Hey folks. You know, I don’t know ’bout other writers, but for me the hardest part is startin’ out. I do say I can accomplish more than the next guy. Oh, experience is part of it, to be sure. But so is plain ol’ smarts, which I seem to have in abundance. Yeah, you try nailing a moving target casting out with your rod, say, 75 feet out. Although I would like some game warden to come over and tell me what in the hell fish I got in my freezer. Randy claims Northern Pike. It’s as long as my freezer is wide! Come from Sebago. He wants to cook ’er up. I think I’ll let him. I know it’s not from Maine waters, I’ll tell you that!
Trouble is, when folks do these things like introduce another species, it might be good for awhile, but in the end it fucks up the works. You know, that fish might be gobbling up the eggs of some nice little speckled trout. And I mean to say nothing tastes as good as a little trout.
Now, how to deal with that. Well, number one is catch ’em in the act and drill a hole in the hull of their boat! Of course, you can take a rifle and shoot ’em! Or you could be legit and call authorities. I’m gonna go through my notes and see what else works…
Well, today I’m ocean bound, where I ’spect there’ll be a crowd. They ain’t seen the likes of me, though. Why, I been taught by a fella known as Captain Nick, and Captain Nick knows more ’bout fishing down this waterfront than anybody else has forgot. He showed me the way of the trestle. Yesiree, he taught me the fish academics and I can’t say enough good stuff ’bout him. I wouldn’t be the pro I am this day.
Funny how it works, ain’t it? Capt. Nick teaches me, now I teach other kids. Only thing is, I see less and less kids wanting to learn how to fish. Guess they wanna use their electric toys at home. Still a few around, but the number is sure declining.
In a way, I don’t blame them. I been out fishing seven times this year and I got exactly no fish at all. And here comes more rain. I tell you, this goddamn weather is fucking me to pieces. And I’m what you would call an expert. You see, I enable myself to use all of my senses at once. Sort of, what you say, coordinate everything at the same time.
Where I fish I can see the State Pier, and no one got a fish there yesterday all afternoon either. What gives with that? I think them old seals are at it again, scaring the bejesus out of the macks and herrings and even worse, the stripers. I knew that goddamn girl feeding them was gonna fuck everything up. Too bad she don’t come down and have to catch some fish. She’d see the trouble she’s made. But she’s gone. The seals aren’t.
I was thinking how nice it’d be to have a nice little cabin out in the middle of the woods where I could just get away for a little bit, just me and the animals and what have you — seclusion, basically. And I could easily write articles. Nice, huh? But wait — I do have one. Hard to get to, I must admit — 134 miles away, actually. But I wish I could get there more often. I think there’d be a big difference in my writing. Just me and the beavers.
