There comes a time in every angler's life when they realize they've accumulated more fishing gear than actual fish. My moment of truth arrived when I found myself explaining to my drone why my yellow ugly stik was superior to all other fishing rods. The drone, unsurprisingly, had no opinion on the matter.
My journey into fishing absurdity began with a visit to a warehouse fishing tackle that was bigger than my apartment. I emerged with a wader duffel bag full of questionable choices, including vintage fly fishing tackle that smelled like my grandfather's attic and a white river fly shop fly spin rod and reel combo that promised to make me look like I knew what I was doing (it lied).
The real treasures were my specialized kits: a walleye fishing tackle kits that contained lures walleye have never actually seen in nature, and a whopper plopper savage gear setup that made a satisfying plopping sound but seemed to scare away anything with fins. My waterproof saltwater tackle bags were so buoyant they could probably serve as life preservers in an emergency.
I suited up in my wet weather gear hunting and fishing outfit, which made me look like a bright orange marshmallow, and paired it with waterproof fishing waders with boots that had seen more puddles than fish. For my more adventurous moments, I had wet wading gear that promised "maximum flexibility" but mostly delivered "maximum dampness."
My collection included a wacky rig rod and reel that lived up to its name by being completely unpredictable, and a waterproof floating tackle box that actually worked too well - it kept floating away when I set it down. The yvleen fishing tackle box bag became my constant companion, though I'm still not entirely sure how to pronounce "Yvleen."
The real stars were my specialized gear: women's fly fishing pack that I bought because teal is my favorite color, women's ice fishing apparel purchased during a summer heatwave, and a youth fishing tackle box that was somehow better organized than my adult one. I even had zebco fishing tackle that reminded me of my first childhood fishing pole.
The day of the big fishing drone experiment arrived. I headed to the shore with my your rod and reel live bait and tackle setup, feeling confident. I launched my drone, cast my line, and waited. And waited. And waited some more.
Just as I was considering using my waterproof floating tackle box as a flotation device to swim out and personally invite the fish to bite, something extraordinary happened. My drone captured a massive shadow approaching from the depths. A whale! And not just any whale - this one seemed fascinated by my yellow ugly stik, circling it with what I can only describe as marine curiosity.
For twenty glorious minutes, I was the star of my own nature documentary. The whale investigated my gear with the focus of a quality control inspector, paying particular attention to my whopper plopper savage gear that was making its cheerful plopping sounds. I like to think the whale was impressed, though it might have just been confused.
I didn't catch any fish that day. But I did learn several valuable lessons:
Whales have no appreciation for vintage fly fishing tackle
Waterproof fishing waders with boots are not designed for running away from curious marine mammals
Sometimes the best fishing stories involve exactly zero actual fishing
So if you're ever feeling discouraged about your fishing skills, just remember: somewhere out there, a person in wet wading gear is being upstaged by a whale. And that person will probably be me again next weekend.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go explain to my drone why we're not giving up on fishing just because one whale didn't appreciate my zebco fishing tackle collection.