Knuckles

Photo by James Wheeler on Unsplash

The first time I went fishing I was terrified I wouldn’t catch a bite.

The ocean waves crashed against the boat, flaps of water hit my ankles as the frigid wind cut against my skin. “Just one today” was the thought. I held clumsily onto hope as my knuckles froze solid around the reel. I remember how loose my grip was. Like if I held too tight I would have to take ownership of any failures.

There was commotion, as always, and a subtle expectation to do well. I worried about losing the rod entirely as the droplets of water battled against the sweat inside my palms. My mind was racing on waters shakier than my own resolve. I was scared of how I was supposed to grab something I refuse to kill.

I remember the joy of my first catch, and then the grief at its beauty. Until then, each group had been struggling to make a catch. The fish they did manage were tiny, bony trouts. We had been at it for hours and there on my first attempt, I stood — hanging from my line was a fish of a beautiful opaque orange, the first catch to be deemed worthy of the group’s admiration. I felt sick to my stomach, as though I had removed something that belonged to the seas and itself far more than to any of us. Groups of people flocked to my location in attempts to catch more of the same. I remember watching as they greedily pushed past each other, racing to get the first catch. They grew desperate as their attempts bore no fruit, and they began to rely on me instead.

Suddenly, the fate of our dinner rested on my shoulders. One effortless catch after another, I was the only one getting any grabs. Sick to my stomach at each progressive catch, it dawned on me I’d rather eat the bony trout. As the day continued, I soon realized it was not the catch I enjoyed, but the sweet release at the first throw. The sound as the line unwinds and the weightlessness of the ocean’s pull. I could have stayed there for hours, allowed the waves to rock me to bed. Somewhere between the icy water and the freezing winds I found stillness, even as my teeth chattered. The world quieted down and all I heard was existence. Birds, the motor, the wind, the water.