris you want.” And with that, the Game Warden left.

As soon as the Game Warden was out of sight, the three blondes started laughing hysterically. “What a dumb Fish Cop,” the second blonde said to the other two, “doesn’t he know that there are steelhead in this river?!”