An Italian-American living la dolce vita in the Deep South

An Italian-American living la dolce vita in the Deep South

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Bia-the-City-Girl Goes Fishing

Earlier this week my dad called to ask if Timothy and I would like to go fishing with him this Thursday.

Now, as many of you know I am a self-professed city girl, but I do I like to fish ... as long as someone else baits the hook; I also like to catch fish ... as long as someone else takes it off the line; and I definitely like to eat fish ... as long as someone cleans and fillets it for me. I also really, really like to ride in the boat.

In other words, I do what's called city-girl-fishing. (I also do city-girl-camping.)

So I said yes to the fishing date.

"We're going to leave early," Nonno warns me. "Like around 5:30."

Now, I'm an early riser, but 5:30? Are the fish even awake then? But I did wonder: does he mean that as the initial wake-up call? Or does he mean for us to be at his house, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fishing pole in hand, ready to go at that exact time.

Yup, that's what he meant. 

So we got up at that ungodly hour and, well, let me tell you it's hard to put on mascara that early in the morning, and then I had to run back in to get my kindle so I would have something to read if we got stuck in the middle of the lake, or something. As a result, we ended up being 15 minutes late (Nonno says it was closer to 20 minutes). Whatever. I was sure the fish would be there waiting.

We arrived to the lake at sunrise.

We fished. And we fished some more. We moved the boat here. We moved the boat there. Just when I was beginning to think there wasn't a single fish in the entire lake ... Nonno caught a fish!

A fish! They DO exist! Timothy and I were PUMPED so we doubled down, determined to catch one, too.

Nonno caught one.
Now it was our turn.

[Now, I interrupt this adventure to let you in on a little secret: every time one of us goes fishing with Nonno it ends up costing him money. Let's see . . . there was the time one son backed Nonno's truck into the Savannah River and totaled it (true story). On another fishing trip our other son got his fishing line wrapped around Nonno's trolling motor which then later had to be disassembled and untangled. Today was no exception because at one point I was demonstrating to Timothy how far I could cast. I ended up making a truly spectacular cast . . . fishing pole and all. It made a truly spectacular splash and sank spectacularly fast.]

Nonno fixing me another fishing pole
after I "cast" mine away.

At least now I know what to get Nonno for Father's Day.

Anyway, back to the story. After Nonno's catch we continued to fish. And we fished some more. We moved the boat here. We moved the boat there. Just when I was beginning to think Nonno had caught the ONLY fish in the entire lake we pulled into a small cove where . . . I hooked a fish.

Not just any fish, but a whopper of a fish!

It was like Man City Girl vs. Nature, and when the fish tried to swim around the boat with me wrestling with the line, I had visions of Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea.

I finally reeled it in, laughing maniacally. Later I realized there was a cabin nearby with people out on the deck, and I just bet they were saying: Yup. That's a city girl for sure. Just caught her first fish. Whatever. Then Nonno tried to get me to hold it so we could take a photo, but I said uh-uh-no-way-was-I-holding-that-stinky-fish.

So that's why I have a photo of Nonno holding my fish.

Five hours later and I'm home sweaty, sunburned, but feeling triumphant. After all, tonight I get to put dinner on the table. Oh, I put dinner on the table every night, but this time I mean it LITERALLY.

We are having the fish I caught (which Nonno cleaned and filleted for me).

From lake to dinner table.

You go, City Girl.

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