We head out from The Waterfront on the Sea Witch. We are going to be fishing for rock cod. I love rock cod. I head into the cabin of the boat and settle myself in for the hour and a half ride it will take for us to arrive at the fishing grounds. There are fifteen anglers and I am the only woman on board.
As we head to our destination, I sip on my coffee and read “Orion’s Gift.” The men have cracked open their beer and their voices are getting louder, a clear sign that the alcohol is taking effect. I hear a couple of the men laughing about me being on the boat. I smile to myself thinking, “We shall see boys.”
We finally arrive at the fishing grounds. I put away my coffee and book, and head over to my rod. I am using shrimp hooks. I release the line letting weight of the sinkers take my hooks down to the bottom. I know that I am there as my line slackens. I pull my line up a tad and wait.
I feel the hit of the fish. “Fish on!” I shout. Pulling them up the 250 feet, I have two lings. After one hour, I have hit the limit of what I can take. The men are scowling. Each has maybe one or two in their bags. “Now who said that a woman cannot possibly be good at fishing? Eh, boys?”
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I am a bit over the word limit, but in order to tell my story, it was necessary. I hope that you enjoyed this fish tale.
Thank you Alastair Forbes for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction, and for the photo that inspired my story. And, thanks to you dear reader, for stopping by today to read my bit of flash! Have one heck of an amazing Sunday, and be well… ^..^