I have been fishing several times with my grandparents, for my Grandpa fishing has been one of his many hobbies for a long time and when I was about 11, me and my then 8-year-old brother were invited on a few trips. Of course I’m sure that many people know that before you go fishing for your first time, it is absolutely compulsory to sit in a garden (or even a green if you’re lucky) and fish among the grass. This is so important because grass and water, as everybody knows, are practically the same thing and sitting on a camp chair with a giant fishing rod in your tiny 11-year-old hands is the best thing to be seen doing.
After the hard work and preparation we were finally ready to go into the big bad world of fishing (don’t believe me? Have you ever seen extreme fishing? Oh wait, no, neither have I). We set up ready for the day, sarnies in our coolbox, maggots in our catapults and waited it out; after what felt like years of silence and daydreaming I did actually catch my first fish. I feel that it’s only right to say that it was ‘this big’ (insert over exaggerated hand gesture here) to achieve my true fisherman (fisherwoman?) status and I had the obligatory photo holding the slimy wriggler before popping it back into the water to swim away from my excitable grasp.
I never really got into fishing after the first couple of goes and to be honest I much preferred being sat somewhere nearby with a good book; it was obviously too much for 11-year-old me to be left with her thoughts for that long. It was lovely and peaceful though and I’m sure that my Grandpa loved being able to teach me one of his beloved hobbies and that makes it worthwhile for me!