“Ah! If only you’d arrived a couple days earlier. We went night fishing!”
Those were one of the first words my host Hunter, and his son Bei-er, said to me when we met. The weekend before I arrived as their guest, the family had taken Bei-er’s classmate who was crashing with them night-fishing. Hunter said that he kept thinking how great it’d be if I had also arrived that weekend, especially there was just one additional spot in the car for me to fill. Hearing that, and their excited stories about how the stillness of the night incubated many a reflection on life, the excitement of the neon indicator signaling that a fish had bitten, the morning fog that created a mysterious albeit beautiful effect that words could do little justice to. Ahhhhhh … what had I missed! T_T
The following day, Hunter took a call from his former students asking him to go fishing the next day; he asked if I’d like to come along. Alas, I was due out to the Miao Village. But I was so tempted by the idea of fishing, since I’d never thrown a rod into the waters of the great outdoors before. So, I decided to defer my trip and join the fishing posse!
We started out at 5:30 AM *yawn* and drove a little more than an hour to the Lake of a Hundred Flowers 百花湖. I was swimming between reality and dreamland during the drive, but once we arrived, I instantly woke to the splendor of what lay before me. It was also quite chilly, dang, I shoulda brought my sweater with me! My nice host lent me his jacket as he sweated it out fixing up our fishing gear. Thankfully, as the sun rose, it became warmer till I eventually became quite sun-burned toward the end of the day.
So, we fished from dawn to dusk, on the shores of a secluded lagoon. And yes, for the first time in my life, I had to pee in the prickly bushes. Hate em thorns!
In spite of the beautiful scenery, the tranquility that cleared mind somewhat, or the excitement of having a fish bite my bait, and the delicious fish soup afterward, I believe fishing is not my thing. I hate the feeling of the desperately wriggling fishes trying to escape from my clutches. I hate even more removing the hook from their bloody mouths, the hole caused by the hook so big. I hate myself for being so clumsy at removing the hook, which must have caused the fishes even greater pain. I hate that one fish bit my bait not once, twice, BUT thrice, the corners of its mouth torn at three places. In spite of all the beauty that surrounded me, I thought the act of fishing was quite ugly 😦