He stands at the edge of the wooden dock, surveying the long lake. With a tackle box, rod, net, and  lake before him, my brother is in his element.

"Wanna go?'

We tag team together push the canoe against the wind.

He's happy when he catches his limit.
I'm happy when I catch more than a grass bass.
A bucket full of minnows caught with my net was success enough for me.
(actually, that's not even close to close. I wanted to catch a big one. But I tried, and now I also owe him a lure.)

I watch the young fisherman's techniques and ask for tips. He has qualities of a good fisherman: determination and patience for the quest. A fisherman has one question that stays unanswered without action. It's a question that keeps the line spinning off the reel and into the air: what if?

What if this lure?
What if this location?
What if this rod?

These "what if's?" keep us casting and drifting and paddling across the lake.  When it's finally time to put the rod down, a huge fish jumps out of the water.  His blue eyes widen. "Wooah! Did you see that?" and with a slight tone of disappointment adds,

"They always seem to jump wherever I'm not."

Well come on, now. After you see a fish jump like that, there's only one response: let's go.



Paddle, cast, drift; paddle, cast, drift.
The rhythm of hopeful expectation on a cloudless day and a quiet blue lake.







I'm told he went fishing today and caught his limit.
Atta boy.