Gone Fishin'

My fancy line had been out in this big ocean of opportunity for over an hour now. I can see the candidates down there, circling, tasting, and teasing. At the opposite end was a younger fellow with a simple toss and reel, and he was having no trouble getting the candidates to get hooked on to his offers. I buy the best lures money can buy, and this guy gets them all with pieces, not even whole but pieces, of worm. Worms? This just doesn’t make sense to me. Fish hunt by smell, taste and sight. They like things that reflect light, because it is similar to how light bounces off them. Yes, fish eat fish. They smell and taste just the same as I do, which is why I spray my lures with this green stuff. When I drop my lure down there, it should be like a noisy dinner bell to them. That’s what the guy behind the counter swears to me anyway. How the hell does a worm get into water anyway? It lives underground! And how would a fish know that is it edible? I decided to make my way to the opposite end of this body of unrelenting fish and ask the young man a question.
“Why do you use worms?” I’d say.
“Because fish eat ‘em.” He’d say.
“Well, what about this stuff?” I’d show him my lures.
“That’s too heavy and flashy.” He’d compare his to mine. His lure was, well, not a lure, simply a hook, with some lead weights and the remnants of a worm. I decided to cut my line and adopt his method of fishing. Three minutes into the new form, I caught a hefty bass with two other hooks in his jaw. The younger man laughed to himself in honest surprise and slapped my shoulder blades.
“I’ve been tryin’ to catch this beast for about a week now, see my hook in ‘em?”
Though I should’ve felt excitement and an overwhelming sense of pride, I was angered by this cath. It didn’t feel like my own catch. I took the hooks out, and put the fish in the man’s bucket.
“Hey, he is yours you know! Take him!” he sat up to switch the fish into my own bucket.
“If you give him to me, I’ll just throw him back.”
The boy had the fish out and stared at me through me sunglasses.
“Alright” he said, “Then throw him back, I got to get my things packed up. You take care now.”
I put the fish in my bucket and watched the boy leave, carrying a basket full of fish and sporting a good tan. I thought about throwing the fish back, but not without a little talk.
“Why don’t you eat my lures instead of his?” I kicked the bucket. The startled fish slammed into the sides and then slowed, aware of no enemies within it’s domain.
I continued the kicking and the question for a good twenty minutes. I could see it was growing tired.
“You hungry?” I picked up the bait spray and dumped the whole contents of it into the water. The fish didn’t react much.
Dusk was approaching. I decided to let the fish go.
I picked up the bucket and dumped everything into the water and watched the fish slowly orient itself. I thought it was dead for a moment. Then, I noticed other fish, smaller fish, had crowded around it. They looked like a welcoming party. I didn’t know I was in for such a surprise. The little fish darted toward the big fish became consuming it. The water splashed about with fish fighting over fish. The battle lasted well into night, and I had actually pulled out my torch to watch it all. Nothing seemed to be left of the big guy. I made my way home and thought about that day ever since. It was the best fishing trip I ever had.