I consider myself to be an extremely lucky person. Over the years, Iâve snuck in late homework assignments, talked my way out of parking tickets, and Iâve even been able to sit along the first baseline at the dome while only possessing a general admission ticket. However, what I consider to be my luckiest break is being born to a father who loved the outdoors and a mother who put up with her boysâ obsessions.
Growing up in an environment where the garage was more of a storage facility for gear than it was a parking space for a vehicle, I learned two things very quickly: 1. A muddy dog doesnât belong in the house and 2. The outdoors is meant to be shared.
I recently met a special someone who was from a big city and who hadnât spent much time (if any) in the woods or on the water. So naturally I wanted to introduce her to one of lifeâs simple pleasures: a fishing trip.
Having not touched a fishing pole since her old Snoopy rod (at the ripe old age of four), and having never camped, period, I thought it would be a good idea to take the girl who thought lake water could never be drank and introduce her to the BWCA. This is where my lucky streak officially ended, but not in the disaster youâre envisioning.
She out-fished me.
There, I said it. I got out-angled by someone who thought polarized sunglasses werenât fashionable and Rapalas were pretty.
We had a great late season trip and tore into some smallmouth bass (with her pulling them in at a 6 to 1 ratio) but I donât know if I can live with all the torment from my coworkers and friends about the outdoor junkie getting handled by a novice from Chicago (at least sheâs not a White Sox fan). To make things worse, sheâs officially addicted to fishing and wants to give hunting a try. Just my luck.
You never know who will catch the outdoor bug and unlike H1N1, we should all be trying to introduce our stateâs great fields, forests and lakes to anyone willing to give it a chance. However, just be careful what you wish for.