A View from the Buggy Read Free

a large welcome sign marking the entrance to Lake Miramichi. We followed the winding lane and parked close to the water’s edge. Someone pushed open the van doors and out we tumbled.
    â€œCome with me,” Dad said as he picked up the tackle box, fishing pole, and a bucket.
    I pulled my rod out of the back of the van. “Do we have worms?” I asked.
    Nelson handed me a Folger’s coffee can full of wiggling night crawlers. “Here are some for you.”
    I took the can with one hand and followed Dad as he led the way to the beach area, where we found a pretty spot along the bank. The rest of the group also settled in. I gazed around in wonder at the beauty of the place.
    Dad interrupted my pleasant thoughts when he handed me a worm. “Tear this long one apart so we don’t waste anything.”
    I wrinkled my nose as I tried to get a grip on the slimy thing. I clutched the worm with both hands and gave a mighty jerk. The deed was done. Dad took one end and I was left with the other piece.
    â€œCan you bait your own hook?” Dad asked.
    â€œThe boys showed me how at home,” I said, but I held my breath as I slid the worm on the hook. Afterward I bent over to rinse my hand in the lake water and rose to my feet again. I gave the line a fling and ever so slowly reeled the line in. Dad gave his rod another toss, which sent his line way beyond where mine had landed.
    â€œHow do you cast it out so far?” I asked.
    Dad jiggled his line. “You give the rod a good, firm cast and release the button just as you finish your swing.”
    â€œI wish you’d watch and see if I do it right,” I said.
    â€œJust a minute.” Dad finished reeling his line in. “Okay. Go for it.”
    I took a good grip and gave my best cast. It fell short of where I wanted it, but Dad didn’t appear discouraged. “Practice, practice, practice,” he said.
    I smiled and reeled in slowly. The line bobbed.
    â€œSet your hook!” Dad hollered.
    I hauled back and wailed when the now empty line flew out over the water. Dad only smiled. “Practice, practice, practice.”
    I cast my line again, and there it was. Another bite. I set my hook and squealed, “I got him!”
    â€œBring it in,” Dad encouraged. “Keep reeling.”
    The next moment I had a good-sized fish out of the water.
    â€œThat’s a nice bluegill.” Dad beamed. “Can you unhook it?”
    â€œNo,” I said. Dread filled my mind. Surely Dad wouldn’t make me learn how to unhook a fish this evening. But my fears soon came true.
    Dad calmly stepped closer. “I’ll show you how, and the next time you can do it.” He pointed. “Here are the gills, so slip your hand down like this.” He demonstrated, grasping the fish. “Push the hook down like this, and there you go.” Dad finished and threw the fish into the bucket.
    How will I ever get a grip like that on a slippery fish? I wondered with wide eyes.
    Dad had already gone back to fishing, so I cast once more. In no time I had another fish.
    â€œI still can’t do it,” I moaned to Dad.
    â€œIt’s part of the fun,” Dad said. “It’s not as hard as it looks.”
    I took a deep breath and slipped my left hand over the fish’s face. Dad smiled as I seized the hook. Slowly I pushed down, and amazingly I had it unhooked.
    â€œGood job,” Dad cheered.
    I felt warm all over. “You’re right,” I told him. “It works if you just do it.”
    We were soon back to fishing, the rest of the evening passing swiftly. We released the smaller fish but kept the larger ones.
    Just before sunset Dad announced, “I think we should gather up our things and head home.”
    â€œAlready?” I groaned. “I’m enjoying myself.”
    â€œIt’s after nine.” Alvin seconded Dad’s opinion, and I knew we’d have to leave. Moments later we