The goal of this was to be as self-sufficient as possible. I would catch, clean, cook, and eat my own fish. From the water. Myself. I would be a God and the fish-people would ever-cringe at the sound of my name. Conquerer of (watery) Worlds. Let's completely ignore the fact that the last time I went fishing, I was probably eight years old or so, and my father did all the actual work. Let's completely disregard the point that I have never cleaned a fish let alone put a knife into a living thing in my entire life and in fact the very thought of merely hooking a worm makes me squeamish. I was determined. I was going to do this with little-to-no knowledge and with no assistance. I was going to kick this reservoir's ass.
So I asked the lady at the park entry where a good place to catch bass was. This reservoir is stocked with bass and catfish and of the two, I'd prefer bass. Additionally, I recall once trying to catch catfish with my father and we'd had to use a special bait and everything and we didn't catch shit, so I figured I'd be better off going for bass. The woman advised me to fish along the coastline and so I parked and found a nice spot near some guys who were fishing. I figured if they were fishing there, maybe they knew something I didn't know. I was wrong (and so were they), because after half an hour, neither of us had caught anything. I mean, it would have been one thing if they'd caught something and I hadn't or vice-versa, but not even a nibble for either of us that whole time. So, I moved further down. Another half hour passed without a catch. I'd gotten a nibble, but the fish got away with half my nightcrawler (which I was somewhat upset about because I'd just finished overcoming my squeamishness of hooking them and I was learning you really had to hook them, like several times so the hook runs all through their little wormy bodies to keep them on the hook).
It hadn't really occurred to me that I might not catch anything. I was feeling a bit let down but I decided to move wayyyyy further down, closer to the dam and try again. I thought, these fish probably ate earlier this morning and maybe they're just not hungry yet (what? I don't know shit about fish eating habits, okay?), and maybe if I'm patient they will get hungry again and I'll catch something. Additionally, I added more weight to the line so I could cast further out, and moved the bobber up so that the bait would go deeper into the water. I mean, I'm just guessing at this point and learning as I go, but I figured, "What I'm doing now isn't working, let's change things," and so I did.
It paid off.
A few minutes in I got a nibble. Then another. They were taking bits of my bait but there was still enough to cast with. So, I cast again. At this point, I could see the fish almost literally jumping out of the lake. They were snagging unwary flies who landed on the water for a drink. They were hungry. I got a bite, tugged hard and hooked a fish! I was ECSTATIC. The weight of the fish fighting against the pole was a great deal more than I'd anticipated, and my pole bowed down almost as if honoring the fish for its struggle.
I had caught a catfish! I was awesome! I was queen of the land and seas! All creatures would bow before me!
I had caught a catfish! I was awesome! I was queen of the land and seas! All creatures would bow before me!
Wait. What the fuck do I do now?! I got the fish and he's struggling, he's sort of in the shallows flopping around and I'm thinking, what did my dad do? Oh yeah, we had a line. He would put them on a line and keep them in the water until we were ready to leave. Line, line, line, do I have a line? I'm searching around me and I notice in my tackle kit there's a small blue rope that's about 6 feet long and has a round loop on one end and a metal stake at the other end. Aha! I remember now! You run the stake through the gill of the fish and out its mouth, then through the round loop and then stake it into the grass on the edge of the water. Perfect! I ran the stake through the gill opening, then through the loop, and then literally had the fish on a leash. That's when I realised I was on a cement embankment and there was absolutely no earth to shove the stake into.
At the same time, I didn't want to leave after all that work with just one fish. A relatively big fish for freshwater fishing, but still, just one fish. The whole time I'm trying to figure this out I'm holding the "leash" and the fish is trying to swim away. Awkward for everyone involved. So, I filled the bucket with water and put the fish in the water. But it was really hot, and the water would get hot, so I knew it wouldn't be a good idea. I put Mr. Fishy back in the lake and then it occurred to me that the bucket was heavy now that it was full of water. So, I put the bucket in the shallows and tied the rope to the bucket handle. It worked! Totally ghetto, but effective.
I cast my line and ended up catching two more catfish. How I wasn't catching bass, I have no idea, but fish is fish! I realised that if I wanted to keep them alive until I got them home, it was time to call it a day because I was out of room in the bucket. Now, about this bucket. It's one of those big, square ones that you get bulk cheap laundry detergent in. Through an incredible lack of planning, I didn't have any sort of lid for it. So, I have this bucket that's 3/4ths of the way full of water, with three live fish flopping around in it, and I've got to get it home -- about 30 minutes away -- without spilling water or fish all over my car. I was thinking about this as I was lugging everything back to the car (a half-mile or so walk). It was a difficult walk because the bucket & fish were quite heavy and on top of that I was carrying a small ice chest, a tackle box and a fishing pole.
