Usually all he got to do was bait poles and untangle lines. Later Krell chartered a fishing boat with a guide, mostly so he would get to fish. Grabbed a catfish by its snout turned that catfish inside out! It would just be our luck if he turned out to be a mouth-breathing, mulleted bohunk who goes noodling on weekends- thus finding this photo enchanting!Ĭatfish,catfish, swimmin’ upstream catfish, catfish, where you been? Look close you can see it in the photo! (Ironically, now that she is older she won’t even try sushi.)įortunately, I had the camera, and someday her future prom date will see these pictures. There she was, a beautiful, chubby-cheeked kewpie doll with silky blonde hair and enormous blue eyes, gory with blood running down her arm and trout ichor on her chin. Then she brandished the trout head, carrying it around like a finger puppet and making it talk. The boy thoughtfully asked, as he removed its head and tail, which end did she want?īefore I could stop her, she put it in her mouth (I removed it immediately, of course). All the while she pointed at the one fish with some life left in it, saying “I want to eat the wiggly one!” At the tender age of 3 1/2, she followed a pre-teen boy, who had about 7 trout on a stringer, through the camp to the cleaning station. At least for everyone but my daughter.Īny person who walked by with a fish caught her eye.
The clear water and peacefulness of trout camps appealed to us, with the harmony of nature of camping being more important than sports or fishing. We were “outdoorsy” types, and our house had a tiny yard with a freeway within earshot. For some reason every trout stream known to man has a bazillion tiny pebbles all vying for the privilege of being the one to nest in the small of your back all night.īut it was important to get away from it all. The only difference was this time we’d spring for a cabin rather than wake up crippled and cramped. She always knew exactly what she wanted, and would settle for nothing less.įish heads, fish heads, roly-poly fish headsįish heads, fish heads, eat them up, yum!Īs we got older and my back got worse (what do you expect from lugging little lardball around everywhere? ) we still longed to escape our tiny house by camping amid “River Runs Through It” type scenery. You may be thinking this was due to having older brothers, but as the only little girl, she was showered with frilly and pink opportunities to be normal. The closest thing to “cute” that she ever bonded with was a Beanie Baby Seahorse. When it was lost, as all toys thrown carelessly from strollers must inevitably be, it had to be replaced only with other fishlike “squishimals”. She teethed on it, slept with it, and screeched like a cat in blender if she dropped it out of reach. Other babies clung to their paci, their blanket, their cuddly toys our little freak of nature clung to a fake squishy fish. It was a hideously realistic muskellunge, and she refused to be without it. One of her favorite things was a suck ‘n’ squirt pool toy. She had just learned to sit upright, and couldn’t crawl yet, so we had to keep her happy within the limited reach of her stubby arms. While this did make for good crawdad bait, it didn’t help that she wasn’t mobile enough to entertain herself.
She weighed 27 pounds when this picture was taken. As you can no doubt see from the photo, our daughter was a wee bit on the chunky side. We only camped there, and footled about in the crawdad holes.
The first trip was to beautiful Roaring River Missouri- a freezing cold aquifer-fed stream stocked with hatchery trout. Take me to the river drop me in the water She has a long history with fish- starting with our stay at a trout camp. My 11 year-old daughter would clean it for me, if the men wouldn’t step up to the plate. If, by some miracle I can only see being granted by some lakeshore equivalent of Poseidon*, they should actually catch anything and bring it home to eat, then I will at least not have to clean it. Now I should clarify- they are doubtless going to be catching and releasing.
#Fish heads fish heads eat them up yum license
I will stay home alone, 1) because I don’t have a license 2) because I have been here with both kids all summer, with enough suffocatingly intense heat that they both eschew the pool to stay inside, and 3) I am philosophically opposed to killing things for fun. The family fishing trip is about to commence. (From Monty Python’s Meaning of Life, for all you Philistines out there) MAN IN AUDIENCE: Look up his trunk! MAN IN AUDIENCE: Yeah, it’s hidden in his trousers! STRANGE WOMAN: Ooooh, fishy, fishy, fishy fish! STRANGE MAN: That went wherever I did go. STRANGE WOMAN: Ooooh, fishy, fishy, fishy fish! STRANGE MAN: A-fish, a-fish, a-fish, a-fishy, ooooh. Read Time:6 Minute, 22 Second STRANGE WOMAN: It is a most elusive fish! STRANGE MAN: And it went wherever I did go.
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