Personal Narrative-That One Fish

That One Fish

“Do you think we’ll actually catch something today?” I said, as my grandfather and I walked down the wooden dock to the Chesapeake Bay. “I don’t know,” said my grandfather.

My grandfather was a slim man in his late fifties. His thinning hair had started turning grey and the same was happening with the short hair on his beard. He was wearing glasses that day with a white fishing coat. It was a hot, late summer day in August in Stevensville, Maryland. The sun was beating down on us like an unrelenting drum. My grandfather and I were going fishing. We had tried to fish the previous night, but with little success. I had a goal for that summer. I was going to catch a channel catfish before I had to return to school. That day was the last time I would be fishing for the rest of the summer. Okay, this is your last time fishing for this summer, I thought to myself. You either catch the fish today or you go home in defeat. As we continued walking down, the Chesapeake Bay came into view. What a sight to behold, I thought.

The sky was a crisp light blue. A picturesque view no doubt. We eventually got to the dock and unloaded our fishing rods, tackle box, and the bait. Our bait was Canadian

This really was my last chance to catch my catfish. I knew my grandpa wanted me to catch my fish, but he also wanted to leave because the heat was causing us to sweat. I can not blame him for how he felt. Then, there was a tug on the line. I paused for one second waiting for the moment to strike. I was as still as a snake locked in on its next meal. It came and I made my move. Moving like a praying mantis, I quickly gave the line a small tug in order for the fish to get on the hook. The fish was on the line and coming in. I reeled in the line as fast as I could. I knew this was my fish from the increased weight on the rod. It bent like a small tree branch covered in heavy