Musky (part 2 of 8)

But we go out anyway. We go out to catch a fish, I mean, to try to catch a fish in the off chance that we will catch a fish. 

This is the peculiar conundrum that the fisherman is in; the fisherman knows that there will be no catch but hopes that this self-diagnosis is wrong.  Maybe this is the only time in history that one wishes, hopes, prays, that one’s self is wrong about one’s conviction and beliefs and projected outcome.  It is different than the meteorologist predicting an ice storm and hoping that it is just rain.  It is different because the meteorologist is reading signs in the sky whereas the fisherman is guided by gut instinct and is facing a north wind.

But we go out anyway.

The first part of the operation is dour.  The expectation, the knowledge even, of not catching a fish casts a pall over the whole preparation.  If the feeling can be compared to anything it is most like buying flowers for your own funeral even though you know that you won’t die until after the flowers are already dead, so what’s the point?

But we prepare to go fishing anyway. 

The jigs and the chubs and the plugs and the grubs and the rest of the tackle are taken out of their bags and tackle boxes and inspected carefully. The leaders are checked for frays and marks of abrasion.  The lines on the reels are examined and the first twenty feet are cut away and the leader is retied.

On shore the air is brisk.  Out in the boat there is a peculiar chill and its important to be dressed right. 

First one puts on socks and then underwear and then socks again.  Then one puts on pants and then puts on pants and then puts on a shirt and then puts on a shirt and then puts on a sweater and then puts on a sweater that has a hood and then puts on a scarf and then puts on a jacket and then puts on a coat and then puts on waterproof pants and a rain coat.  The final accoutrement is good boots and several layers of gloves.

A sandwich is made in a rush because you start sweating and cursing because you should have made the tea and poured the whiskey into a smaller bottle before putting on all of your clothes.  Also now you have to urinate.  Urinating out of doors is generally required because of the great difficulty in directing the operation with gloves on.  But the boots and waterproof pants are a godsend in this case.

All of the particles and components of a day on the water are carefully placed first on the dock and then handed one by one into the boat.  The last thing to do is to go back up the hill to the shed and find a large pfd that fits over the bulk of your shirt the other shirt the sweater the other sweater with the hood the jacket the coat and the raincoat.

At last the frost is kicked out of the lines and the cleats are freed and the sheets are brought inboard.  The motor jumps to life and you are happy to hear a strong engine piss into cold water. 

We look at eachother at this moment and say something motivational along the lines of “lets go.”

This is the first mistake of the day besides not making the sandwiches, tea, and whiskey before gearing up.  The mistake is to say “lets go” without having fixed a trawl to go to. 

The engine idles as the momentum stalls.