As I mentioned in my Lincoln Lodge post, Will’s become quite the fisherman. Grandpa Mike and Tom have slowly and patiently (I’ve seen them in action – they deserve medals) taught Will how to cast his line, reel in a fish, take the hook out of the fish (in the simplest of cases), thumb the fish, and toss the fish back into the lake. Most recently, Will learned how to catch a fish flopping around on bottom of the boat; I find this feat particularly impressive because when a fish starts flopping around on the bottom of a boat in which I’m fishing, I cry like a little girl and jump into the water. (As if a lake full of fish is “safer” than a boat with one fish in it.)
Last year Uncle Grant (Will tells us it was Uncle Grant, but both Tom and I confess to not remembering), who is also an excellent fisherman, gave Will a child-size but real-deal fishing pole and a little tackle pouch. We weren’t able to take Will’s fishing pole with us to the Lodge because we flew, so it finally came out of it’s packaging last weekend.
Tom and Will spent what I considered far too long prepping for the fishing trip. (I recall waiting on my dad to prep for our fishing trips when I was a child. By the time he was done, I wasn’t usually interested in going fishing anymore.)
Then the four of us made a stop at Gander Mountain for a few lures and a new reel for Tom. Gander Mountain was considerably less interesting than I anticipated, and I had a hard time entertaining Hallie while the boys shopped.
And then we went to the fishing pond, where the boys both got one bite but didn’t catch a thing. They had a fabulous time.
Hallie ate apples.
And I kept a lookout for snakes.