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It was eleven degrees at the house this morning. That surely doesn’t put you much in the mind for fishing, but that is what I have been doing for the last several days.
Linda and I went to the Outer Banks to try out a little camper and to see if we could catch a striper in the surf. The camper worked out fine; the fishing was a tad slow. One strike in three days, but there was an epic struggle in the pounding surf, and after I got him up close enough to look him in the eyes, the hook pulled out.
Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed. A veteran of the sport happened by while I was trying to get this leviathan of the deep onto the shore. I asked turn what I had done wrong, and he said, man, you didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes, they just pull loose.
So, that’s why they call it “fishing,” and not “catching.” Anyway, as often happens, I recalled the words of my dear mother, who always encour
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