Fresh Fish for Dinner
My fishermen for the day met me at the boat ramp. Husband and wife, Sam and Sara. Introductions complete, I’m prepping the boat for launch. Sam says, “I am really looking forward to having fresh fish for dinner tonight!” I’m one of the least superstitious people you’ll meet (I always have bananas in my boat, for instance), but saying stuff like that is just tempting fate.
It’s after 2 PM when we pull into yet another spot, not having touched a fish all day to this point. I hand Sam the spin rod with the Deadly Combo tied on. The Deadly Combo is a bobber like a Cajun Thunder, with a two-foot section of leader beneath, with a plastic shrimp or a jig tied on. Sam tosses the rig out, pops it twice, and down goes the float. He sets the hook, and a magnificent seatrout starts thrashing on the surface. Finally!
As he plays the fish, the line breaks, above the float. Of course! We can follow the progress of the fish. The float, brand new, is fluorescent orange. The float goes about 100 yards away from us. Then it slowly comes back. Sam already has another spin outfit in his hands. The float comes close enough that we can reach it with a cast. “Sam! Cast to the float. Try to hook the line between the fish and the float!”
This required more casting accuracy than Sam had, so I got off the poling tower, got a rod, and did the deed. Once the fish was on again, I handed to rod to Sara. She played the fish up to the boat. I pulled it in and put it on the ruler. Twenty-eight inches! And fat! It probably weighs eight pounds. What a beautiful fish!
I hate killing trophy fish like this. They have already demonstrated the genetic potential to get big, and if there’s one thing I want in the water I fish, it’s more big fish. But Sam has already told me he wants fish for dinner. This handsome specimen was the only one we’ve gotten.
I get my camera out and then hand Sara the fish. Sam and I are taking pictures of her holding it, I with a camera, Sam with his phone. Neither of us are prepared for Sara’s statement- “We are not killing this fish.”
“What!?” Sam is incredulous. In a no-nonsense tone of voice, Sara says, “I can feel its life, and we’re not killing it.” Neither of us gave her an argument. I didn’t want to kill it anyway, and I suspect he thought domestic tranquility was more important than fresh fish for dinner. She makes Sam let the fish go, and we watch it swim away.
We do not get another bite the rest of the trip.
If Sam had fresh fish for dinner that night, he bought it at a restaurant.