I hate fishing!
Well, at least freshwater fishing...
Every year of the 4th of July, our extended family would converge upon Grandma Pete's little cabin in northern Wisconsin.
Our first job every years seemed to be that of cutting up and hauling of the trees that blew down over the driveway, which felt more an old logging trail will all the bumps and hole to prove it.
After we finally broke through to the camping area we would set up camp, for some it was parking their campers
, for us it was an all out endeavor of clearing the campsite of any branches, logs, or animal feces so we could lay our ground tarps and set up our individual pup-tents
.
, for us it was an all out endeavor of clearing the campsite of any branches, logs, or animal feces so we could lay our ground tarps and set up our individual pup-tents.
Eventually, everyone of my cousins and I would end up down on the dock - fishing pole in hand.
Everyone but me that is. I just hated it!
But there was one year that I will never forget!
One year my cousin Jeff started to razz me about never fishing and my brother, with his unusually big mouth, chimed it...
"That's because he couldn't catch a fish if his life depended on it!," as he reeled in yet another sunfish.
They all began to laugh...
I GRABBED A POLE!
As everyone was standing on the dock - I joined them.
There was a fishing rule the adults made up that we could not cast our lines over each others(I think they just got tired of untangling lines for 20 kids, lol),...
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