The First Fish Part 2: The Lake by Mark A. Trujillo

The Lake

“The lake hardly looks real” Father tells Mother as they unload from the truck. “I know. It’s very pretty!” replies Mother gazing out over the lake in the distance.

Grandma, Mother, Grandpa, Father, Pookie, and Boo all gather at the back of the truck. Grandpa drops the tailgate and begins distributing the supplies. Boo and Pookie eagerly grab their fishing poles and smile at each other. “We’re going to get those fish, Pookie!” says Boo assertively. The certainty in his voice reassures his younger sibling and she responds with a little giggle, “He, he. Yup!”

Boo and Pookie lead the pack from the parking lot. Boo jumps on a log separating the lot from the path down to the lake shore and turns around impatiently. Pookie not so confident in her ability to hop on the log, hands her pole to her brother, bends over, and lifts one leg over the log and then the other. Boo jumps down and exaggerates his landing like a ninja ready for battle. Pookie takes her fishing pole from Boo and they continue down the dirt path.

The dirt path, surrounded by green underbrush, pine trees, and the occasional aspen, drowns out some of the sunlight, making the day seem earlier than it is. Looking up through the foliage, the baby blue sky overhead is only a sliver of its true self. An occasional cool breeze blows through the pines and aspens creating a soft howling sound that echoes throughout the canyon. An occasional pine cone drops from somewhere in the forest making a dull thud while a single squirrel stands on its hind legs with a nut in its front paws, cautiously observing the six campers. After what seems an eternity to the young fishermen, Pookie and Boo finally reach the lake. The adults catch up shortly after and start surveying the lake shore and the lake itself.

“That spot over there looks pretty nice.” suggests Grandpa. They walk over to the spot and Father and Grandpa begin checking the kids’ fishing rods and showing them how to carefully place the bait on the barbed hook. Boo and Pookie are fascinated by the fluorescent, glittery marshmallows and eagerly reach out to get the fish-enticing treats. Father quickly moves the bait jar away from their reach and hands them one marshmallow each. They play with the marshmallow slowly rolling it in their little fingers making a small ball. “Just like playing with your boogers!” Boo exclaims. Grandpa and Pookie laugh out loud.

Father takes Pookie aside and begins showing her how to bait the hook. He carefully takes the eye of the hook with his right hand and begins molding the little ball of bait around the hook with his left, making sure to leave just a little of the sharp tip of the hook exposed. He gives Pookie the rod and instructs her to gently dip the baited hook into the water so the bait will stick to the hook when casted. Pookie nods and walks over to the water’s edge. She begins lowering the rod slowly but then inadvertently hits the casting button on the rod. The bait splashes into the water. Father looks at the surprised little girl and says, “Oops! That’s why you have to be careful. Look at the bait.” Pookie turns back to where the bait splashed down and sees the glittery ball of bait floating away.

Pookie looks down dejectedly. “It’s OK though!” Father consoles her. “We can put more on.” After adding another bait to her hook, Father walks with Pookie to the water’s edge and this time helps her. He takes the little fishing rod and casts the line into the water, the small lead weight and bait making a small, circular ripple on the lake’s surface.

Grandpa walks over to Pookie’s fishing spot, having already helped Boo get successfully situated. “Now, you have to be patient and quiet to catch a fish” Grandpa informs the youngsters. He kneels down on one knee and Pookie leans against him, both gazing out across the lake to where her hook is submerged.

The campers with their fishing rods propped up and strategically positioned for catching fish can finally take in the true beauty of the mountain lake. In this morning hour, the lake is quite still with an occasional mountain breeze causing little waves to form and smoothly glide away from the fisherman, keeping the fishing lines taut. When the waves’ momentum gradually dies, the lake reflects the canyon cliffs and trees that encompass the watery oasis. Occasionally, a small bubble can be seen a few yards from the shore signaling the presence of a hungry fish or two while overhead, a hawk squawks while hunting for breakfast of its own. The sun leisurely makes its way over the trees and the canyon and illuminates part of the shore, exposing green moss where land meets water. Newly born minnows are also visible and scurry away for deeper depths with the slightest noise.

“Just like a postcard.” Grandpa whispers and adjusts his cap.