New Poem: Catch and Release

Having been in a bit of a funk the past few days, I forgot to mention my Memorial Day weekend activities.  Before the customary barbecue and swimming on Monday, I took a trip up to see my family.  Friday night while sitting around the TV, my dad mentioned that he was going fishing with my uncle Dave the following morning and I decided to tag along.  I hadn't been fishing in nearly eight years and I didn't have a license, but that didn't matter.  I had a blast.

We woke up at five in the morning and went out to meet up with my uncle.  We trekked through the woods, found some baby toads, saw an abundance of wildlife, including deer and wild turkey's, AND I caught two fish.  But that's not all I caught.  While at one of my dad's usual fishing holes (one he and my uncle long ago dubbed, "Cold Ass Point") I got my line caught on what I thought was the bottom of the river.  When I gave it a tug, I felt the line loosen a bit.  I figured that what I had actually caught was a pile of sticks or something, so I began to reel in my line slowly.  As I grew closer to the end of my line I  began to see bubbles and realized that what I had caught was no bundle of sticks.  It was a snapping turtle.  A very BIG snapping turtle.  This was a first and an incredible site to see.  He (or she) was about the size of a computer tower and very angry.  Rather than risk getting a finger bitten off, we simply cut the line and let the turtle sink back into its hiding place at the bottom of the river.  Shortly after that, my dad and uncle began their tradition of singing about their exploits.  They made up a song called "Turtles and Toads" and sung it to the tune of Burl Ives' "Silver and Gold".  All-in-all, it was a very fun and memorable trip.  The only regret I have is that I didn't bring my phone along, so I didn't get any pictures.

Anyway, this poem was inspired by the aforementioned fishing trip.  Enjoy!

Catch and Release

Floundering in the shallow water’s bright,

As I worked to free a trout of fabled size

That to any would have made a handsome prize,

A thought turned in my head, catching the light.

I worried friends might think my story spoof,

Old anglers being prone to telling tales,

And considered mounting the beast with nails

On the wall above my mantle for proof.

I remembered though, as children we are taught

The real joy is in the running; the race

Is only truly won when done with silent grace.

Knowing this full well, I paused still and thought,

‘What good is a trophy when there’s no trace?’

And cut the line, leaving the hook in place.