Last night was an eventful night. We caught our first edible fish—a small tuna I like to call Bob. It was already dark, and for the first time, I felt like we were truly working as a team to make it all happen. Matt and Jannik were team “reel the fish in.” The rod nearly broke, so, being the engineer Simon is, he came up with a new system to reel in the fish. After what felt like an hour, the tuna was successfully brought in. Doug, our skipper, taught us how to filet the fish so we could eat it for lunch today.
Every time I’m involved in a fishing matter, it always brings me back to a memory of the OG Bob and my sisters. My sisters and I grew up camping at Hunting Island during our summer holidays. It was a beautiful campsite, bordering the ocean and a walhalla for any kid who enjoys the outdoors.
We would look for shark teeth buried in the sand, hunt crabs, and sit beside turtle nests, hoping they would hatch.
At Hunting Island, we adopted Bob into the family. Bob was a nearly dead catfish we found washed up on the shore. My sisters built a pool of rocks where they tried to nurture him back to life. A lost battle, but the intentions were good. After a full day and night, Bob didn’t seem to get any better (surprise) so my older sister took him out of his misery. Afterward, we buried Bob and gave him a proper goodbye ceremony.
Now, every time I go fishing, I think of Bob and the honest intentions my sisters and I had toward nature—something we should always maintain when we are outdoors, if you ask me.
