The Jealous One

He sounds off “There it is!” As he announces the hooking of his latest bass. “Oh Yea…That’s what I’m talking about!” “Come here, Bubby, just let me touch ya!” I give him that “Oh you’ve caught another bass and I haven’t” look, far more often than I’d like.

I mean. . . . I’m out catching fish with my fiancé and his 12 year old son Arthur on yet another early morning excursion; the cloudless sky is a perfect blue, the weather is summertime warm, and we’re on the water again at our favorite fishing spot!

The birds are singing, the fish are jumping, and it’s a perfect day. Well almost perfect, except for the fact that I (and only I), haven’t caught a single fish, not even a Sunfish. They’re fishing and I’m wishing; James is on his fifth bass while his son is on his fourth, and we’ve only been on the water 15 minutes. Bummer and yes I’m jealous it hurts.

What does it matter that I’m half-asleep. I’m thinking…Is it me, or the fish? Am I focused, is my presentation off, do I have the wrong lure, is the lure the right color? No, it’s just plain old bad luck. But deep down inside I know it’s me.

After all, we’re all fishing with the same rods and reels (except mine is better), and essentially the same set of lures (except mine is prettier)! Since that’s no excuse, I know it’s got to be me. I’m just not connecting with the fish universe. Me: The Pisces (Never mind that we’re all Pisces). Now I have to step up to the plate, since I’m the only girl here. I’ve got to pull my own weight. I have to knuckle down and get my mojo working.

I clear my mind, searching to recall the secrets that make James such a successful jerk-bait fisherman.

As I start becoming one with my fishing rod and the water, I find myself saying over and over again, “jerk, reel, pause ... jerk, reel, pause”. It becomes a mantra “... jerk, reel, pause”...

I strain mentally as I must …concentrate …must …move …my …lure …like a dying fish, not like a person on the other end of a rod pretending be a dying fish. Concentrate; focus on nothing else, exclude any distractions, noise, conversations, beautiful day, sun, my frustration… nothing else exists but me and my fishing rod and this soon to be caught fish.

Finally, I feel that tension on the line, I feed the fish a little more line, (I want the fish to feel secure) then I quickly set the hook, (oh no, you’re not getting away), then I see that splash, I start reeling down to the fish, and keeping my line tight. Any slack in my line and the fish will simply toss my lure away. Now I’ve got it going. The fish is taking my lure now and I’m bringing it on board, and...“oh no” the fish tossed my lure.

Later, James and I both cast to the same area. Slam! Bang! We both get bites. Two Big Fish! Suddenly, James’ fish jumps high out of the water, flailing its body back and forth and throws the lure away. “Aarrgh! He threw my lure”. He yells in agony over the one that got away! But not MINE!

My fiancé yells out to me “keep that line tight and bring that fish on board”. I smile to myself for remembering and say “thank God”. His other instructions fade into the background behind the excitement of the moment as me and the fish fight for control. The battle is on. Soon it appears the fish has gotten off the line and left me stuck in the weeds, but James deftly maneuvers the boat to the opposite side and the fish is still there, forced into the open water, and the fight is on again!

A few minutes later, he’s in the net and I’ve got the fish in the boat. A sense of relief rushes through my body; now I’m one of the “guys”.

“Wow, look at the size of this monster! You’ve just landed the biggest fish of the summer!” James exclaims as he lifts the fish out of the net so we can all see it, and him and Arthur look on with envy. I’ve just stepped up a notch. Bragging rights for the whole winter! Now who’s jealous!