Sadly I can’t remember how old I was but my parents and I went to Idaho to visit some friends of ours; they use to be our neighbors in Poway living right next door where I helped raised their puppy golden retriever, Rusty. (R.I.P. Rusty)  I had never been to Idaho and I was very excited especially because my dad had promised to take me fishing with himself and his friend.  I had my own fishing pole and I couldn’t wait to get to the lake and try my hand at catching fish.

          We didn’t go right away to the lake to do fishing; we first visited with my parents’ friend and his wife and their daughter, who at the time was a baby.  Finally the next day came, and our fishing trip was on.  I was up early with my dad, got ready, and grabbed my fishing pole, ready to go catch some fish.  We made it to the lake, the only ones there, and chose a spot that we liked where we could actually see the fish jumping out of the water.  I wanted to catch the fish that enjoyed teasing us by jumping out of the water, wanting to show my dad that I can do it and I liked fishing.

          My dad helped me ready my fishing pole and I walked over to the edge of the lake, my dad beside me with his fishing pole and he helped me cast my line.  I did it a few times with him and his friend watching, both nodding their heads in agreement that I was a natural at casting.  They then went off to different places around the lake and began their own fishing.  We were having a lot of fun and had been fishing about an hour when it happened.

          I decided to move more to my right, not really paying attention to the fact that there was a huge collection of reeds that suddenly appeared behind me.  I spy the jumping fish and smile, wanting to catch it and be the first to catch a fish on our trip.  I get ready to cast, eyes on the prize and my arms go back but…the line doesn’t go forward towards the water liked what is supposed to happen.  I yank again and still it doesn’t go forward again, the reeds bending forward and hitting me in the back of the leg.  I turn around to see my fishing line was now wrapped around the reeds and not letting go for any yanking.

          I turned and moved closer to unwrap the line from the reeds as I called my dad and dad’s friend to help me out.  In a flash the hook buried itself deep into my left middle finger, all the way down to the bone.  I screamed in pain and my dad and his friend rushed to my side, both looking very worried.  They see what has happened and both curse under their breath, instantly my dad grabbing me and holding me still while he tried to free my finger from the horrible hook.  I screamed making him let go of the hook and hold onto me, crying with me because he hated seeing me in that much pain.  His friend took over and eased the hook out of my finger and grabbing onto it with his hand to help slow the blood.  We packed up our stuff and head back to the RV that my parents had rented for the trip, my dad’s friend hopping behind the wheel to drive while my dad grabbed napkins and taped them around my finger.  He sat in the passenger seat and kept looking back at me, asking me if I was okay, if I wanted him to go back there and let me lay down using him as a pillow.  I told him no, that I was okay, having stopped crying, though I did still sniffle from time to time.

               Along the way, we heard a thump but thought nothing of it until we started to see people staring at our car.  We continued to drive, wanting to get back to my friend’s house to get my finger properly wrapped, my dad wanting to take me to the hospital but I had said no, that I was okay.  As we drove, we got more and more stares from peopled on the other side of the freeway.  Curiosity finally got us so my dad’s friend eased the RV off onto the side of the road and we all got out, heading for the front of the car.

          We still laugh to this day at what we had seen stuck to the grill of our RV, the one thing that made our fishing trip that had turned disaster when the hook decided to catch my middle finger instead of the fish turn into a funny story, though the pain is still real to this day.  What did we hit?  What did we see?

          A hawk stuck to the grill, wings stretched out, and a small sparrow in its talons that would have been dinner if we hadn’t hit it.  We concluded that the hawk swooped down to grab the bird just as we drove past that area, and THUD! We hit the poor hawk.  Once we did finally get back to our friend’s house, we told my mom and his wife everything that had happened.  They did laugh but of course were more concern about my finger and helped wrapped my finger properly.

          The fishing experience had been my first and my last.  After having caught my finger down to the bone basically I have sworn off fishing for the rest of my life, not wanting to do it again.  I had been fishing before this where I actually caught a fish and it was great but now I will not touch a fishing pole in fear of the hook.  This fishing trip will forever be embedded in my memories for the pain and the scare as well as the laugh and the hitting of the poor hawk and sparrow.  And as I look at my poor middle finger on my left hand, I take note that there is no scar. Darn! J