Fishing

I love everything about fishing ... except the fish.

My Dad taught me the art of the angler years ago. He bought me a $5 rod from the local hardware store one summer, along with a few hooks. After a cursory lesson on how to use tiny balls of Wonder Bread as bait, the cuisine of choice for New Hampshire's sunfish population, I was left alone to practice casting.

I remember standing on a small wooden dock on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee for hours at a time, learning the rhythm of pulling the line back and forth. I can still hear the splash of the bobbin as it broke the lake's surface, the only noise that disturbed my silent meditation.

There was just one problem. My heart hurt when I finally snagged my finny prey. Their captivity provided no thrill. Then I realized. I just needed to forego the hooks. 

With our headlines and newscasts dominated by reports of hatred, violence, and malfeasance, the memory of those days spent fishing still lingers. I find myself longing for the simplicity of life on that dock. Surrounded by quiet, and calm, and peace.

A time without hooks.

"Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." - Henry David Thoreau