Why I Fish

Every summer I go camping with my family and we fish. My grandpa, who owns the boat we share, is adamant about waking up early, often around 5 a.m. and heading out on the water as soon as it's light enough to see.


As a family, we always compete to see who can independently catch the most fish. Usually it's me. I'm not kidding. I am the reigning three year champion.

The most we ever caught in one day was 250 fish, mostly Perch, all decently sized.

When I come home in between trips, my friends try to figure out why I would willingly go and soak my fingernails in worm parts and fish guts.

The answer is simple: The experience makes me feel alive. There's nothing like the anticipation of a bite, the rush of excitement that courses through me as I jerk my pole up into the air, and the wait to see if I hooked him or not. Beyond that, there's the memories and camaraderie. Oh, and must I mention the views?

All combined, there's hardly any other place I'd rather be than at the lake with a fishing pole in my hands.