Let me explain. I live on an estuary, and the Pacific pink salmon run has begun. Hundreds of their flashy silver bodies leap into the air and splash down into the water, as they gather outside the mouth of the river waiting for high tide so they can swim up and spawn. (I might add, that spawning means the end of their life cycle, but by some peculiar trick of nature, they don’t seem to mind. They look happy dancing in the air. I chalk it up to salmon chemistry.)
Anyway…With fish runs come fishermen, in all shapes and sizes, with a wide range of gear and ability. You can see where I’m heading. Some come in gait waiters and walk up to their chests into the river to cast. Others perch on the side of the ocean and make long casts that look oddly poetic, like something out of a Hemingway novel. Some come with coolers full of food and families to keep them company. Others stare at the water with great seriousness as if they could make it divide. Canoes, kayaks, row boats, motor boats and funny looking rubber dinghys that look like over sized lifesavers with men bobbing in the middle appear off-shore. While the fishermen are great in number, their catch isn’t. We’re three days into the run and I’ve only seen one fish caught. Remind you of something?
The whole fishy scene got me to thinking about writers and how we looked before we pitched at the nationals. Yup, just as road weary as the fishermen, nervous and determined.
…and talk about lines, hooks and sinkers!
So with that in mind, I wish all my fellow writers good fishing. I hope you land a big one:)
…and yes BJ I know they don’t really look like that:) I’ll try to get a picture soon.