Fishing

Its seven am when i place my feet
on the cold and stringy lawn
the air is crisp
as the birds to whisp
across the skies of dawn

Its seven am when I tread the hill
down to the lone riverbed
its banks are silt
as cattails wilt
their soaked (once swollen) heads

Its seven am when i sit on the bank
and peek into a river of glass
and watch as fishes
as fleeting as wishes
swim in silver and brass

Its seven am when i spy a loon
lazily turning his head
and as fast as a flash
with a dive and a splash
the bird was happily fed

The night is dark and cloudy,
I cast my line afar,
And from the murky waters,
I caught myself a star.

With you next to me
We can do anything,
Quiet and patient
Waiting for a bite,
Sharing this moment together,
Forever

As the sun goes down, a cool breeze blows. My feet dangle in the water, the smell of bug spray all around. With my fishing line cast far out, I hear nothing but birds chirping and an occasional fish leaping out of the water. My line pulls; I think to myself, I got a bite. My body goes from calm to excited, with a quick chill going from my head to toe. I reel in quickly, it's a big one.

I held my fishing pole steadily while my dad helped put a worm on my hook. After he was done I reeled it in, got it in position. And. Cast! My hook went flying, my line extended out. Plop! My hook went down under water. As I waited for a fish I saw my sister catch her third.
Finally, I felt a little tug. I reeled it in. No fish. I was disappointed.

Fishing in my closet,

Sitting in front of its open door,
Fishing
A pole in my hand
My parents sit on my hook
Yelling
Telling me to cast a line
Into the murky waters
That are my closet
Fearing what I’ll find,

As I sit there
Everything coming alive
Slowly standing up
Raising to its full height
Seeing everything in it
The love
The hate
Then my fishing pole

Fishing

By Alicia Cerasoli
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

We trample our way
Through the tall grass, weed, and poison ivy.
A little clearing waits,
Calm and still
By the water’s cool edge.
Slowly,
Water
T
R
I
C
K
L
E
S,
Running down the stream
Bumping past rocks.
I trace my finger through the water
Letting it ripple softly.
My uncle hands me a container
With bold letters,
CRAWLERS
Is what it says.
A monstrous cartoon drawing of a worm
Lay still on the side of the plastic dish.
I lace a squirming worm onto my hook,
Place the black plastic button
On the fishing rod down,
And cast off.
My hook gracefully swings
Through the air
And lands with a plump “bop.”
The calm wind sways around me
Just as I feel a soft tug.

Fishing

By Warren Palmer
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

Nothing…not a bite…not a strike…
not even a minnow swims in these waters.
“Dead lake,” they should
call it, not Deer Lake.
Of course there’s a small toad
here and there, on land.
After a few moments
the sun is enveloped
by the dusk and high tides come in.
Still fishing, no hits yet
and I’m getting
a weird vibe of frustration and drowsiness.
Silt clumps in the water like the food bits
in a drain. I wish there was a trash
disposal in this lake. My face red hot, I
take one last cast, “Why do I even
bother? I always get nothing
when I fish."
I hate fishing.

Fishing

By Ashley Bailey
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 7

I never was good
At fishing I mean.
I couldn’t hook the worms
And I’d get tangled in the fishing wire.
I broke the pole. Twice.
I hate the smell of fish.
I guess I’m not cut out to catch fish.
Now I’m off to catch fireflies instead.

Feet dangling
Into the cool
Pond water
Holding a fishing pole
During a sweet summer day
Reminiscing life
Under the sun
While my fishing pole bends
With the weight of a catch

Casting into the Shallows of Tuckernuck Island

By Taylor Wood
Middlebury Union High School, Grade 10

About a mile away from Madaket harbor on Nantucket lies a small, private island called Tuckernuck. Because of its size, the island only has three houses. Its waters are beautiful, smooth as silk on one side and rough as an angry bull on the other. My family and I have always made a point of going to Tuckernuck at least twice while on Nantucket Island. We go there for sunbathing, swimming, playing in the surf and, best of all, fishing.
The motor dies down as we drop off Mom and Griffin on the beach. Dad, Pop (my grandfather’s informal name) and I had better plans for the day. The outboard starts up again, backing away from the smooth waters and heading for the rough seas on the other side of the island. Dad carefully maneuvers the boat through the large waves and shallow water as Pop and I scour the water, looking for jumping bluefish or feeding stripers.
Fishing Tuckernuck is like a family gift swap, you never know what you’re going to get. A local I talked to told me a story about shore casting off the island. He was fishing for stripers and ended up with a six foot Great White Shark that took him eight hours to reel in. This is why I wouldn’t recommend swimming on this island. What with angry seals, teething bluefish and the lucky shark, you would have to pay me quite a bit to go swimming in those waters.
I am jerked out of my daydream by the sound of the motor chugging; we were slowing down. “I’m smelling something!” yells Dad from the steering wheel. He turns of the motor, throws the anchor and reaches for his fly rod. Pop, who is standing next to me, spits on his lure for good luck - an old tradition of his. I pick up my spinning set and attach a treble-hooked Hopkins lure to the end of the rod. Swish, Swish, Swish; three lures are cast into the water as we each aim for a different spot.

