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A fish?s story

Ok, so here I am, A little fish in a big pond. I don?t like to brag about myself but I have managed to survive 10 years in this environment they call water. I am of the persuasion they call striped bass and have grown to be about 20 pounds. I go about my business of cruising around the bays of Long Island in the summer while the water is warm.[page_break]When it gets cold I head out to sea and go south. While in the warm waters of the bays I stalk the places where I can find food without too much effort. I have learned to stay near the bottom so that any sinking pieces of food left over from the marauding bluefish come to me. These bluefish, though fast, are not especially smart. They may be good looking as far as a fish are concerned but smart they aren?t. They will bite on anything put in their way. When they do bite, they tend to just chop up what they are eating and the leftover pieces are what we stripers crave. Crave may not be the word because it is a matter of how we are built. We stripers have no teeth while the bluefish have an inordinate amount of teeth. We have to rely upon stealth and cunning, bluefish just attack anything that moves.

I was hanging out near an old wood underwater section of bridge that used to be the old Ponquoge bridge before the new concrete one was built. This, in bass terms is an ideal location to catch succulent little morsels known as a spearing and what are known to you humans as a tasty little snack. Sometimes the blues are working on the bigger and indefensible shad that frequent the area and then the snacks are even better. One night at about 3 o?clock in the morning I was stationed in the blind that was a proven spot and lo and behold, a good looking piece came right in front of my nose. Being that I was spring loaded to the ?eat? position, I immediately lunged forward and grabbed what looked to me like a good thing to eat. This is where my trouble started.

All of a sudden I felt a startling pain in my lower lip. It was like someone grabbed it with a sharp hook or something and started pulling. I didn?t know what to think other than I had to get away. I turned downstream and gave all I had to getting away from this unseen terror. The more I swam, the more the pull increased. What the hell was going on? I never saw or heard of anything like this. I swam harder and the pull seemed to increase. I looked around and noticed that there was a line of some sort straight away in the direction of where the pull seemed to be coming from. Well, being a reasonably intelligent bass, I worked harder to get away from this unknown and unseen threat. The more I worked, the harder it got.

Because I am just a biological species known as a fish, I tired out. I felt myself being towed towards the rocks at the end of the bridge and knew in my fish?s heart that this was the end. I was completely out of breath. In my own little world of fish, I knew that I was about to become a meal or at the very minimum, a story. I felt a hand reach out and then felt some fingers enter my gill cavity and start to pull me towards the land of the air people. This was when I woke up in my last effort of living.

I gave one last life saving effort in a shaking motion and the fingers let loose. This was all I had left. For some strange reason I had water around me and found myself able to swim without restraint. Although almost dead and unable to think, I instinctively headed for deep water and survived to tell this story of a fish. We too are feeling and thinking, so don?t go on like you do about your fishing stories and think you are the only ones involved.

Thanks for taking the time to read.

Will Jansen


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