Harvest 2015

End of the Line

By Sydney Bender, EDITOR

Harvest 2015

Looking through the collection of photographs Elizabeth Cecil took for our spearfishing feature this issue, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the first (and only) time I went fishing, about 20 years ago. My parents took me and my brother to Cornwall, England, for a family vacation. One day we borrowed fishing rods from the hotel and headed down to the dock with little plastic buckets and some bait we had bought in town.

The weather that day was windy, I remember; boats that were tied to the dock bounced off the bulkhead. As I sat there with my brother trying to untangle the rod, I envisioned the salmon, sea trout, and brown trout that swam from the East and West Looe Rivers filling up our plastic pink and yellow buckets, but there was nothing. We didn’t catch a single fish.

When we went back to the hotel one of the locals who worked there asked if we caught any fish. We showed him our empty buckets. “We didn’t really go fishing,” I said.

“Yes you did,” he said, “you just didn’t catch anything…But nobody has to know that.”

I’ve always loved fishing stories and how people often equate them with tall tales. While spearfishing is vastly different from the “fishing” I did with my family, I did notice a pattern. You don’t always catch a fish, and that’s okay.