The Best Fishing Pond

By Melissa Werle
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Sun beating down on my back
Shimmering across the rippling water of the pond
Mud and rotting wood stinging nostrils
Miniscule pebbles
Pretending to be sand on a nonexistent beach
Walking from the muddy grass to the crippled dock
Water jumping up to lick feet
Splashes of color from the changing trees
Fuzzy reflections on the surface
Flung about by quick fish
Darting through rainbows and shadows

Fishing with my dad,
When I was very young
Was my escape to the burning sun.
His fatherly moments, and my toothy smiles,
Brings peace to my mind, and a glow to my face
With my little Donald Duck pole, and my hat that’s two times too big,
Everything is right, just me and him.

Kayla Ashley Wood
3/26/08
YWP
Fishing

Fishing is something that I enjoy, a fun sport. But fishing can be long, like a game of cards, you wait, and bit by bit something may happen. But fishing can also be fun, especially when you know that you have a bite. The battle between fisher and fish is an awesome experience. When the catch comes up, you know it was worth it.

Heather
3/18/08
Fishing Fishing

Fish are smelly,
Oh so bad.
And yet Im fishing,
With My dad.

We awoke early,
Earlier than dawn.
The rooster still asleep,
My head in a fog.

Out in a dingee
This duo set sail
Only to be met by
A torrent of snails

All over me
They slithered and slawed
Oh so disgusting
I weezed and hawed

But my father,
Dead-set on fishing,
Continuted our journey,

I’m not much of a fisherman but I don’t mind going out to do once and while. I have only eaten one fish that I caught and that was when I was in about fifth grade I got one and ate it.

Fishing, Fishing
O so fun
Fishing, Fishing
In the sun.

Its fun to fish
In a boat
But only if
It will float

Fishes taste good
And are good to eat
Thats because
Their made of meat

We hop in the car
And go for a ride
Down to the lake
Family fishing trip

Get out the poles
The hooks and bate
Out on the water
Ready for the day

My pole ready
I snap it back
Then forward
It doesn’t budge

Turning around
And what do I see?
The pole is now stuck
In the large oak

I shouldn’t go fishing
Now I know why
All I really caught
Was the tree behind

The Ocean of False Reality

By Noellen Neisner
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Here he goes again
That excited look in his eye
The way he stands up straighter
His body moves with his words
As they come pouring out of his mouth
His voice gets louder
All who are around listen -
The climax of the story!

He wrestles the fish to the ground
(His breathing becomes heavier)
The fish thrashes around
(His arms swing high and low)
And finally it stops moving.
The fish was so big
He could barely lift its limp body.

He believes his false reality,
He has tricked himself to believe his own lies
Each time he tells this story
The fish grows and
This time is not the last time
That he will wrestle the monster.

Wrestling with the rod,
Trying not to fall.
Unseen forces swerve and jump,
Slowing to a crawl.

Ripples spread and fade,
The line jerks to and fro.
I lose my energy quickly now,
The rod is twitching so.

As the boat drifts down,
The rapids and the pools,
The tiring fish is in our boat,
Among some random tools.

Rushing, gushing, swirling
Our boat just travels on.

Feeling the tug on the line,
“I got one!” you shout.
“Shoot, it let go!”
“Hey, I got it again!”
“It’s a big one!”
“No! You’re mine!”
“Dang it, it’s a boot.”

Bitterroot

By Hannah Reichel
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 7

Fishing
It reminds me of the sun-kissed, breezy days.
Of the prairie grasses swaying in the wind.
The silent hawk, the chirping sparrows.
The blanket of slippery pine needles scattered by the wind.
It makes me hear the Bitteroot,
see the gold water dancing to the beat, the music of nature.
Oh that music,
so silent, so tranquil, yet so present
As the trees salute to this no-man orchestra
A line is cast
A snag
And a gong, a sudden shock
to this quiescent scene
A fish, a struggle, a flash of silver
Pure silver in the sunlight
Then the glory fades
But not the sun
The waving grasses
The spotless sky
They are not interrupted
Life goes on
In the Bitteroot.

Fishing
My favorite sport and hobby is fishing. I love to hop in a boat, walk along the shore, wade through water, and walk across frozen lakes to catch a fish. I started fishing when I was four. I fished with my dad mostly in Fairfield Pond because it was close, but now that I’m older we fish all around.

Fishing
My favorite sport and hobby is fishing. I love to hop in a boat, walk along the shore, wade through water, and walk across frozen lakes to catch a fish. I started fishing when I was four. I fished with my dad mostly in Fairfield Pond because it was close, but now that I’m older we fish all around.

When it summer time
And you have nothing to do
Hope in the car and go to a lake
Then go to the store to get some bait
And fish until it gets real late
When you think about it
Fishing is an interesting sport
You have to sit and wait
Until you feel the tug on the bait
You need to reel it in, its fate.
To catch the biggest fish in the lake
When you pull in the line

You cast out. As you sit and wait your fishing pull jerks. You pull back and the fish on the hook. As the fish gets closer the pull bends more. You grab a pair of pliers and get ready to pull the hook out of the fish. You see the fish next to shore. Just as you go to pull it up the line snaps. It was the biggest fish you have seen in a while.

Fishing

FISHING
Inspired by Shel Silverstein

By Maxwell Bicknell
Ferrisburgh Central School, Grade 3

The worm is on
The hook is on
The string is on
The pole is on
The boat is on
The lake is on
The ground.