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A Fishy Story

When men talk of
hunting, fishing or sex, it’s mostly about size isn’t it? How strong, clever,
experienced they were to finally get on top of whatever they were hunting for,
fishing for or – whatever.

Women tell fishing stories for other
reasons. I recall two of my favorites.

Mike and I anchored
our boat, Loreley, in the perfect lagoon of Solomon Atoll. We remained
near the pass to make it easy for us to get outside the atoll, to enjoy some of
the superb fishing and diving outside the reef.

This day we decided to visit friends
anchored in the popular anchorage off Boddam Atoll, at the other end of the
lagoon. Mike pulled out the tackle box to prepare some light spinning rods for
sports fishing en route. I watched him choose lures for the rods. When he
pulled out a rather drab, green plastic squid for my rod, I objected, telling
him I did not like that lure.

“What do you mean you
don’t like it?” He asked – obviously annoyed.

“Well, it’s ugly. If I
were I fish I wouldn’t bite that. I want a pretty lure,” said I in my
ignorance.

“O.K.” he said through
clenched teeth, “Choose a damn lure!”

I scratched around in
the box and came up with a lovely specimen that looked as pretty as a ballet
dancer, dressed in a bright pink and blue tutu, with generous sprinklings of
silver sparkles.

I was told that it would NOT work in this
lagoon – but I insisted.

We took off, in the
dinghy, trailing lures in the water. In a few moments my reel was whining and I
struggled to land a nice sized fish with my small rod. This success was met
with a deadly silence. Once again we took off and again it was my rod that
caught the fish. It became monotonous and Mike’s scowl became more
pronounced.

We had a great visit and lunch with our
friends and gave them all the fish, as that end of the lagoon was rather fished
out.

As we took off for the return journey, I
noticed that I had the rod with the ugly lure and the captain had my
pretty (successful) one. I didn’t object. After all, he was the captain and my
arm was sore from reeling in all those fish.

Now I LIKE that story and it has nothing to
do with size.

The other story began
when I was off watch and in my bunk, very early one morning as we sailed across
the Pacific. I heard Mike rattling around with fishing tackle box, rods etc. I
went out to see what was going on. Mike pointed behind us. There was a large
Mahi Mahi having a leisurely swim in the watery slipstream off our transom.
Mike chose a lure and tossed it in. The Mahi spun towards it and Mike gave a
triumphant yell – which was a bit premature as the fish turned away and resumed
swimming behind us. Mike went through every lure in his box but the Mahi
refused each one while Mike gnashed his teeth in frustration.

Eventually it was lunchtime and I was
eating a sardine sandwich. I tossed a bit of sardine in the water. The Mahi
snatched it up and gobbled it down.

“Hah! I’m going to
catch that fish!” I said.

“With sardines in
tomato sauce – you must be kidding?”

I ignored that and carefully put a piece of
sardine, tomato sauce and all, onto one of the hooks, below the lure, while
Mike stood there with a pitying look on his face.

I tossed the lure in the water and the Mahi
shot over to inspect it and swallowed it, hook, line and sardine.

I eventually landed the beast – to the
total disgust and disbelief of the captain.

Why do I like to tell
these stories? Perhaps just to show that feminine intuition (idiocy) can
sometimes beat male know-how and expertise!

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One comment

  1. Gwen, it’s Gail (formerly married to Deon) from Elliot Basin.  Acknowledge me so we can hook up.  I’ve been searching for you for a long time.   You were always a true friend and look forward to hearing from you.

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