Black Lake 2016

"Mom," Sydney said with a strange sense of urgency as she handed me a small baggie, "remember that we put these pike hooks in Savannah's tackle box for next year." WHAT?!? I shook my head. "Syd," I said gently, "I forgot to pack a toothbrush for this year's trip. Do you really think I'm going to have a handle on fish hooks a year from now?" "Wait...you forgot your toothbrush," my husband asked, momentarily taking his eyes off of the bobber in the water. "What exactly were your plans regarding dental hygiene?" This, coming from a man currently coated in fish slime. "Well...Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis share a toothbrush," I reported, smiling at my life partner. "Ashton who," he asked, "Never mind. I packed an extra toothbrush." Of course he did. Kill joy.

Brad almost ruined this year's trip to Black Lake when he forgot to buy me worms. Bait is very important to me. "C'mon,,,just try a minnow," he coaxed. I felt like a barbarian as I lowered little Nemo into the depths of the Pike-filled waters, the Jaws theme echoing in my brain. After I caught my fiftieth crappie though, I was hooked. "And on the plus side, we don't have to cut up the worms," I said, shivering at the thought. "Did she just say 'we'," Sydney whispered at her sister. "Mom hasn't touched bait in my lifetime."

 Brad's never satisfied with the little guys so, before too long, he had his eyes on the bigger prize:  Pike. There is a certain finesse that I lack when fishing for Pike. Like truly caring if I actually catch one or not. But even I can't ignore the rush of adrenaline when one hits. I am TERRIBLE when it comes to setting the hook. But this year, I may have come up with a sure-fire strategy based on "Legally Blonde's" Bend-and-Snap maneuver called the Set-and-Hold. I was in the groove, half-listening as Brad yelled out warnings about anchor ropes, pointing the tip of the fishing pole at the Pike (which I could never actually see, by the way) and then screaming, "Bring it towards me...down...down...DOWN!" And then, ZING! Up snaps an empty line and Brad, with an empty net and befuddled expression, saying, "What part about 'down' did you not understand? It is not a Jesus fish. It does NOT walk on water." Okay...time to revise my strategy. Crappie, sunnies and blue gill can be ejected from the water. Pike must be extracted. As you can see from the picture, I did manage to snag one and then completely humiliated myself by screaming hysterically, dancing around and then did an awful Yeah...This Girl Just Caught a Pike pose. Even worse, my shenanigans drew every fisherman in a five mile radius to our "quiet" little cove so that by the time I (Brad) had wrestled my prize onto the boat, I had an impressive audience.
All that I had left to accomplish was the Dogfish. Sydney had caught a state record-sized Dogfish several years ago and now the Mosimans proudly sport a Dogfish picture gallery in our home. Yeah...I know. Some people showcase Thomas Kinkaide, Precious Memories or Willow Tree collectibles. No...not the Mosimans. Dogfish pictures. I was content with Brad, Savannah and Sydney being featured on the wall but when cousin Jeff from Iowa appeared holding what could be better described, not as a Dogfish but as a Puppyfish, it was time to get serious.

"I think it's a Dogsfish," Brad said softly, as my line rapidly disappeared beneath the water. "How do you know," I asked between gritted teeth. "Where a Pike will rise to the water, a Dogfish will disappear," Brad told me. "Oh, like a Great White," I said. Of course, I'd lost my fish by now but was interested in the theory behind how a hooked fish reacts. Brad, for some reason, thought I was making fun of him and refused to expound on his fishing knowledge until I explained how Jaws defied logic when he (she) submerged even when harpooned. Taking not one...not two...but three barrels down beneath the surface. Like a Dogfish! He rolled his eyes but I think my husband was able to grasp the connection. It's tough because he isn't as well-versed with the movie Jaws as I am.

Farewell and adieu to you, fair Mosiman ladies. Farewell and adieu to you, daughters of mine. For our week's reservations are done and we're leaving...and so until next year, will we fish here again.

"Wait...you call THAT an ending," Savannah said in disgust. "Yeah," I replied defensively, "It's classic. I'm going out with a parodied version of Quint's song from Jaws." "No, I get that," Savannah answered dismissively, "but as conclusions go, this isn't your greatest work." Wow! "It's true, Mom," Sydney added gently, "You didn't even mention how you made Daddy buy you fat shorts from Stuff-Mart because your capris were too tight after you stopped at Charcoal Corral for a hot dog and fries." "Yeah...that was funny," Savannah agreed. "And then you got back out to the van and realized that you had a whole suitcase of clothes to change into. Now that's classic." "How is that classic," I argued, "It has nothing to do with fishing." "Our fishing trips have NEVER been about you actually fishing," she concluded triumphantly. Wow.