Fishing: A Life
Both my late brother Michael Patrick McCarthy and myself found fishing a most vital lifelong activity. It had so shaped both our lives that without its living force and quite literal pulse, life as I have come to know it would simply cease to exist. Not only the high-end of so-called “glamor” types of deepsea offshore fishing, but little, jump-across trickles of a spring creek through a backyard cow pasture that a size 18 (tiny) cricket imitation has yielded me a 28″ brown trout, for example. My dear brother, who along with our lifelong fishing companion and legendary angling authority Capt. Bruce Bartlett, commercially fished with rod and reel for swordfish and tuna — mainly Yellowfin, with occasional giant Bluefin, off the Northeastern U.S. and Canadian Maritimes — for his final several years, and participated more thoroughly than I as a means to support a family.
In all my years of fishing I rarely connected this love-of-all-loves of mine to the supernatural highlights that scream for attention here. But, I was always the last to get anything. Thick as a brick I remain. (Bricks come in handy on a fishing vessel for weighting bait to get to the bottom in great depths.
However, on a memorable one of my childhood fishing outings on vacation with family in Ohio one summer night. With neighbors of German descent, we had gone carp fishing at a local reservoir. On the isolated boulder I found angling for solitude I was lost in prayer. Coming back to Earth, I looked down at my line to find it rolling gently off my rock toward deep dark watery oblivion, as my “Please, God, let a fish eat my doughball!” paintive cries were heard: straight to My Father’s Ear, quickly and astonishingly, answered. This was the first of many countless moments of angling magic.
I have yet to try my newfound influence in fishing action, but look forward to it with zeal.