To the Fishing Hole!

In thick forest up near Pemberton, we perched high on logs that decades before had been placed as a bridge over the stream gurgling below.  Mosquitos whined around us, mostly kept at bay by deet. Trees had fallen into the water, creating pools and shadowy places under the water … where we dangled worms pinned on hooks.

Okay, the first ‘catch’ of the day was a brightly coloured play phone that had gone for an unplanned dip.

Then we watched as fish sashayed out from the cover, eyeing the bait.

Leif’s dad insisted that Cameron hold his own pole, and then turned away for a moment. “I got one,” shouted Cameron, lifting the first trout up out of the water. I didn’t get a close up view of it as Leif was handling that end of things, but it looked to be around three or four inches long, tops. Still it was a fish, one that he caught “all by himself.”

The girls (Kate, and Claudia and Esme, who we were visiting) each got a turn or two, pulling in somewhat larger fish. Kate’s first try she caught a fish within seconds of taking the pole! Then bites became less frequent – we’d cleared out the caches. Except for one! Cameron’s pole arched, and out popped one more fish, the biggest yet! Still probably not quite keeping size, but hey. The kid did good.

At the end of fishing time, all the fish that survived the ordeal (one didn’t, and one disappeared out of the bucket) were poured carefully into a pond. Here’s hoping they’ll thrive, and maybe be caught again!

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