“Yeah, yeah,” I said, “It’d be called catching.”
That saying leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I did really well today with the seasickness issue. I suppose that’s what I get for not getting my butt out of bed at 5:30 a.m. I hop onto the boat come lunchtime, when my dear boyfriend comes back to the harbor for fuel and a sandwich or three. By that time, they had already caught quite a few bottom fish, including a ~22-pound lingcod.
I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t supposed to go out today. It started with not finding my fishing license. The first store we stopped into didn’t sell licenses anymore, the second couldn’t sell me a replacement, or a day pass, because he didn’t have the password to the machine; the third one’s machine was down; and the fourth one wasn’t sure how to sell me anything, but tried until we got to the option “Duplicate.” I leaned over the counter yelling “Yes! Yes! All I want is a duplicate!” Now I regret my pushiness: were I the one behind the counter I wouldn’t have put up with me. But finally, we could head out onto the water.
Too bad the fish didn’t notice.