Proof-A Small Picture Montage of My First Fishing Trip

The Scene: A sad trout pond. Not sure what circumstances led to these depressing conditions but we worked with what we got!

The Mission: Defy the odds, both in form of number of actual live fish in said dried-up watering hole and in my lack of formal fishing experience. Namely none.

So after learning the basics: Fish like corn. Spit on knot. Cast away from self and friends, I set about the strenuous task of sitting and waiting for fish to bite. Which surprisingly they did.

Battling wind, wiley fish, and fatigue, we finally decided to hop aboard a barely seaworthy paddle boat and bump against the shore while fishing. It must have given us an edge.

Not too long after, a fish nibbled my line.

You should do something the next time that happens, Federico said.

Oh, I thought, oblivious, That makes sense.

The next time I was ready.

Pull, Fed said.

And reel? I asked.

Between the two of us we got him up into the boat and managed to discover that fish bleed too. (See Image B, entitled Blood Spatter).

He also had teeth, this fish of ours. While delicately (namely any way possible) trying to extricate the hook, we almost got eaten by a fish and subsequently got blood all over our boat and bags of snacks. Luckily the cooler of beer was fine since it was only in our imaginations.

After we got him unhooked, we let him go thinking maybe he was still alive. In hindsight, maybe we were wrong.

He flopped around a bit, then turned belly up.

Then flopped around some more.

Then bellied up again.

Fed tried to catch him with his bare hands but that slippery bugger got the best of us in the end. I've never read Moby Dick but can finally relate to the torment and anguish associated with the obsession to catch a crafty fish.

(See Image C, for how unprepared we were to actually catch anything. Look closely, folks. As soon as Fed's phone stops roaming you'll have an even closer view of, Newman, our catch of the day.)