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

night crawlers. Those worms did not want to be impaled on the hook. I honestly hated doing that and I felt terrible, but that is what we had for bait. Feeling those slimy red worms was not a pleasant experience. They always try to crawl their way out of my hand, but they would never succeed. They smelled like old meat. The dirt from the worms rubbed on my skin as the hook went through its body. It was on. I threw the line out as far as I could and it landed in the water with a small splash. The line sank to the bottom. I occasionally gave the line a small tug and I also played around with the thin blue line. Within a short time there was a small tug on the other end. It is probably nothing, I thought until I felt another larger tug.
A thrilling sense tingled down my spine. Thoughts raced through my mind faster than the speed of light.
Is this the one? Is this my catfish? I thought. I immediately gave the line a pull. Whatever was on the other end of the line was hooked on and coming in. It tried to escape, tugging with all of the might that it had in its small scaly body, but to no success. What came in was something I never thought could happen. “Look at this Grandpa Steve,” I said.
He looked over. There were two fish on my hook. Both were white perches. “Good job,” said my grandpa. “Not a bad start.”
I reset the bait on the line. My grandpa threw the fish back into the water. I saw there shiny bodies for a second and then they were gone. They disappeared back into the water like bats flying into night. I could smell the salt in the air at that time. About five minutes later, I caught another white perch. This fish swallowed the hook whole.
“Johnny, can you get me the pliers?” he said.
I did as he asked and he went to work on getting the hook out of the fish. I stopped fishing to observe my grandpa’s efforts on dislodging the hook. The hook had pierced the fish’s throat and the dark crimson blood was flowing freely. The dull brown hook was eventually taken out of the fish. My grandpa tossed it back into the greenish-water. The fish immediately floated back up on its side to the surface.
I wonder if he will make it, I thought.
I felt some sadness for the fish like I had lost a close pet. It was just sitting on the surface, helpless, just waiting to be taken by something from the blue sky above or the dark murky water below. I went back to fishing. Sometime later I looked where my grandpa had thrown the fish back into the water. The fish’s motionless body was gone. The scene was replaced with the water moving to and fro like nothing had ever happened. To this day I never found out what happened to that fish. Twenty minutes and another white perch later, the sun was causing my grandpa and I to sweat. “Johnny, I think we are going to go soon,” said my grandpa.
“Just, one more cast Grandpa Steve,” I said.
This is it, all or nothing, I thought.
All my dwindling hopes were in this last cast.

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

snow.
I got this. I just have to keep pulling the line in, I thought to myself.
I could see it now with a sudden gleam of white in the water. This was my fish. I pulled it up and out of the water. This fish was far heavier than the others. It was my channel catfish. The slender fish was brown and had brown dots covering the white portions of its body. There was a problem though. This was not a healthy fish. It had a pink scar on its head and there were tiny parasitic worms burrowing through the flesh near its mouth.
Whatever, it is my catfish. I caught it and I am more than happy with it, I thought.
My grandpa worked on unhooking the catfish. As he was doing this, I remembered all that I had done to catch this one fish. I smiled and started packing all of our gear up. When my grandpa released the catfish, I saw a glimmer of light from its body. Then it was gone.
Looking back on this event, I have now realized the value of being patient. I learned that patience is more useful than I had previously thought. I now see that patience is what got me that one fish. If I was not patient with myself, I would not have caught the catfish. I would have failed myself and the summer would have been a bust for me, but patience and chance changed all of that for the better.