It didn’t take much cajoling to get me moving this evening when word came down that Grandpa was heading to the quarry with my kids in tow. We woke up to a perfect vernal morning, kind of chilly, but great weather for a PT test. The robins have been back for a couple of weeks now, and each day more and more wings can be seen in the trees as they squabble about nest locations and who owns which piece of real estate.
After 11:00 Mass and the requisite jabberjawing in the parking lot and a trip to our usual lunch hang out, Madame and I went back to the house. Aaron came over and gave us an end of week update on how he’s getting along. Then he casually mentioned that a bit of fishing was on the evening agenda since the younger kids had been begging my dad to take them out since the last warm spell we had.
I dusted off the tackle box and jumbled the poles into the Cruiser and headed out.
It was a productive trip. Stevo was the first to reel one in, and it was just under 18 inches according to Grandpa’s measuring tape. A long winter can make you forget what an excellent rush of adrenaline that tug on the line releases, especially when you hook into a biggun’.
One quick skip of a heartbeat, though, and the rusty reflexes jump back to life, the line cuts through the water like a knife, the reel hums like a gyro, and then brilliant green scales flash
in the sun and then disappear back into the water with a splash.
The sun finally slid down behind the high limestone wall of the quarry. Monday is a school day and we decided a fire would be impractical, so the gear went back into our vehicles and we headed our separate ways, richer for the experience and hungry for the next opportunity to get back to the water’s edge.