You step out of the tent, immediately greeted by the morning sun and at least 3 noisy birds. Through the silent morning and the green trees, you make your way to the river with a plethora of tackle and food on hand. As you approach the shore, you begin to scope out the best spot to snag a couple of good breakfast. fish. You settle on a spot in where you can see them swimming around and under the overhanging banks.
Carefully going through your tackle box, A selection has been made for a suitable lure. After a few less then expert casts on your expensive Shimano setup, you finally feel a few jerks on your line. Whether it’s weeds or a fish. That has yet to be determined. Filling up with a little bit of adrenaline, you have that automatic reaction to jerk the rod up, ensuring that you got that hook set perfectly. Except you don’t have him hooked and the line has come clear out of the water.
Determination and frustration are present on both ends of the line, seeing as how you still have a fresh worm on your hook. You throw the line out to the same spot, a smirk on the fishes face says it all. Waiting for the next bite is a pleasure.
So you caught a fish, much smaller then what you thought he would be with the fight he put up. Carefully removing the hook from its mouth, you sheepishly admire the tiny, flopping creature for a few moments. It’s not a trophy fish, it’s close to a cat toy but proud you are. With a quick step to the banks you release your recent catch. Satisfied that the little guy was able to swim away safely. Your mind wanders back to the tackle box and a fresh worm starts getting threaded on the worm.
The first fish on a camping trip is truly the “I have arrived” moment for me. Less so if the person next to me catches one first. More so if the fish is bigger than a Vienna sausage. The only thing funner that catching that first fish is setting up your pole.