Sort of a Fish Story

In honour of W.’s spring fishing trip with his buddies, I have another historical fish photo to share.  By historical I guess I just mean damn old. 

…..historic means ‘noteworthy, highly significant,’ whereas historical means ‘pertaining to history, relevant to the passage of time’; if something has a place in history, it is historic, and if something has to do with the subject of history, it is historical……

Sounds a little too close to the word “hysterical” but I think I’ve reigned in those feelings pretty well here, considering I’m looking at fish guts.   The picture is also historical because the old flour mill behind my head is no longer there.  Too bad you can’t really see it.  My head is more fun to look at anyway.  And then there’s that thing W. does with his mouth when he is concentrating hard on something. His dad does it too.  They can’t do a job right without pursed lips and tongue involvement.  Hmm.  That sounds a bit kinky.  Sorry.  He was just filleting fish on a rock by the river and throwing the guts to the gulls, but apparently that requires a lot of meticulous attention to detail.  I guess it was all new and interesting to me then.  Maybe even a bit morbid and disgusting.  But I still ate the fish.

W. tried once to teach me the intricacies of cleaning a fish. I was not a good student.  I’ve found if I completely botch something the first time around, chances are he’ll never ask me to do it again.   That’s called being stupid like a fox.

I would also like to point out the historic (noteworthy and significant) period clothes.  This would be the late sixties.  We were obviously not your typical flower children, although the hair comes close.  He’s wearing a muscle shirt with sweats.  I’m wearing not one, but TWO shirts from which I have severed the sleeves.  I don’t like long sleeves on anything but coats.  I’m the only optician I know of who cuts the sleeves of a lab jacket off half way up and folds them up above the elbow.  Perhaps in the back of my head I’m thinking it makes me look like I’ve rolled up my sleeves to get down and dirty and work harder.  Perhaps this fools no one.   I sometimes roll up pant legs too, although not at work.  Wise to draw the line somewhere.  And I still have a couple of sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off.  It’s just a weird thing I do I guess and not worth analyzing when you get right down to it, so I don’t know how or why I veered so far off topic. 

But now that I have, here’s another random thing.  It’s been pouring rain/drizzling/thunderstorming for the entire week where W. is in Ontario.  This is usually what happens when fishing season opens, and it makes the guys feel all macho to endure it.  Sitting in a boat in pouring rain is not my idea of a good time. 

It’s been a long time since I went fishing with W. –  I’m trying to set a fishing abstinence record for our camp, and although I’m sure it’s been reached already I’m not taking any chances of having someone take the title from me anytime soon.  It’s probably been about three years since we went fishing,  just the two of us.  Out in a boat, all friggin’ day.  Once he gets out there, it takes death threats to get him to consider going home.  I remember that last particular trip well because it’s the day I learned how to hold a fishing rod between my knees, an umbrella in one hand and a book in the other.  I had a great time.  I did not catch any fish at all, and thus did not have to put things down to rebait my hook or anything mundane like that.  Because I was reading, I didn’t ask any stupid questions that W. could give me stupid nonsensical answers to.  I didn’t even have to whine about heading home, probably because he got nervous about being seen with me.   And I haven’t really been asked to go fishing since.  My boss calls this passive agressive behaviour and says I’m very skilled at it.  Well, I always say you should do whatever you’re good at.  I’m not much of a fighter, but I’m patient knowing I’ll get my way eventually.  That’s called being a stubborn brat, I think.  Not the kind of person you want to go fishing with, that’s for sure.

So I hope he’s having a good time.  I’ll be fine with seeing it all second hand in the historic fish pictures he brings back, none of which are likely to include umbrellas.