It’s a high cloud day and nature is beginning to wake up.
It’s 18 degrees Celsius, without any wind and Scales Pond is perfect. The first week in May and flies are out in abundance, not the biting kind, pesky ones, almost mosquito size with fuzzy antennae. We swat them even though they don’t bite. The real story is at water’s edge however.
It is a family fishing adventure with our two granddaughters. The girls have sampled fishing in the U. K. on one of their visits. Now their mother wants them to experience fishing on their island home. Our daughter loves this fishing or trouting as we call it.
Claire spent time with my husband’s father trouting as a young child. We went camping with my in-laws when Claire was young and my father-in-law introduced her to the wonders of the pursuit of trout.
Let’s face it, it is not much of a pursuit. You stand by the body of water and drown a few worms as you wait and flick, wait and flick. Our daughter loved it. Any time she caught a fish, you could hear her all over the pond. In between, she and Poppy, as she called him, talked about anything and everything. She was hooked by Poppy for sure and the trouting was fun by association.
Not so her father. My husband has less than fond memories of the same thing. He hated every minute spent swiping at flies, stood in the same spot, catching his hook in a tree or on the bottom of a pond.
No pleasant memories there as his father retrieved the pole or put on a new hook. On this expedition, he spent time with 11 month old Owen, as he pushed the stroller along the trail by the pond. He couldn’t bear to have “a few flicks” as his father called it.
We determined on this expedition the girls have the gene as well. Caitlin caught two fish which they released back into the pond. Sylvie is determined to catch a fish the next time. They, with our daughter, will happily wet a line this season while the rest of us happily don’t. My husband and I wonder about baby Owen though. Will he like the slow pursuit? Only time will tell.