Karli wrote this story last year for a school project. It is a little lengthy, but I felt I needed to share it, to show how creative and talented Karli's writing is. 
on fish!” I chanted in my mind, as adrenaline pumped my heart. A tug-a-war erupted between me and this cold blooded vertebrate, testing my patience as our fight continued for another minute. But victory was on my side, and I hauled my prize on shore. This fish was different; wider and a blue color. Actually, it looked like a whole different type of fish then what my grandpa had caught. He collected it, me thinking he was going to do the same thing he did with his fish. To my astonishment, he chucked it back on the creek! “What you did you do that for!?” I nearly bellowed, my temper starting to rise. “That’s a carp, can’t eat that, no good. My fish is a rainbow trout; those are the ones you wanna catch. You can eat those.” He replied. “Ahh man……” I mumbled to myself, disappointment settling in. “This is harder than it looks.” I told him. He gave me a kind smirk, and stared back at the water. At the exact moment, my pole acted up again. Clutching it up, I repeated the same process, this time it was easier, and I lugged the fish up in no time. To my delight, it was a rainbow trout! I beamed at my accomplishment before grandpa performed the same ritual.
For the next hour we took turns reeling in fish until we had a total of eight! With a second bucket, we placed four fish in each pail. When nature called, grandpa left me alone. I was fine and dandy, proud of my bonding time with my grandfather. Until the cattail near me started to stir. I glimpsed over, terror beginning to feel my insides. A black and orange three foot water snake was right there, in front of me! Panic struck me, and at a snails pace, backed away. Grandpa returned and I pointed at the reptile. “Oh, come. ‘mere you little booger!” Now, my grandpa is very wild man, in a good way though.. Ever since he was a boy, he has always been tuned in with nature; never being
bothered by snakes, coyotes, lizards, or any beast out there. Instead of flinching in fear by foreboding creatures, he would attempt to catch whatever it was, and raise it as a pet, or become friends. Being the person that he is, he plucked the snake up! In response, the snakes muscular body thrashed back and forth, like a chain whip.” Used to scare my school teachers with these!” he laughed. “Wanna hold him?” he asked. My face turned whiter than it already was. “No thank you……” I retorted. He held it for a little longer, and then tossed it back in the creek.
After a while, we packed up and left. Once home, grandpa set to work on preparing dinner. First, he stripped their scales over the sink. Second, he seasoned them with various herbs, but mostly slat. Lastly, he fried them in an iron pot outside on the porch. When his masterpieces were done, all three of us sat and took pleasure in the delectable feast. I was a little hesitant eating, but I soon gave in. “Whoa!” Was my first thought as I chewed the scrumptious animal. The taste was far better than chicken, cow, or any other meat I had eaten before. To this day, it’s still the best fish I have ever eaten!
Overall, this will always be a memorable experience. I’ll share it with my own kids, grandkids, and so on. I love my grandpa very much and I’ll treasure this memory forever.
Larson, Karli Larson Karli, pg 1
8-24-07
English5th Hour
Fishing with Grandpa
Wiggly worms, a spastic snake, and gourmet trout; what’s all this? It’s the value pack I got when I went fishing with my grandfather.
It was about three or four years ago. I was staying at my grandma and grandpas once farm for a whole week; in a little town called Taylor, Arizona. The air is fresh and cows, chickens, and various animals occupy the several pastures owned by the neighbors. Tom cats, Ginny hens, and stray dogs roam around, acting as neighborhood pets. It’s an awe-inspiring area to take walks and explore nearby acres of shrubs and trees. I’d already spent half my week horseback riding, exploring, and hinting to grandpa about going on a fishing trip. One morning, I went outside to see him carrying fishing poles to his truck. “Want to help?” he asked. I about nodded my head off and aided him with the poles.
We bid fare well to grandma and took off in his paint peeling white Dodge. He pulled off the side of the road a mile or two later, and handed me a shovel we had loaded earlier. We were right near a fenced in area full of cows. Piles of dung were spread abroad, in the most fertile parts of the soil. He found the oldest heap and stabbed the shovel into the waste until he hit ground. Next he dug a well sized hole, leaned over, and investigated. Being the old fashion cowboy that he is, his hand dove into all the muck until he it them. Jackpot! He retrieved a handful of pink squirming worms, and placed then in an archaic coffee can. I followed along, astounded by the number of worms. After
Larson, Karli, pg 2
our excavation was finished, we climbed back into the truck, and pulled back onto the road.
Driving for what seemed like an hour, finally we arrived at Silver Creek. It had the appearance of a swamp, and the mood it set was eerie. Tall greenness encircled everywhere; hiding potholes that would land your foot into a muddy mess. “Watch for snakes now, okay.” my grandpa said without even a wince of fear. “Snakes!” I thought in semi-panic. “What’s there to worry about?” I replied. Though for the rest of the time I twitched at every little sound.
