Fishy fishy in the brook . . .

. . . why won't you bite my hook.
Our blog title is exactly what we are: fishers, not catchers. I am amazed that I am this patient. You would think that any rational person would give up after not catching very many fish. But no, I am a fighter. I will sit on my butt, hours upon hours, staring at the tip of my fishing rod. Waiting. Hoping. I sit there and anticipate a hard hit. I wait for the tip to suddenly jerk down and fling back up.
I sit.
I wait.
I drink a beer.
I sit.
I wait.
I eat something.
I drink a beer.
I smack the annoying fly that never dies.
I wait.
My day will come. No longer will I only catch rockfish and crazy looking sealife that I yanked off the bottom of the ocean. No longer will I only have little dogfish (i.e. little sharks) on the line hooked to the downrigger, being dragged around for 45 minutes because they weren't big enough to trip the release. No longer will I watch an eagle swoop down a mere 50 yards from us and snatch a salmon out of the water, and then drag it across the waves, and drop it, and get it again, and drag it across the waves, and drop it: because it was too big of a fish for even a bald eagle to carry away.
Believe me. I will catch a salmon. I will catch a really big salmon. I will drink beer.
(But my salmon won't be too big for me to carry away.)