I like to iron. I have since I was a teenager and my mother handed me a stack of linen napkins after a major holiday and said, "IRON THESE AND GET OUT OF MY HAIR!"
OMG. I had so much fun!
When I was in 8th grade till my sophomore year, I ironed ALL MY CLOTHING. I am serious. The iron lived in my room. I ironed on the floor. I ironed shirts, tank tops, pants, skirts, and jeans. (Yes, I ironed my jeans....) This avid ironing lasted till I was 16. I was bad, sometimes I'd iron shirts and pants while I was wearing them. During the time I was 16, the mid-drift top was all the rage. All my tank tops were belly baring tops because that was the only length made. I had this white one, I remember it well. I hated wearing these tops, because at 16 I thought I was horridly fat down there. (Har har har.) Well, one spring morning, I was like, "I'm wearing my Gap outfit!" This outfit consisted of khaki pants, basic white tank top and a denim dress shirt that was short sleeved. After I was dressed and on my way out the door I noticed a huge wrinkle across the bottom of the tank top. I plugged the iron in, ironed out the wrinkled and left.
I barely noticed the fact my stomach hurt. It wasn't until gym 2nd hour did I realize what had happened. I was changing out of my gym suit and my friend Hilary asked, "What the hell is on your stomach?"
I looked down. There was a definite iron mark on my tummy. There were even holes. You could not mistake it for anything except an iron mark.
I had a scar there for years shaped like the edge of the iron.
After this, I stopped my relentless ironing of clothing. I don't remember why, other than I didn't have the time to do it...I also realized if you fold your clothes and put them away they don't get as wrinkled. And jeans...well, they unwrinkled themselves.
I did not have another disastrous run in with the iron until I began sewing when we lived in the Dirt Hole. Usually it was just small burns here and there on my hands. Then they started showing up on my arms. I have several light brown scars on my arms from where I whacked the iron with my bare arm. However, today, I did something really, really stupid.
I burned my whole left hand.
While holding a purse over the hand.
I don't know what the #@%^$ I was thinking. I guess it was like the days I'd iron my clothes while wearing them. But I held the purse on my hand, held up the iron, set the iron on it and steam came flying out of it and I yelped.
I burned my whole hand.
I ran to the bathroom, swearing up a storm and ran my hand under ice cold water till it was numb. Because it was my left hand, I was like MY RING WILL GET SWOLLEN ON MY FINGER! So, I spent ten minutes trying to pry it off. (It is all ready a bit too small. My finger is dis-formed from where its sat on my finger for the past two years unmoved....)
After I accomplished this task, I hurried downstairs and made myself an ice pack and have had it on and off my hand for the past.....six hours. My hand is still red, and some areas are beginning to swell, now that I've taken the cold pack off for the past 20 minutes or so to type this up. I figured since I have to drive somewhere tonight, I ought to get some use of my left hand before I leave. But this is pretty bad, you guys. My whole hand is still burning in pain. And my ring finger looks horrible. I'll have to wait till my hand heals to get my ring re-sized...but now that it's off, I know it needs to be re-sized.
In other news, I didn't get anything done because of my stellar relationship with irons.
I didn't even tell you about curling irons and me....we have an even more checkered past. And I mean checkered. My neck usually.
21 July 2011
19 July 2011
Smelling Things
I have a bad habit of smelling things and getting the items I smelled stuck up my nose. Often this happens with shampoo and conditioners. Or soaps. (Yes, I am that crazy lady who stands in the aisle and sniffs all the soaps before putting one in her cart.)
I have discovered, like music, certain scents remind me of places. Usually rather specific. For intance:
1. Dial White Gardenia liquid soap reminds me of the Dirt Hole, mostly the main bathroom. I used many kinds of soap whilst living in the Dirt Hole, but for some odd reason, this Dial soap reminds me STRONGLY of the bathroom at our house in Dirt Hole, from the plaid curtain to the gorgeous teal paint I painted on the crappy walls. I can still picture the old 1950s wood cabinet, the ugly handles and the stupid sink that never came clean due to the lime deposits that clung to the metal like it was going to go out of style at any moment. Also, the bathroom had two mirrors. A huge one over the sink and then a smaller one over the medicine cabinet. It was strange, but there were a lot of oddities in the house.
2. John Freida Brilliant Brunette Shampoo and Conditioner reminds me of the tiny stall shower on the third floor of Maclay Hall. (Number 18, Maclay Hall.) I was blonde when I arrived in Glasgow, but keeping it up while I was there was too much for me to handle, so I bought a box of 5 pound hair color in dark brown and some Brilliant Brunette so I didn't turn red. The smell of this stuff reminds me so much of standing in that tiny shower stall trying not to bang my head on the shower head. I also love the way it smells....but I don't seem to buy it often for some reason.