Grandpa picked a certain spot with cattails sprouting up from the murky water, then pried open a can of kernel corn we had brought with his jagged pocketknife. Both of us pricked a piece of corn onto our hooks, following a worm. Afterwards, my grandpa cast both our lines with a mighty heave, soaring across the waters edge. Landing with a “plop”, they gradually sank to the bottom; ripples outlined the surface. Now came the hardest part, waiting. I anxiously stood, not wanting to be ambushed by any hidden snakes, reeling in my line every five minutes if it barely moved-whether by wind or my imagination. “You’re scaring all the fish” grandpa warned. “Fine…..” I mumbled, throwing my line out once again. I waited longer, and longer, and longer. It was excruciating! After a while, my stomach rumbled. Glancing around, I noticed he wasn’t looking. “Whoo whith whiff” I whistled, trying not to be very obvious, as I snatched the can of corn and popped a handful of sunshine beads into my mouth. After a couple of times, he turned to me chuckling” Stop eating my corn girl!” Reluctantly, I set it back.
8-24-07
English5th Hour
Fishing with Grandpa
Wiggly worms, a spastic snake, and gourmet trout; what’s all this? It’s the value pack I got when I went fishing with my grandfather.
It was about three or four years ago. I was staying at my grandma and grandpas once farm for a whole week; in a little town called Taylor, Arizona. The air is fresh and cows, chickens, and various animals occupy the several pastures owned by the neighbors. Tom cats, Ginny hens, and stray dogs roam around, acting as neighborhood pets. It’s an awe-inspiring area to take walks and explore nearby acres of shrubs and trees. I’d already spent half my week horseback riding, exploring, and hinting to grandpa about going on a fishing trip. One morning, I went outside to see him carrying fishing poles to his truck. “Want to help?” he asked. I about nodded my head off and aided him with the poles.
We bid fare well to grandma and took off in his paint peeling white Dodge. He pulled off the side of the road a mile or two later, and handed me a shovel we had loaded earlier. We were right near a fenced in area full of cows. Piles of dung were spread abroad, in the most fertile parts of the soil. He found the oldest heap and stabbed the shovel into the waste until he hit ground. Next he dug a well sized hole, leaned over, and investigated. Being the old fashion cowboy that he is, his hand dove into all the muck until he it them. Jackpot! He retrieved a handful of pink squirming worms, and placed then in an archaic coffee can. I followed along, astounded by the number of worms. After
Larson, Karli, pg 2
our excavation was finished, we climbed back into the truck, and pulled back onto the road.
Driving for what seemed like an hour, finally we arrived at Silver Creek. It had the appearance of a swamp, and the mood it set was eerie. Tall greenness encircled everywhere; hiding potholes that would land your foot into a muddy mess. “Watch for snakes now, okay.” my grandpa said without even a wince of fear. “Snakes!” I thought in semi-panic. “What’s there to worry about?” I replied. Though for the rest of the time I twitched at every little sound.
Grandpa picked a certain spot with cattails sprouting up from the murky water, then pried open a can of kernel corn we had brought with his jagged pocketknife. Both of us pricked a piece of corn onto our hooks, following a worm. Afterwards, my grandpa cast both our lines with a mighty heave, soaring across the waters edge. Landing with a “plop”, they gradually sank to the bottom; ripples outlined the surface. Now came the hardest part, waiting. I anxiously stood, not wanting to be ambushed by any hidden snakes, reeling in my line every five minutes if it barely moved-whether by wind or my imagination. “You’re scaring all the fish” grandpa warned. “Fine…..” I mumbled, throwing my line out once again. I waited longer, and longer, and longer. It was excruciating! After a while, my stomach rumbled. Glancing around, I noticed he wasn’t looking. “Whoo whith whiff” I whistled, trying not to be very obvious, as I snatched the can of corn and popped a handful of sunshine beads into my mouth. After a couple of times, he turned to me chuckling” Stop eating my corn girl!” Reluctantly, I set it back.
Larson, Karli, pg 3
Without warning, grandpa’s line started twitching. Picking up his pole, he began tugging. Reeling like a mad man, the friction in the reeling mechanism seemed to cast sparks in my mind. At last his line was short enough that a fish drew out of the water, dangling from the rod He flung it on land, where it flip flopped back and forth. After a minute or so it calmed down, its sides shuddering as it took heaves of waterless breathes, trying stay alive. Skillfully he started to tend the fish. The creature was drenched in canary colored blood because the hook was lodged down its throat; the prickly hook had sliced sections of its throat. Pasted onto its peach skin, were grass and minuscule pebbles; similar to glue because the air had made its flesh dry and slimy. Notwithstanding the fish’s exterior, he shoved his hand down its throat and jerked the line out with out a problem. We had brought along a plastic bucket with a rope attached to its lid, with holes drilled in the lower half of it. Placing the fish inside, the both of us tossed it in the creek. The bucket quickly overflowed with water, allowing the fish to breathe as the bucket slightly sank. By now grandpas hands were dripping with gory stickiness. He simply shrugged without even gagging at the sight, and washed his hands in the creek, followed by casting his pole out again.
