This is a simple, continuous-line drawing of a person fishing from shore. The person is wearing a hat, a vest, and pants with pockets. They are holding a fishing rod with both hands, casting a line into the water. The fishing line curves downward before making contact with the surface, creating a small circular ripple. The shoreline is spotted with a few patches of grass and a small bag or tackle box near the angler’s feet.

One last cast

Here’s the thing about fishing… 

You might catch something. You might not catch anything at all.

You might get dumped on by rain or snow. Or blown about by the wind.

You might hook into a monster only to lose it next the boat. 

You never forget the one that got away. You never forget the ones you landed. The ones you kept and the ones you let go. 

In fact, you remember almost every fish. Because it’s a point of pride to know you did everything right and were rewarded for it. And if it shook the hook, well, that’s a lesson learned the hard way.

Sometimes, you have great company. Sometimes, you have no company at all. And both scenarios are sublime.

It means waking up early, claiming the best spot before anybody else. Or sharing the shoreline with a complete stranger, silently bonding over each other’s successes and failures.

It means sticking it out, waiting for the bite to strike, even when most are packing it in. But also knowing when to call it quits—tomorrow’s a new day

It means trying different techniques, different baits, and different lakes. It means studying the conditions, studying the fish, and studying their prey.

You cast, troll, and jig. You try crankbaits, soft plastics, and spinners. You try deep water, weedbeds, and rock shoals. You target what’s in season, dream of catching your personal best.

You long for being on the water, rod in hand. You long for the tug on your line. You long for the peace it brings, the calm away from the chaos.

You don’t take it for granted, fishing all day or just tossing a few casts. Because when you’re not out there, you wish you were.

So, you prepare. But you accept that there’s also an element of luck involved. That some things are beyond your control.

You might get snagged. You might snap your line and lose your favourite lure. You might get skunked, while your buddy catches one after another only a few feet away.

That’s why fishing is all about patience. And persistence. 

It’s about hope, too.

Because there’s always a chance. It’s always possible to hook into the fish of a lifetime. 

With every sunrise and nightfall, with every clear sky and cloudy day. With every cast there’s an opportunity. That’s what keeps you going.

So, here’s the thing about fishing—it’s a lot like life.

You can’t land what you don’t go after.

Get out there. Take that last cast.

There are three pencils, each with a broken tip.

6 thoughts on “One last cast

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.