Eothinon Ten

"Peter saith, I go afishing..." (for the liturgically challenged non-Orthogeeks).

I took Monday off and my dad and I borrowed his neighbor's boat and went back to the "lake of no fish". The lake is not very big, it is a trout fishing lake and only electric trolling motors are allowed unlike the bigger recreational lakes. It makes for a quiet day fishing. Dad runs the "tiller" and we troll about 20 yards off the shoreline.
A couple times Dad ran us too close to shore where all the sunken trees are and our lines got snagged so we had to cut them loose. Dad's hands shake too much for him to tie a swivel and clasp a new hook and sinker, he knows it and I know it. I told him to give me the end of his rod and I put his line back together. I had a vague remembrance of being five and Dad setting up my rod and hook for me on the bank of Tompkins Lake near Millington, Tennessee. It was a wordless acknowledgment of the reality of the inexorable reversal of the roles of parent and child as our parents age.

We pass a few people who say they've caught a couple and lost more than they've caught. We fish for about 45 minutes and ZING goes the string... I reel it in and he scoops it up in the net, the first catch of the day.
It turns out it was true. We got four large trout right up to the edge of the boat and they got away. But we landed a few too. I'm going to cut down the mightiest tree in the forest WIIITTHHHH... a trout!

NI!

All in all, a good day fishing. The last time I remember holding a stinger of fish with my dad was when I was in third grade. Fifty years is too long in between. Take note, sons.