Anyway, the most satisfying part of the day was when I was walking past the guys who I'd been fishing near originally. Here I am, a girl by myself who hasn't "gone fishing" since she was a child, learning the fine art of fishing as she goes. And they're three dudes who have expensive fishing poles and tackle gear and probably years of hobbyist experience. They hadn't caught shit. They asked me if I'd caught anything and I showed them my bucket 'o fish with pride. I was nice enough to not tell them this was my first time out fishing. They started asking me questions about my "technique" and my bait and such, and I tried to answer them without sound like so much of a noob (to avoid their embarrassment, not my own).
Anyway, the most satisfying part of the day was when I was walking past the guys who I'd been fishing near originally. Here I am, a girl by myself who hasn't "gone fishing" since she was a child, learning the fine art of fishing as she goes. And they're three dudes who have expensive fishing poles and tackle gear and probably years of hobbyist experience. They hadn't caught shit. They asked me if I'd caught anything and I showed them my bucket 'o fish with pride. I was nice enough to not tell them this was my first time out fishing. They started asking me questions about my "technique" and my bait and such, and I tried to answer them without sound like so much of a noob (to avoid their embarrassment, not my own).
I got the fish home. The bucket fit snugly between my passenger seat and the glove compartment part of the dash, and was secure the whole way home. I covered it with a white hand towel, to keep the fish out of the hot sun and to help mitigate any splashes. At home, I carted the bucket into the kitchen, broke out the cutting board and my sharpest knife. I had read up a bit on fishing before I left the house, and many guides advised a swift blow to the head to kill the fish. I didn't want the fish to suffocate, that's unduly cruel, and I certainly didn't want to cut into them live. I have a large knife so I flipped it around so the blunt end was out. I held the fish firmly in my hand and brought the blunt edge down with a loud whack. See, I was expecting a thud, but here was a whack. What the hell?
Catfish, as it turns out, are one of the most difficult fish to clean. Their spines (?) run from their tail way up into their head and so there's bone protecting them. Or something. I don't know. All I knew was that I had a live fish and I didn't know what the fuck to do with it. Eventually, the fish did die. I wasn't tremendously happy with the way that it died, but it was dead and that was what I wanted. Now, to clean it. I looked up a video on youtube. It looked simple enough. I just wanted the filets because I'd read that the belly meat would be where all the toxins (if there were any) would be. I gripped the knife firmly in my hand, placed it against the fish, and proceeded to freak the fuck out. How could I do this? I had been steeling my nerves about this all day long, trying to prepare myself for that moment and the moment had come and I was lacking.
Catfish, as it turns out, are one of the most difficult fish to clean. Their spines (?) run from their tail way up into their head and so there's bone protecting them. Or something. I don't know. All I knew was that I had a live fish and I didn't know what the fuck to do with it. Eventually, the fish did die. I wasn't tremendously happy with the way that it died, but it was dead and that was what I wanted. Now, to clean it. I looked up a video on youtube. It looked simple enough. I just wanted the filets because I'd read that the belly meat would be where all the toxins (if there were any) would be. I gripped the knife firmly in my hand, placed it against the fish, and proceeded to freak the fuck out. How could I do this? I had been steeling my nerves about this all day long, trying to prepare myself for that moment and the moment had come and I was lacking.
I paced. I pondered. Let's say I don't cut up the fish. What do I do with them? It seemed intrinsically wrong to have fished them out of the water, kept them on a leash, brought them home in a big bucket only to throw them in the dumpster or something. I didn't know anyone who could clean a fish or who would even want to try. What was I supposed to do with these fish?
No. I had to do this. I couldn't just give up. All my hard work, all for nothing? Not going to happen. I reached deep down inside and came up with some courage and I fileted the fuck out of those fish. I probably did a poor job, once I get more practice in I will be better, but in the end I got three good size filets and enough catfish bits for a meal or two. I made a fish fry with cornmeal and spices and dredged them in the mix. I fried up one filet and put the rest in the fridge.
They were delicious. Here's the bad boys in question, in order of catch:
Next up: Irate Irrelevance vs a bicycle -- HOW WILL IT END?!
No comments:
Post a Comment