Rocky Mountain Fishing Adventure | My Family Travels
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After two minutes, my dark green rod started quivering.  I could hear my heart hastily beating. I quickly snatched my rod and imitated the LL Bean cover model in black and red flannel with leg-high waiters whose rod made the perfect ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzing sound as it plunked into the middle of the lake. I gave the rod a sharp, small pull to securely hook the fish, and then reeled in a few yards of line at a time. It was harder than it looked. My fish squirmed for freedom, but I was determined! A foot long, shimmering rainbow trout emerged from the chaotic waters. I ecstatically held the grossly, slimy trophy at arm’s length away.

My premonition had worked. I had run down to our fishing spot grabbed my fishing rod and excitedly run over to the small, square box of worms. Taking two short yet plump worms and quickly jabbing them into my j-shaped hook, I briskly casted my clear, thin line into the calm lake. Armed with confidence, I stared at the blue, unbroken waters with my eagle eyes trying to spot the victim of my ingenious idea.

Reflecting back to earlier this morning, I woke up to my dad’s “Wake up!” My sleepy family of four had piled into a minivan and drove to West Lake at Red Feather in the scenic Rocky Mountains. I thought of how my brother and I became impatient in the first few minutes of our fishing trip. We whined with frustration, “Why is it taking so long?”

“Be patient,” my dad replied.

Small moans escaped our mouths. We settled down on mossy granite rocks near our fishing rods trying let my mind wander away from fishing.

I looked to the LL Bean Uber-fishermen to the left. They were starring out into the lake, full of concentration but nature sensed their patience and rewarded them with a bountiful harvest.

As more time passed, I had no harvest at all.  I finally reeled in my rod and scrutinized the worm dangling from the hook. What did I do wrong? How could I get the fish to eat my bait instead of anyone else’s? I thought for a few minutes, starring at the bait. Tired of fishing, I decided to go for a walk to get my mind off of it.

I walked up from the lake to the camping sites via a steep dirt trail. Campers were driving up to the camping sites in their all wheel drive, dirt-splashed trucks, which pulled white, metal trailers. The trucks stopped at their assigned camping sites complete with dirt floors and black charcoal burning grills. The campers got out of their truck and looked at the scenery of the lake and mountains. They inspected the almost bare camping grounds and when the site met all their standards, they would start removing folding chairs and tables from their trailer. The synthetic vehicles and trailers contrasted greatly with the smell of Evergreen and fishy rock melting into blue water against walls of rock and trails and campsites. Some of the campers were cooking their newly caught trout. The peppery smoked fish wafted into the fresh, crisp mountain air. Even some brave birds were trying to steal some of the fish before they were shooed away. I was even more determined now to catch my very own fish and eat it!

After conquering the challenge of catching my first fish, I come back every summer to the lake to experience the feelings of patience and triumph all over again!

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