>>> Item number 16872 from WRITERS LOG9309B --- (134 records) ---- <<< Date: Sat, 11 Sep 1993 18:00:06 JST Reply-To: WRITERS Sender: WRITERS From: Mike Barker Subject: FAQ: The Joy of Fishing The Joy of Fishing Mike Barker On the Coast of Dreams, near the Bay of Profundity whose unplumbed depths have sucked many a brave soul out of mortal sight, moonbeams play across the beach where yawning crews and solitary drifters prepare for an early start. Lines slip through age-toughened and tender young hands, stiff with sleep or fumbling with eagerness. Gulls protest the early disturbance. Their cries sting ears pitched to hear the morning silence. As night reluctantly pales and pastels slip faint shades across the black, the fleet slides into the waters. Waves chop and push, but each craft pulls slowly or quickly toward today's fishing spots. Sleek powerboats force their way along, foaming wakes shaking rowboats and cockleshells that creep softly across the water. From time to time, and here and there, one casts a line, weighted sinker leading, baited hook flailing the air, spidery filament tying fisher to tackle. Splash! The offering sinks beneath the waves, and the fisher waits. Perhaps, impatient, they tug a time or two, then reel back the filament so fine, to check the line, inspect the hook, and make sure the bait is still fastened firm. Others, wise to the wiles of their prey, stolidly wait, patiently watching for a twitch or a tug, letting their soul slip out to the horizon and rock in the waves while they have some time. Plugs, spoons, bright spinning tin, wavering veils of colored plastic - all manner of bait and of lure, both shining and rusty, stinking and clean, those fisherman try as they sail once again. Their lines sometimes tangle, some even break, but always they try again and again, for the thrill of the bite, the teasing work of the play, and the joy of landing. Though the catch be quite big or ever so small, the fisherfolk smile and stand proud as they work at their trade. Some landlubbers may laugh, but the fisherfolk don't, for they've cast their lines again and again, determined to land their own. Fresh flounder, fat tuna, swordfish arcing into the sky, shark's sullen muscular battle, even sardines that some might scorn as bait - ah, they all are fine sport. Nothing beats fishing. Was that a tug on my line? Gently, gently... YES! Gotcha! A fine, fighting reader! How could any writer ask for more? Try out the fishing for yourself, why don't you? Join the fleet, spend a while on stormy waters, and cast your own lines. Your life may never be the same, once you've tried it. -------------------------------