Learning the difference between fishing and catching

The other morning, my young cousin Caleb dropped by the Mt. Riga camp.

“Hello, Caleb,� I said as brightly as possible given that the coffee wasn’t yet ready.

Not much for conventional proprieties, he ignored the cheery greeting and demanded, “When are you taking us fishing?�

Sunday morning dawned bright and hot. It would have made sense to wait until dusk, when largemouth bass would be jumping and feasting on anything, and the fishing experience less furnace-like.

So naturally we trundled ourselves and our gear into the canoe at about 11 a.m. instead, just as things were heating up nicely on South Pond.

The boys (Caleb, entering third grade, and Alex, a nascent fifth-grader) stood still, mostly, for lashings of sunscreen, then donned their lifejackets, and off we went.

We immediately had technical difficulties, and may I pause here to digress a moment.

Spincasting, commonly held to be much easier than using a fly rod, is nothing of the sort. The reel, in particular, is a complicated mechanism that gets wound around itself at the slightest provocation.

“When in doubt, cut it� is my motto when dealing with fouled spinning gear, and thanks to my ministrations Caleb wound up the day with roughly one-eighth the amount of line he began with.

Fishing guides are fond of making the distinction between fishing and catching, a necessary defense mechanism. And the way things worked out, Alex caught, and Caleb fished.

Caleb was a good sport about it. “I am the Master of Seaweed,� he proclaimed, as a promising weight on the line proved to be yet another clump of vegetation.

Alex was tempted to crow but I reminded him of Pro Fishing Rule No. 17: “Never make fun of the guy who gets skunked, because it will come back to haunt you.�

Alex’s three largemouth, and my one, also allowed me to demonstrate proper catch-and-release technique.

And while out on the tiny bit of exposed rock known rather grandly as Blueberry Island, in honor of a lone bush, we witnessed a spectacular collision of small sailboats.

“And that’s why we wear life jackets,� said I. (As if the boys couldn’t figure that out.)