My First Fishing Experience; What An Adventure!
A guest post written by Fishing Guy
I was reached out to recently by a man who refers to himself as Fishing Guy, owner of Reel Fishing Guru, a website filled with snook fishing tactics and amazing fishing rod reviews. He was excited to share with The Outdoor Soul his first fishing adventure, and what an adventure it was! It took me back to my very first fishing experience as well. Check out his story below, and reminisce about your first fishing experience. Feel free to share your story as well in the comments below. Take it away, Guy.
A few years back, I had made up my mind to enjoy my summer vacation at New York’s Harriman State Park, where I visited some years ago along with a good friend of mine. Now, Harriman State Park is enormous, with 31 lakes and reservoirs, 200 miles of hiking trails, a handful of beaches and public campgrounds, and multiple group camps. Our destination was to be the beautiful Lake Sebago. It was certainly a nice place decked out with tent platforms, a number of kayaks and swimming areas.
As soon as we reached our destination, my friend began unloading the baggage, and passed me a scrawny 7′ fishing pole held jointly with spackle and tape. “This is yours,” he said. I thanked him, without admitting concerns of my true thoughts of the tool.
We checked into our accommodations, and shortly after, headed to the lake’s east side. I, myself was holding a rather damaged fishing pole. As I peered over at my friend, lying next to him was a brand new carbon fiber graphite injected rod with ceramic perforations. It glimmered brightly in the sunlight, and whispered harmonic, angelic notes in my head. Yet, I had to start somewhere and would eventually, one day, be able to call a similar type rod and reel set my own.
We unloaded his own personal kayak, which only entailed my rare, demurring assistance to get down off the roof of the car. However, I was having myself a substantial amount of enjoyment, though I may not have conveyed this to him at this moment. I wasn’t paying too much attention to the pole that he provided me, as I was just enjoying myself on such a peaceful, quiet, serene lake in southeastern New York. Eventually, I begged him to show me the best nearby fishing spot. He enthusiastically got underway with his feet leading the way, indeed. We arrived at what he assumed to be “the spot.” He cast his line into the water precisely where he wanted. After a few casts and reels in, he slowly pulled up the slack in his line and shouted “Nothing here! Let’s make an effort over there,” as he pointed a ways up the embankment.
At which time we got to where he wanted, I had noticed the immediate area engulfed in blueberry bushes. It seemed to be the absolute best blueberries I had ever consumed in my life. After I had my fill, I positioned the raggedy pole in what I considered a casting position and attempted to toss the line in the water. After just a few failed attempts, I had it down. I pitched the lure into the stand, and at the very moment the spoon stroked the water, a 10-inch bluegill snapped at it. Like I knew just what I was doing…like I had been doing this for my whole life, I pulled it up and right to lay down the hook, then reeled in the slack as I positioned the tip toward the fish.
Of course, maintaining such nervousness, I start bringing it back to the dock I was standing on. The water was rather shallow, so the fish wasn’t able to fall down or really run with the line. During my struggle with my very first fish on, it jumped out of the water several times, but I was able to hold on and maintain my stay. He wasn’t a giant fish, but my first. My friend, however, thought the entire event was hysterical, and I agreed, of course. But what a rush!
At this time, my friend began running around the dock like a child madly in search of something. I never realized what all that mania was. I placed the fish on the dock’s boundary as it started its death ballet. Not identifying how pointed those dorsal bones were, I gashed myself pretty good trying to take hold of it.
My friend frantically stated, “Hey man, you landed my dearest fish!” Wearing a pair of large boots, he gently laid the rod in his own hand down, just like he was a shooter setting down his rifle. He dropped down to his knees on the dock raising his eyes and his hands to the heavens. My fish’s guts were now strewn about all over. With my arms extended and hands up, my voice filled with annoyance, I cried, “I was just going to release that fish, man.”
After such the debacle it was, I still got back into my kayak, trapped and let go of six more fish that day. As exciting as it actually was, I presumed I was still not a “fisherman,” yet simply a guy who knew how to catch a fish. That’s definitely sufficient for me, although. As a backpacker, and as a rarely flattering man, it’s good to know that I can catch some fish in the near future as well.