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Non-Fiction
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| Blue Heron Fishing | |
| By bwoz | ||||||||||
| 12 February 2007 | ||||||||||
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A true story, with slight embellishment. The human memory is peculiar; an amazing quality within each of us that creates wonder or despair with equal intensity. We all hold memories that, from time to time, swell to the surface of our consciences whether or not we willingly conjure them. But there is one memory that we all share, at least in theory. While the details of that memory differ for everyone, we all have a “first” memory that will bob to the surface from time to time over the course of our entire lives. One of my earliest memories is when I about 3 years old; my mom won a tricycle playing bingo. She gave the tricycle to me and I wanted to ride it up some stairs. I pulled it on to the bottom step, climbed onto the metal seat and promptly fell backward and smacked my head on the concrete. What I remember most is trying. Decades later I was living in Florida with my wife and two children. We often walked down to the "jetties" near our house to fish for – whatever. Sometimes a speckled trout, sometimes a flounder, or a rock bass – mostly small palm sized trigger fish and needle nose Garr. One morning I was standing in the middle of the dirt road that goes part-way out onto the jetty, had just baited my daughters hook and sent her off to the bay side water to fish for trout. On the other side of the jetty was a little inlet leading into the marina. The water was always calm there, a good place for the toddling kids to catch those “little nibbles”. I watched a young father bait a hook for his cute little 4 year old boy. Dad helped his little Hemmingway cast his Snoopy fishing rod – one of those little 18 inch rigs you buy in the toy section, not the sporting goods section. As dad got his little fisherman settled with the bobber floating a few feet away, he turned for a moment to straighten out his tackle box. The little boy hooked a trigger fish right away and raised it out of the water like his dad had taught him, and with a really wide grin he turned his head to look over his shoulder, hoping to see dad's approval. Just at that moment, when the little boy was looking away to his dad, a blue heron that had been standing in the shallows about 60 feet away unfolded it’s graceful wings, flapped a couple of times and glided just above the glassy water and landed, almost silently, right in front of the little boy and took the fish into it's mouth. The dad turned to look just as his son was telling him "look daddy, I got one." When the little boy and dad both turned to see the fish, what they saw instead was a large blue heron standing in the water with the fishing line in its mouth. The little boy's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, so amazed was he that the little fish had somehow morphed into a big beautiful heron. I almost choked trying not to laugh out loud, I didn't want to startle the boy and ruin his moment. We cut the fishing line; since the boy was only using a #4 hook we figured the heron had probably swallowed much worse meals and would easily be able to regurgitate it or let it pass. I often wonder if that boy, a teenager by now, still remembers that magical moment – I hope he does. I hope it is his first memory. Night All. BW
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