Best Fishing Story

On my honeymoon in Maine, my bride accompanied me one evening to a tidal river  near the town of Damariscotta. The river ran swiftly under a WPA style bridge. We made our way down to a grassy knoll, Brett with her book, I with my fishing rod. As I scrambled down the hillside to a casting spot, Brett cautioned me that the rocks were slippery. I said, “OK!” and kept going. I slipped, of course and sunk the rear hook of the lure into my right forefinger. Adeptly, at the same time I sunk the middle hook into a finger on my left hand. Both hooks were into my fingers way past the barbs. I was handcuffed to the lure and rod.

 My astonished spouse abandoned her book,  mercifully cut me loose and drove to the local hospital where the empathic staff declared, “I think we can save the lure”. Sure enough they did, yanking the hooks backwards out of my fingers. The next day I reassembled the lure parts and a very forgiving (although somewhat impatient Brett) accompanied me – on the way to dinner – once more to the same spot for ‘just a few casts’ where in the second one I caught –and landed – a 35 lb striped bass.

As Charles Dickens wrote, “It was the best of  times, it was the worst of times.” I stood soaked down by the river holding the biggest fish I have ever caught. I was also keenly aware that my bride could reasonably be having second thoughts about the momentous commitment she had just made. We made peace.  No dinner out that night but many more thereafter and we enjoyed the striper for several meals that summer and fall.