Trout Fishing in America

"As a child when did I first hear about trout fishing in America?"

Original plan was to wake up early and drop James off on St. John's Circle for the caravan to the annual Trout Rodeo in Warwick Park. All week, I had had no intention of attending that event. I like fish as much as anyone, but the idea of catching and killing them leaves me numb. Foolishly, at 7:45 this morning, I called Rafael, and he said parents "kinda hafta" go on the den's field trips. Hearing that, I felt dismayed, for sure, and had only about fifteen minutes to get dressed and into the car with James. Just prior to that fateful call, I had been on the verge of half-dressing, putting on just enough clothes to drive and make the drop off, but after the call, I had to quickly switch gears and get really dressed.

I dressed wrong...The weather reporter on KYW said 70 degrees, so I put on pants, a shirt and my crocs and figured I was good to go. Big mistake. It never went above 53 degrees while we were there. I mumbled and shivered on the bank of the creek. I felt old. Thank God Raven was there because she is younger than I and a seasoned fisherperson, who cheerfully brought an extra rod for James and had no problem repeatedly putting live bait on hooks.

The trout rodeo was, ostensibly, a children's event but, although only kids were allowed to fish the Creek until sunset,the parents were like cheerleaders who were very much in the game, even more so than some of their offspring. It was fascinating and grotesque at the same time. Here was a whole segment of life completely unknown to me prior to this morning. Scores of (apparently) avid fishermen and women brought children of all ages, including some still in diapers, to fish. Eager to go were whole families clad in camouflage, men and boys wearing absurd hip boots and vests with many pockets. A vast array of big people and little people from all walks of life carried rods and boxes, which, when opened, revealed colorful displays of hangers and bobbins and swingers. Of course, some folks preferred live bait--worms and bugs and little fish. It all happened so suddenly. I found myself overwhelmed--I hadn't had time to adjust. There were people everywhere, no one looked familiar, and I just couldn't understand the mass appeal of the gathering; yet, despite my discomfort, I found the scene both horrifying (so many people gathering to kill for sport) and quite intriguing ("A River Runs Through It").

Several hundred trout were released upstream. No one could cast a line until the signal at 10:00 a.m. when the competition officially began. Adults screamed at their children...."Don't start yet! Get your line out of the water! I said NOW!" Teen-age boys stood on the make-shift bridge and other, younger boys, shouted, "Hey! Get off the bridge! That's cheating! That's not fair!" You can always count on children to find the world's exchanges and events inequitable. Kids kept asking parents what time it was, was it time yet? How about now? The tension mounted....

At 10:00 a.m., I was sitting alone in my truck with the heat on, eating Mike & Ikes and perusing the Pennsylvania Fishes Identification Guide pamphlet. All the fish look the same with only slightly different variations in color. Rainbow and Steelhead trout....look the same. Chinook and Coho salmon....the same. What's up with this? Who are they fooling? After I had warmed up a bit, and felt sufficiently like the lousy parent I was for not standing beside my child at the opening of the competition, I left the truck and took the long, cold walk from the parking area to the trout rodeo area, determined to somehow enjoy what was going on.

James sort of caught a fish, but when Raven attempted to net it, it escaped, thank God. By 11:00, the kids had gotten antsy. One boy slid into the creek twice and soaked his sneakers each time. He was cold. Another repeatedly got his hooks caught in tree limbs each time he cast his rod. He was frustrated. My child wanted to know when it was time to eat. He was hungry. Fortunately, it began to rain--not much, but just enough for Raven to be willing to call it a day. I was thrilled.

On the way back to the parking area, James and Lyric, Raven's son, chatted excitedly with each other, not about fishing, but only about their Nintendo DS games which both had waiting in their cars. So much for Trout Rodeo 2008.

P.S. Sorry I forgot to give you the Mayonnaise.