The one who got away

Everyone has the special they nearly had. They could see it, nearly touch it, admire it... and then, just like that, it vanished. For most women the words "the one who got away" mean some handsome man, but that's not the case with me, oh no.

I'm talking about a fish.

One, huge, green fish.

The one I caught with my casting rod with a reel. Twice!
Before it swam away to the lake and vanished for good.

It was so close, so close! It was one big pike. It was strong and long and nearly mine. I can't believe that it was so attracted to my bait that it caught it twice! Yet it managed to escape from our wooden jetty...

Well, every fisherwoman has her tale to tell. I've been fishing as long as I can recall. My dad took me with him to a legendary fishing trip when I was just 3. (It was during one stormy night in the late fall. I didn't have a safety jacket on, neither did he, the waves were high, it was raining and the only thing protecting me was a plastic box dad placed over me. When mum found out about the little adventure she screamed like mad.)

I love fishing. It's one relaxing summertime hobby. I have lots of fond memories from the fishing trips I went to with dad. Even now, years since our last trip (my dad died in 1997), I still get that certain feeling when I'm at our summer cottage and the sun is shining in a certain way and it's around 6pm. Sometimes I walk to the storage, get my casting rod with a reel and pretend that dad's standing next to me when I fish... Perhaps he is.

I do know that losing that pike is certainly not the first time! Me and dad have lost loads of pikes over the years. But still the amount of "the ones who got away" is nothing in comparison to the ones we've got. There are not many things which can make one's heart beat that quickly as it does when you realize that this time you've got a fish in the end of the rod and you two fight the small battle of life and death. I suppose that pike had few more smaller fish to eat.

But that fishing night goes into my fishing history. And that's not because the pike got away but because it was the very first time ever when a fish has caught my bait on the very first time I tried. Usually it takes a lot of time before anything happends - if something does even happen, that is. So it was one great night.

I'm going back to the summer cottage this weekend. Shall I fish then? We'll see. It I have time and the evening is fine, I don't see why not.

But I know for sure that I will be admiring the beautiful view I can see each time I go to our summer cottage. I respect the nature arround me and I feel that I'm part of it a complitely different manner when I'm there, "in the middle of nowhere", far from the busy city life, listening to the sounds of silence... The voices one hears back there are birds, bees, the wind, the waves... sounds like that. It sure melts away lots of troubles and calms restless minds. I wish and hope that everyone could have a place like that to go to.

Each time I go there, I think that we're just visitors in there. The lake and the forest have been there centuries before us and they will be there centuries after we're gone. So we're just co-existing there for a while.

I've learned that kind of love and respect from my father. He never said those words, but he taught me about nature more than any other teacher could have. He just took me to walks around the forest nearby and fishing trips. Those are moments which I treasure all my life. And I do hope that if I am blessed with children, I can lead them to respect the wonders of nature in the same way my father did.