3. Old school Herbal Essence shampoo....reminds me of old school things. It was rather disturbing when I met Pilot Boy, as he used Herbal Essences. It freaked me out to no end. Luckily they stopped making it and he moved on to other things....though, now he head doesn't smell like much. The manly shampoos he uses now never linger like Herbal Essences used to. It doesn't linger very well any more either, as once the new line came out, I was standing in the aisles sucking up shampoo up my nose again. They all smell the same to me to begin with, and when I do use them, they don't linger like the old stuff used to. You could smell like Herbal Essenses for days. Now...not so much.
4. Aveda. I love how Aveda salons smell. It calms me down to no end. I had no clue what the smell was till I was in college, blond and needed a touch up. I associate the scent with wonderful, relaxing things. Also good haircuts. It also was a scent that someone I knew in college somehow managed to get their room to smell like. I also love how Aveda scents linger in your hair. Sometimes I spray myself with hair spray just so I'll smell it and relax the hell out. (I get stressed easily.)
That is all I can think of at the moment. Now you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.
I have discovered, like music, certain scents remind me of places. Usually rather specific. For intance:
1. Dial White Gardenia liquid soap reminds me of the Dirt Hole, mostly the main bathroom. I used many kinds of soap whilst living in the Dirt Hole, but for some odd reason, this Dial soap reminds me STRONGLY of the bathroom at our house in Dirt Hole, from the plaid curtain to the gorgeous teal paint I painted on the crappy walls. I can still picture the old 1950s wood cabinet, the ugly handles and the stupid sink that never came clean due to the lime deposits that clung to the metal like it was going to go out of style at any moment. Also, the bathroom had two mirrors. A huge one over the sink and then a smaller one over the medicine cabinet. It was strange, but there were a lot of oddities in the house.
2. John Freida Brilliant Brunette Shampoo and Conditioner reminds me of the tiny stall shower on the third floor of Maclay Hall. (Number 18, Maclay Hall.) I was blonde when I arrived in Glasgow, but keeping it up while I was there was too much for me to handle, so I bought a box of 5 pound hair color in dark brown and some Brilliant Brunette so I didn't turn red. The smell of this stuff reminds me so much of standing in that tiny shower stall trying not to bang my head on the shower head. I also love the way it smells....but I don't seem to buy it often for some reason.
3. Old school Herbal Essence shampoo....reminds me of old school things. It was rather disturbing when I met Pilot Boy, as he used Herbal Essences. It freaked me out to no end. Luckily they stopped making it and he moved on to other things....though, now he head doesn't smell like much. The manly shampoos he uses now never linger like Herbal Essences used to. It doesn't linger very well any more either, as once the new line came out, I was standing in the aisles sucking up shampoo up my nose again. They all smell the same to me to begin with, and when I do use them, they don't linger like the old stuff used to. You could smell like Herbal Essenses for days. Now...not so much.
4. Aveda. I love how Aveda salons smell. It calms me down to no end. I had no clue what the smell was till I was in college, blond and needed a touch up. I associate the scent with wonderful, relaxing things. Also good haircuts. It also was a scent that someone I knew in college somehow managed to get their room to smell like. I also love how Aveda scents linger in your hair. Sometimes I spray myself with hair spray just so I'll smell it and relax the hell out. (I get stressed easily.)
That is all I can think of at the moment. Now you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.
04 July 2011
Fishing With Ireland 3 dot 0
The past two weeks I've been rather silent due to the fact the family was in town. All three of them. (HA HA HA.) They flew up and then whisked us around Southern Alaska. One of the stops was Homer.
And in Homer, Pilot Boy wanted to go halibut fishing.
Ireland 1.0 doesn't fish. Ireland 1.0 does not do the following:
*fish
*eat tomatoes
*hike uphill
*eat potatoes
*like dogs
*mow lawns
*ride a bike
*garden
Ireland 2.0 does the following that 1.0 does not:
*hike up slight hills, while complaining heavily
*eat potatoes
Ireland 2.4 eat tomatoes.
Ireland 2.9 likes dogs and owns one. She will also ride a bike for less than 4 miles.
Ireland 3.0, The Alaska Version does the following that the previous version did not:
*hike uphill. Will complain.
*mow the lawn in a whirly pattern
*fishes
*gardens in a limited manner
Ireland 3.0 fishes only because she felt sorry for Pilot Boy, as no one else seemed too keen on the idea of fishing. His thought process was the following: Why would you go to the halibut fishing capital of the world and NOT FISH?
