Fishing season is on. Cars are parked on the road by my driveway and I come across men casting lines into the brook. Ellen, Lila and I took a walk by the brook the other day and we stopped to chat with a young fisherman. He said this is one of the best stocked lakes in the area; it has wildlife protection: just catch and release. He loves being alone with the rocks, the water, sky and fish. And he finds it exciting when he catches a fish. I asked him about hurting the fish’s mouth with the hook. He takes the barbs off the hook so it won’t hurt the fish. Not being able to keep the fish doesn’t seem to take the thrill out of the game: so many men are in the brook fishing, especially on the weekends.
The only experience I ever had fishing was at a summer camp in Wisconsin when I was fourteen. My group went out on the lake in some canoes to fish. I was the first one to make a catch. I found it so upsetting seeing the fish struggling on the end of the line, I kept yelling “Throw it back!” So they did. That was the end of my fishing days.