He was alone on the lake. The sunrise was breathtaking. He had seen lots of mornings but none this beautiful. His first cast landed near some bushes. He felt the thump and set the hook. The largemouth bass came out of the water, trying to shake the bait. It fought hard but soon tired. He gently lifted it from the water, smiled, and released it.
There would be many more fish to visit with that morning. One was a smallmouth bigger than he had ever caught in all his years of fishing. The sunlight glistened off its bronze body. He managed to take a selfie of himself and the fish. As he hit send on his smartphone, he smiled. A son texted back, “Nice one, Dad.” Another son replied, “Good fish, old man!” A grandson asked, “What did you catch it on?” His wife texted, “Are you doing okay, and how are you feeling?” He smiled and texted them with the words “I love you” and then went back to fishing.
It suddenly occurred to him that he had not heard or seen another boat all morning. It felt like he was fishing on a private lake. He heard crows, ducks, and geese. He saw deer and turkey at the water’s edge. Birds were flittering around everywhere and singing their songs. A hummingbird even came buzzing by. It must have thought he was a flower. He thought, “Is this what heaven will be like for a fisherman like me?” He smiled again.
The afternoon sun was high and hot. He motored into a shaded cove and shut off the engine. The slight breeze felt good there in the shade. He tied the boat to a tree, sat back, and relaxed. Thoughts of the first fish he ever caught went through his mind. He saw the bobber, the worm, and his cane pole. He felt the little perch squirming in his hand. The feeling he had that day alone on that creek was unlike any other. He was a fisherman. It was the first of many fish he would catch in his lifetime.
As he stretched out in the boat, he looked up at the sky and saw a cross formed by clouds and a jet stream. He grinned and said, thank you. More memories flooded his mind. He wished his Dad would have taken him fishing, but he didn’t. He thought of times he took his sons fishing, recalling the look on their faces when they caught their first fish. He wished he hadn’t been so busy trying to make a living and would have taken his boys fishing more. Thankfully, they both grew up to be fishermen.
They both became good husbands, fathers, and Godly men. Their kids also became fishermen and women too. They had a dad who took them and a papa. There was no doubt in his mind that his grandkids would also take their kids fishing. He smiled once more and was proud. He hoped that more people would discover the magic of fishing and pass it on.
With the gentle rocking of the boat, his eyes got heavy. A nap came easy. It was a much-needed rest. The hospital visits and all the medicine had taken their toll. Late afternoon, he awoke to the screeching sounds of an eagle flying in the sky above him. It was also fishing too.
He lay there watching the eagle and wished he had more time left. If he did, he thought he would go back to Canada fishing again for walleye and pike with his son and grandson. Travel with his other son and two grandsons to the Northwood’s of Wisconsin for those good-eating yellow perch. Going back to catch a snook or grouper in Tampa Bay or speckled trout at Gulf Shores would also be on his list. A limit of those good-eating crappie, some trout fishing, or maybe catfishing would be fun. Grabbing a mess of suckers and frying them up on the river bank would also be fun to do one more time. He even thought about going wade fishing in a creek or sitting on the bank of a farm pond. Alaska salmon and halibut fishing were on his bucket list. So was fishing for redfish. It had never happened, and now there was not enough time.
The sunset was beautiful in the western sky. The bats began their dance with the approaching darkness. It was feeding time. He listened to the owls and the whip-poor-wills as they started their nightly chorus. The smell of new-mown hay and someone’s campfire drifted through the air. He knew he should be heading home. His wife would be worried. In the gathering dusk, he wanted to fish just a little longer.
The doctor had told him the radiation and chemo was not working. It would be his last time to fish. He was at peace with that because he knew where he was going. He had messed up his life at times. He had made mistakes. He had gotten his life straightened out and was walking the path he should have been all along. He wished he had more time to tell his wife and family he loved them and make more memories. He wished he had more time to explain to other people that no matter what they had done wrong in their lives, they could go where he was going.
The boat roared to life, and he headed for his favorite fishing spot near the ramp to make another cast or maybe two. In the half-light, he cast toward the bank. The topwater bait gurgled across the surface. A massive bass slammed it, and the fight was on. When the battle was finally over, and he lifted it out of the water, it was bigger than the bass earlier in the day. He removed the bait from its cavernous mouth and lowered it back into the water. In the dim light, he watched it swim away. He looked up into the night sky filled with millions of stars. With a tear in his eye and a smile, he said, “Thank you!”
“Just one more cast,” he told himself. The lure hits the water. A fish engulfs it. The battle begins and then suddenly stops. He’s snagged. The line snaps. “That’s okay,” he says to himself and smiles again. Too dark now to re-rig. It’s time to go home. He looked up at the night sky. It looked as if heaven was opening. It was his last cast.