His head simply did not wrap around why no one wanted to fish.
So, since I felt sorry for him, I announced I would go. (This gets me into a lot of trouble, hence why Ireland 2.0 tended to hike up hills she did not want to hike up. And why 3.0 still keeps going on hikes, even though she still does not really enjoy hiking Pilot Boy style. He's got one setting: Fast. That is why he and Turbo Puppy get along so well.)
So, on Tuesday morning, we woke up, lounged around staring at some mountains, then donned raincoats and had my parents drive us down to the Homer Spit. In our matching raincoats, we got me a fishing license and were told we might be put on another fishing charter because Bob didn't have enough people to take the boat out. So, after being driven to the docks, instead of going to C-17, we went to C-1. (Which wasn't as amusing as Pilot Boy flies C-17s for a living...)
We were the first people there. And we were wearing matching red raincoats and the sun was out. (It was only raining where we were staying, not in Homer itself. That's Alaska weather for ya.) For a long, long, long time we were the only people there. Finally, they got confirmation that the others had arrived and they let Pilot Boy and myself on the boat. After a round of introductions to the crew (Captain, Max (who from Arizona) and Josh (who was from Georgia, and not Atlanta, as he sounded southern)), we waited for the others to show up.
The others included a group of old guys who were from Washington who had spent the past three days fishing for halibut. Seriously, they had gone out with the crew we were with the day before and had so much fun, they signed up for another half day trip. They were all...crazy. They were also going to some salmon fishing cap after this whole halibut fishing thing. Least to say, they'd be eating fish for a few years....
There was a family from Boston, who did not sound like they were from Boston, so no one believed they were from Boston. They were doing The Alaska Tour. By this I mean they were attempting to do everything Alaska had to offer. They'd been to Denali and seen it from a plane. They were now in Homer going halibut fishing. They also had gone hiking at some point. Also, as we road an hour to the fishing spot, the mother realized they'd have a lot of halibut waiting for them when they were back in Boston. "What are we going to do with all that fish?" she asked. I wondered the same thing, as they had four people in their group. Halibut are kinda big. Even the small ones.
There was an older couple from Southern Illinois (not Chicago) who had been to Alaska before, but had failed to halibut fish on their previous trip. They were nice.
The last group contained a woman who had lost her fishing license, so she couldn't fish. She seemed rather cranky about this, as I would have been too. I kind of wished I was her by the end of the trip though....
So, there you have it.
It was an hour ride to the fishing spot, which I spent sitting in the cabin next to the old guy named Scott, the mother of the Boston clan while the other Bostons stood around us. They all talked. I listened. Pilot Boy tried on numerous occasions to get me to go out on the deck, but I refused. I liked where I was. I learned a lot about the Old Guy named Scott, marriage, and the Boston Clan. They liked outdoor things. One of the sons did that crazy thing where you dive into freezing cold water in the middle of winter. The other did scuba diving or something.
Anyways, we reached the spot. That was when...the...fun...began....I'm not sure if I'd label it as real fun...I mean, I enjoyed it, but not the actual fishing part. I could have done without the fishing part. Why?
Ireland 3.0 might fish, but she's not any good at it. I lost my bait a total of five times. I was just FEEDING the halibut. Josh liked to tell people my "secret" but he seemed determined I'd actually catch a fish. I wasn't sure why. I sure as hell did not care if I actually caught one. It looked hard. I had enough trouble casting the damn fishing pole and then pounding it on the bottom of the ocean. Yeah, halibut live on the bottom of the ocean, so you cast the stupid thing down some 200 feet, with a three pound weight plus the stupid bait. I was not surprised in the least I seemed to fail at life when fishing. This seemed to surprise Josh, as he couldn't figure out what the hell I was doing to keep loosing my bait.
"We're going to have to charge you for bait," he joked more than once as I spent hours upon hours wheeling my stupid line in to get new bait. The crew all seemed to easily be able to tell when I'd fed the halibut. I had no clue. I didn't even know when I had a bite. That is how brilliant Ireland 3.0 is at fishing.
I also had a great talent for getting my line tangled with others and not knowing it. A few times I thought I had a bite, but in reality i was just tangled up with someone down the line. I spent a great deal of time chasing after Josh around the boat as he untangled my line. He also kept moving me around in order to aid me in catching more fish. It did not seem to matter where I stood.
Eventually, though, Josh informed me I had a bite and I had to reel him in.
