Something that many poor people have in common is they like to fish and Mark
and I were no exception. Fishing can be a relatively low cost and
very time consuming and you can eat the results of your hobby. This
is not true in golf and other rich people pass times. There were
quite a few fishing holes within striking distance of a couple of
guys with only bicycles for transportation. We would load up our gear
and precariously balance a tackle box and a fishing pole on our bikes
and head up the canyon, to the reservoir, or to Spring lake or
sometimes even take the 12 mile trip down to Burraston
Ponds all in the attempt to pull a little fish out of the water. When we
got there we would each try the most ridiculous things to tempt a
fish, we had not learned that it is the fish who should be impressed
with our presentation not our friends. We had garish orange and green
flies and massively oversized lures that rarely caught fish. It was
always fun for my brother and I to hear Mark describe his lure
because he pronounced it 'Lurr'. We would bait him into using it as
often as possible and subtly tease him by repeating it back it what
we thought was the more correct 'Loo-Ur'. Once when we were having a
particularly bad day fishing up the canyon and had spent all morning
and most of the afternoon trying without success to tempt a trout out
of the icy waters Mark finally caught one. There is nothing so
insufferable as the one fisherman who caught a fish in the company of
three that didn't. He kept the fish on the hook and walked over to
where I was still trying my very hardest to catch one and prove my
worth as a human being. He held it up and talked and talked for what
seemed like hours about how he rigged his line and how he presented
the bait and how he fought the fish. Fighting the fish was an obvious
lie because the stream up the canyon is only about ten feet across
and when you catch a fish you pull it strait up and out. He talked
and talked and kept that fish hanging in the air from his bent pole
while he lorded his superior fishing skill over me like a fish on a
line hanging from your best friend's pole. As fate often has it in a
full blown gloating situation the tables turned and turned quickly.
Right then I caught a fish about two inches longer than Mark's, which
he chalked up to his coaching by saying ,'see when you do it like I
tell you you catch fish.' As we climbed the hill to go cook both of
our fish he slipped fell on a rock and broke his pole. I didn't say
anything but I was glad that damn fish could not be held in the air
anymore.
