We often go on adventures together to Pelican Island where she brings me pure, unadulterated pleasure. While we walk to our lucky spot I revel in the escape she has provided me from the outside world, the ability to let go of the weeks’ stress and tension. My waist pack serves as a tackle box and rattles with each swing of my hip, the shiny lures singing a song just for me. A gentle spray of water hits my face, welcoming us as she beckons us closer, leaving a slight mist across my sun weathered skin, her lulling waves lobbing against the otherwise peaceful shore. My fishing pole (The Dark Princess, as I like to call her) thrusts out before me, pointing the way. She always brings me good luck while I am fishing.
We sit in the shade of a giant oak tree; I lay her down gently and prepare her for a day of work. I coax a waxy worm from its plastic container, a worm that is none too happy about being trapped in my calloused hands. I break the worm in half and, with the precision of a seamstress threading her needle, working the hook through the entire length of its body. My hands are covered in mud, they smell of wet damp earth but she doesn’t judge me. With the flick of my wrist The Princess disgorges line from her reel and in to the air, floating like a feather shaken from a down pillow, then lands in the water with a plop.
My neon blue bobber wobbles with the ebb and flow of the river, and then plunges below the surface. The tip of The Dark Princess bends ever so slightly, like a piece of wheat during a soft summer breeze. I know instinctively that a smallmouth bass is nibbling the treat we offered to it. The reel of The Princess lights up in a display of purple and green lights, like a Ferris wheel or a Pinball machine as I retrieve my hard earned prize from the muddy, tea colored waters. While I reel in my catch, I feel a sense of pride and accomplishment; a childhood rhyme pops into my head “Anything you can do, I can