Reeling in an actual fish is harder than simply reeling up the stupid 3 lb weight. Plus, being a girl, I have little upper body strength because I do not lift weights on a regular basis. All the poles were the same size and weight and I found it very awkward. Also, there seemed to be this yellow gunk all over the reel pulley thing. So, I ended up covered in this unknown yellow substance. I ended up jamming the pole into my upper thigh in order to stabilize it to the point where I could turn the wheel thing a few times before loosing my grip on the pole and having to rest it on the railing and starting over. It took forever to reel the dumb fish in. Josh came over as I was nearing the surface (so I didn't have to scream COLOR out, which was what we were supposed to do once it got near the surface so Max or Josh could get it out and do step 3 in fishing.)
He cursed when he saw what I had dragged to the surface.
I looked down and it simply looked like I had a huge fish of some sort, but not the flat, ugly halibut I was supposed to be catching. I had dragged a huge, dumb cod to the surface. And I had managed to hook it through the upper and lower lip. Josh wrestled with the cod and the hook for awhile, blood flowing all over the deck. Oddly, I was fascinated by this. (Ireland 3.0 is strange, I know.) Josh assured me the cod would be all right (I think since I was a girl, he assumed I was squeamish about blood and hoped for a nice, full life for the dumb ass cod. I kind of wanted to bash it in the head, as it was HEAVY and I had DRAGGED IT UP only to have to TOSS IT BACK.) A minute later, Pilot Boy hooked a cod so well, it had to be moved to the table to have major hook removal. Josh threw it back and assured me once again, the cod would be all right. Only this time, instead of swimming off, the cod simply floated a moment before it sunk.
I'm pretty sure it was dead. Good and dead.
After loosing a few more pieces of bait and hooking another cod, Josh took the reel over and did something for a while before he announced, "Another bite. Begin to reel." He handed me back the pole and I almost dropped it as there was a big tug. I began to reel it in. I was going to beat the cod if it was indeed another dumb cod. By this point, almost everyone all ready had their two fish. Pilot Boy had one fish. I was literally the only person who had yet to catch anything worth while.
I hated reeling in. Even if nothing was on the line, it sucked. And it was hard. And I don't like hard things. I know for a fact I looked like a pathetic excuse for a fisherman while attempting to reel in the dumb fish. Josh helped me a few times and then cursed again when he saw what I had hooked (or he had hooked, but who really cares? I might have hooked it for all I know.) I sighed deeply and finished reeling in the dumb cod, though as it got closer to the surface, I didn't think it was the cod Josh originally thought it was.
Josh returned a few moments later while I stood dumbly looking at the fish a few inches below the surface of the water (I refused to bring it to the deck without someone who knew anything near by).
"Hey, Chicago! I think you got one!" Old Guy Scott announced. He was standing near me, trying to catch a bigger halibut for his second fish.
"I think you did, Ireland," Josh said, picking up the line and bringing the flopping, ugly brute to the deck. He handed me the weight and took the fish off the hook. He then walked off with it and I simply stood there dumbly waiting for more bait. I secretly hoped that in all the excitement (someone else caught something) they'd forget about me and I'd be able to sneak away. But Josh returned a few minutes later and gave me more bait. Sighing deeply, I watched him cast it and then hand it to me to let it hit the bottom. It hit with a thunk and I bounced it a few times.
After loosing the bait and catching another cod, it was nearing the time we had to leave to go back to Homer. There were only three people still fishing at this point. Me, Boston Pop and the Old Guy I never got a name for. Oh, and I guess Pilot Boy, so there was four. Oops. So, we were still fishing. Josh came over to check on me (as I am lame still, and I think he figured out I'd never know if something bit me or not). He informed me I had a bite, and begin to reel it in. He showed me how to reel easily, and it wasn't any easier. I was pretty sure I had lost whatever was on my hook, so I wasn't really in a hurry to get it up. Nothing was tugging any more. So i was minding my own business, trying to reel up slowly, so by the time I had done it it'd be time to go home.
This did not work.
Josh came over again, informed me there was still something there, and went to get the banana.
I did not like the banana belt. He stuck it around my waist and told me to put the pull in it. This belt is supposed to make it easier to reel things in. It does not. It was actually highly annoying and I would have rather simply dug the pole further into my thigh. And killed my left arm further.
I was still pretty sure there wasn't anything on the end of the line, but oddly, when I saw the weight again, there was something that looked freakishly like a halibut on the other end of the hook.
"YOU DID IT!" Josh shouted at me, pulling the stupid fish up to the surface. I stared at it as it flopped on the deck.
"Good job, Chicago! I knew you had it in you!" Old Guy Scott told me.
