Fish Tales

OK, so you've heard it all. When someone goes fishing, they come back with these grandiose stories of what they caught, how big the fish were, etc. ad nauseum. And of course, when they ask for proof (i.e., a picture), well, their hands were just too gooey with fish goop to wreck the $1200.00 Canon EOS.

My cousin Christoper and my father have been known to tell fish stories. I can remember when, as a child, my grandmother would always wait for us to return from our fishing ventures to hear stories of what we caught. Since her mobility was often limited (particularly in her later years), she reveled in the opportunity to hear our stories and to sort of live vicariously through us.

Throughout the years, summers in Maine progressed from dock side mackerel fishing to catching mackerel and using them (whole) for bait for stripers. In Crit's boat. With Dad. And Mom. Sometimes, we ventured up the St. Georges River to go plunking. I am convinced that this is a term my father invented. Truly, there is no other word to describe this feat. You cast as far as you can with this lure that resembles a broken (or wounded) fish into the rocks. With the surf crashing on the rocks, this tasty lure would look like a shoe-in for a quick bite to eat for any trolling striper.

My father - Bunk - likes to plunk! I love it.

Fish stories are truly fun to tell - especially on the days when you don't catch a damn thing. Like the time we took Dad on a tuna charter at 3:00am out of Noank for his 60th birthday. Caught two small Tuna, Katie was sea sick the whole time, and then coming in, one of the twin 275s dies. We had to create fishing stories to survive that day.