Fishing Ruined, Again…

My first time fishing was with my Uncle Willard, Aunt Gloria, my brother Steve, and my cousins Kelly and Steve.  We went fishing for speckled perch (called crappie in less sophisticated parts of the world) in the Kissimmee River.  The fish were “on the bed,” as the old-timers used to say, meaning the fish were guarding their eggs, and were hungry.   

We were cane pole fishing with a bobber and minnows.  The fish started biting, and we pulled them in.  Imagine four boys, 12, 8, 6, and 5 throwing out their lines and getting a bite every time.  Poor Uncle Willard was so busy baiting our hooks he couldn’t get his own line in the water.  We ran out of minnows and started using the cheese Aunt Gloria had brought for lunch.  When the cheese ran out, we switched to Vienna Sausage (if you do not know what Vienna Sausage is, you have missed out on a great delicacy).  The fish gobbled it up, and we pulled in even more.  When we ran out of Vienna Sausage, my brother Steve suggested we cut off my toes and use them for bait.  Thankfully, Uncle Willard did not go along with that suggestion.  He did tell us to put our bare hooks in the water and see if the fish would bite them.  They did.  We were pulling in fish with no bait. 

Finally, the fish stopped biting, and Uncle Willard and Aunt Gloria started counting the fish.  We had landed 123 speckled perch.  The old timers would say, “Boy, you caught a mess and a half.”  Do not look up this measurement in any book; only your grandfather can tell you what it means. 

We headed back to the landing and went back home, glowing in our triumph.  Uncle Willard and Aunt Gloria had to clean all those fish while we boys played. 

I, of course, assumed all fishing was like that.  My stepfather Lawrence loved to fish.  He would have us on the lake at sunup and would stay until after dark.  The first time he took me and my mother, I was waiting for the fish to bite like they did when I was with Uncle Willard and Aunt Gloria.  I waited… and waited.  Every time he took me over the next ten years, I waited for that magical moment to happen again, but it never did.  Fishing was ruined for me. 

I had the chance to go fly fishing during a recent trip to the mountains.  Lawrence loved to fly fish, so I thought I would give it a go.  We met our guide at the Nantahala Gorge, ready for a new experience.  Lawson was 16 years old but was on the US Youth Fly Fishing Team (who knew?).  He told us he had gotten to the spot early, fished for thirty minutes, and caught 30 trout.  He got my attention.  Was this to be a repeat of that first experience long ago? 

He instructed us on the basics of casting and watching our leader.  Then he set us in the middle of the Upper Nantahala River to see what we could do.  

On my third cast, I hooked my first fish.  I set the hook, pulled in the line, and got him to the net.  It was a Brookie.  We took pictures, then released the trout, and I cast again.  On my tenth cast, I hooked another fish.  This one was a Brown trout.  Lawson patiently explained the difference between Brookies and Browns, but I really couldn’t tell the difference at all.  Fly fishing was easy. 

There is an ancient Greek saying: “Those the gods would humble, they first make proud.”  For the next hour and a half, I cast and cast and caught nothing.  This was more like fishing with Lawrence than fishing with Uncle Willard.  I shifted positions in the river; Lawson suggested a couple of different techniques, and still, nothing.   

Our time was ending, and I made one more cast.  I hooked a fish, pulled him in, and looked at him.  I caught the rainbow – or I should say a Rainbow trout.  I hit the trifecta on the last cast.  I admired him, pictures were taken, and an enjoyable day on the river concluded. 

Jesus invited his disciples to be fishers of men.  He wanted them to experience the thrill of seeing someone take their next toward Jesus.  I think he also wanted them to learn patience.  You can put out all the reasons why a person should follow Jesus, but ultimately, it is a person’s own decision to have a relationship with Jesus.   

I think the reason fishing was ruined for me is because I lack patience.  Instead of fishing, God gave me other paths that taught me patience.  But if we follow Jesus, our call is not to make excuses but to get out there and fish.  There are people who are spiritually hungry, and they need Jesus.  Pray that God will grow their hunger, and they will start biting.  God does not practice catch and release; everyone who responds is a keeper.