I was a little envious; after all, he got the first catch of the day. I merely hid my jealousy with a phony grin. Yet again, it was back to waiting. But it wasn’t very long before my rod swayed, not by the wind, but by an actual fish! Subsequently the string zoomed into the water as the monster pulling tried to make a getaway with the bait. Grabbing my pole, I yanked with all my might, and reeled in frantically. “This is it…. its
Without warning, grandpa’s line started twitching. Picking up his pole, he began tugging. Reeling like a mad man, the friction in the reeling mechanism seemed to cast sparks in my mind. At last his line was short enough that a fish drew out of the water, dangling from the rod He flung it on land, where it flip flopped back and forth. After a minute or so it calmed down, its sides shuddering as it took heaves of waterless breathes, trying stay alive. Skillfully he started to tend the fish. The creature was drenched in canary colored blood because the hook was lodged down its throat; the prickly hook had sliced sections of its throat. Pasted onto its peach skin, were grass and minuscule pebbles; similar to glue because the air had made its flesh dry and slimy. Notwithstanding the fish’s exterior, he shoved his hand down its throat and jerked the line out with out a problem. We had brought along a plastic bucket with a rope attached to its lid, with holes drilled in the lower half of it. Placing the fish inside, the both of us tossed it in the creek. The bucket quickly overflowed with water, allowing the fish to breathe as the bucket slightly sank. By now grandpas hands were dripping with gory stickiness. He simply shrugged without even gagging at the sight, and washed his hands in the creek, followed by casting his pole out again.
I was a little envious; after all, he got the first catch of the day. I merely hid my jealousy with a phony grin. Yet again, it was back to waiting. But it wasn’t very long before my rod swayed, not by the wind, but by an actual fish! Subsequently the string zoomed into the water as the monster pulling tried to make a getaway with the bait. Grabbing my pole, I yanked with all my might, and reeled in frantically. “This is it…. its
Larson, Karli, pg 4
on fish!” I chanted in my mind, as adrenaline pumped my heart. A tug-a-war erupted between me and this cold blooded vertebrate, testing my patience as our fight continued for another minute. But victory was on my side, and I hauled my prize on shore. This fish was different; wider and a blue color. Actually, it looked like a whole different type of fish then what my grandpa had caught. He collected it, me thinking he was going to do the same thing he did with his fish. To my astonishment, he chucked it back on the creek! “What you did you do that for!?” I nearly bellowed, my temper starting to rise. “That’s a carp, can’t eat that, no good. My fish is a rainbow trout; those are the ones you wanna catch. You can eat those.” He replied. “Ahh man……” I mumbled to myself, disappointment settling in. “This is harder than it looks.” I told him. He gave me a kind smirk, and stared back at the water. At the exact moment, my pole acted up again. Clutching it up, I repeated the same process, this time it was easier, and I lugged the fish up in no time. To my delight, it was a rainbow trout! I beamed at my accomplishment before grandpa performed the same ritual.
For the next hour we took turns reeling in fish until we had a total of eight! With a second bucket, we placed four fish in each pail. When nature called, grandpa left me alone. I was fine and dandy, proud of my bonding time with my grandfather. Until the cattail near me started to stir. I glimpsed over, terror beginning to feel my insides. A black and orange three foot water snake was right there, in front of me! Panic struck me, and at a snails pace, backed away. Grandpa returned and I pointed at the reptile. “Oh, come. ‘mere you little booger!” Now, my grandpa is very wild man, in a good way though.. Ever since he was a boy, he has always been tuned in with nature; never being
Larson, Karli, pg 5
bothered by snakes, coyotes, lizards, or any beast out there. Instead of flinching in fear by foreboding creatures, he would attempt to catch whatever it was, and raise it as a pet, or become friends. Being the person that he is, he plucked the snake up! In response, the snakes muscular body thrashed back and forth, like a chain whip.” Used to scare my school teachers with these!” he laughed. “Wanna hold him?” he asked. My face turned whiter than it already was. “No thank you……” I retorted. He held it for a little longer, and then tossed it back in the creek.
After a while, we packed up and left. Once home, grandpa set to work on preparing dinner. First, he stripped their scales over the sink. Second, he seasoned them with various herbs, but mostly slat. Lastly, he fried them in an iron pot outside on the porch. When his masterpieces were done, all three of us sat and took pleasure in the delectable feast. I was a little hesitant eating, but I soon gave in. “Whoa!” Was my first thought as I chewed the scrumptious animal. The taste was far better than chicken, cow, or any other meat I had eaten before. To this day, it’s still the best fish I have ever eaten!
Overall, this will always be a memorable experience. I’ll share it with my own kids, grandkids, and so on. I love my grandpa very much and I’ll treasure this memory forever.
Here is our fishing bait!
A fisherman's lunch and supplies
Our fishing spot
Grandpa getting our lines ready!
Look at our catch!
3 comments:
Nothing better than fishing with Grandpa. So great to see you all at the reunion. I wish we lived closer to be more involved with family. We are truely blessed to have family all close.
Fishing tales are always good and especially with memories of being with grandpa...stuff like this needs to be kept and remembered for posterity sake....anyway I think so...I am definately a preserver of memories...good job on the report!!!
That's awesome! Those are huge fish! :)
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