When I was a very small shrug I would go fishing with my dad. I have no distinct memories of this, just images of a couple piers we cast lines off of, and getting a fish hook stuck in my scalp (probably more than one, more than once) in the attempt. One of these is moored to a photo of me age 5 or so in a Seahawks hoodie crouched in the gravel poking at a dead… trout? I want to call it a trout, because there’s a story my father tells of us going fishing and I’m sure my undiagnosed adhd brain was screaming from the idleness and while we tried to catch rainbow trout, we kept hauling in bass, tearing the hook out of their mouths and throwing them back in. I started saying “Damn bass!” over and over, sometimes when we caught another but sometimes just to break the tedium.
When I visited my cousins in northern Idaho they’d make me follow them to Whatever Creek or River to watch them fish (I didn’t have a license, or a pole). One day as I waded through some shallows I stepped in a sink hole and plunged in up to my neck and probably scared the fish off for miles.
Fire Emblem won’t let me cook the fish that’s worth 1000 gold.
Yesterday I bought Big Ol’ Bass 2 and they put the wrong disc in the case. Really anxious about going back to the store tomorrow and trying to explain that I wanted Big Ol’ Bass 2 (2000) and not Fisherman’s Bait 2: Big Ol’ Bass (1999)