Not on My Watch, Not This Time!

So I think we all remember the TRAVESTY that occurred earlier this week, when I let the biggest fish of all time slip through my fingers, or rather, off my rocky shoal.

Anyway, Anne caught a pike yesterday (3 in one evening in fact, and the last two pretty substantial) and as I went to pin it down and get the lure out of its mouth, it slipped from my hands and went back into the water.

At this point, a normal person would have kicked themselves, sure, maybe lathered up into some real anger. But a person who only a few days hence suffered a physchological meltdown from the loss of a fish is not a normal person. So without so much as a twitch of hesitation, I threw myself fully clothed into the water and the tidal rocks, slapping after the pike like a bar of soap in the bath.

Long story humiliating, after I gave up on the fish and found myself on hands and bloodied knees, covered in mold and moss and dripping wet, I did the mature thing and banged my head against the rock, wailing about how I can't hold on to a fish, I'm cursed, etc. Then my sister pointed to a tidal pool at my thigh, in which the fish was quietly sitting like a loyal hound. I picked it up, whacked it on the head, and decided I don't have what it takes to be a fisherman.


Unlike these sociopaths.