I smiled (which was what I had been doing all afternoon instead of actually speaking) and removed the dumb belt, handed my pole to Max and quickly exited. I sat down next to Pilot Boy, who had caught his last fish a few moments before I had. Now Boston Pop was left, as well as the Old Guy Whose Name I Failed to Learn. He had two poles going, somehow.
After the last two guys had gotten their last fish, the engines began and the fun began.
I know, the whole fishing part as supposed to be the "fun" part, but honestly, it was not the highlight for me. I was not all that excited when I caught the fish, I was more relieved. It was like, I had this goal of two fish and once I reached it I was relieved to just sit down. Halibut fishing is hard. Totally.
The fun began after the boat started. Josh and Max began their post fishing dance. They cleaned the deck, went through the crate of fish trying to find the biggest fish and then hung them up to photograph them.
This is when I got fish guts all over my jeans. I had managed to stay pretty clean throughout the whole fishing thing, save the unknown yellow junk. However, within minutes of the engine starting, I had red fish guts on me. And it was kind of gross and fascinating at the same time.
After I got fish on me, Josh and Max continued their dance, which concluded with the tossing of fish carcasses. Josh flayed the fish in a very fast and precise way and then tossed the remains off the boat for the gulls to feast upon. There was a lot of blood and fish bits on the deck, so at the end of the dance, they both washed the deck down in water. Least to say, I was glad I had my hiking boots on, as they are the only water proof shoes I had with me.
After we reached the spit, we split for home. After dinner, I took a very long shower and Pilot Boy drove four hours back to our house, as he had to go to work the next day.
The next day...oi. I had no use of my left arm the next day. My left arm was the arm I used to pull the pole back and forth while my right hand operated the reel. My wrists hurt the night before, by the next day, my left arm failed to operate. I walked around with it bent (I could not straighten it out) and looked like I had a broken arm. As the day wore on, I noticed the spot where I had steadied the pole on my leg was turning a nice shade of green and purple. I seriously looked like I had taken a good pounding on my upper thigh. It felt like I had taken a beating as well, as every move I made, ached. I have no clue how the Old Guys managed to do this three days in a row. I'm 27 freaking years old, and I could hardly move the next day. And I hadn't been drinking beer for three hours either, like they had.
I went fishing a week ago. My leg still looks like a war zone. But, I can move my left arm again. It took two days, but I can move it again. And use it.
I bet the big question on your mind is....Would I do it again?
Yeah. I would. Even if I had a pain of a time fishing. I'd do it again. It was...fun.
Ireland 3.0 has fun.
And in Homer, Pilot Boy wanted to go halibut fishing.
Ireland 1.0 doesn't fish. Ireland 1.0 does not do the following:
*fish
*eat tomatoes
*hike uphill
*eat potatoes
*like dogs
*mow lawns
*ride a bike
*garden
Ireland 2.0 does the following that 1.0 does not:
*hike up slight hills, while complaining heavily
*eat potatoes
Ireland 2.4 eat tomatoes.
Ireland 2.9 likes dogs and owns one. She will also ride a bike for less than 4 miles.
Ireland 3.0, The Alaska Version does the following that the previous version did not:
*hike uphill. Will complain.
*mow the lawn in a whirly pattern
*fishes
*gardens in a limited manner
Ireland 3.0 fishes only because she felt sorry for Pilot Boy, as no one else seemed too keen on the idea of fishing. His thought process was the following: Why would you go to the halibut fishing capital of the world and NOT FISH?
His head simply did not wrap around why no one wanted to fish.
So, since I felt sorry for him, I announced I would go. (This gets me into a lot of trouble, hence why Ireland 2.0 tended to hike up hills she did not want to hike up. And why 3.0 still keeps going on hikes, even though she still does not really enjoy hiking Pilot Boy style. He's got one setting: Fast. That is why he and Turbo Puppy get along so well.)
 |
| View out the window in Homer |
We were the first people there. And we were wearing matching red raincoats and the sun was out. (It was only raining where we were staying, not in Homer itself. That's Alaska weather for ya.) For a long, long, long time we were the only people there. Finally, they got confirmation that the others had arrived and they let Pilot Boy and myself on the boat. After a round of introductions to the crew (Captain, Max (who from Arizona) and Josh (who was from Georgia, and not Atlanta, as he sounded southern)), we waited for the others to show up.
The others included a group of old guys who were from Washington who had spent the past three days fishing for halibut. Seriously, they had gone out with the crew we were with the day before and had so much fun, they signed up for another half day trip. They were all...crazy. They were also going to some salmon fishing cap after this whole halibut fishing thing. Least to say, they'd be eating fish for a few years....
There was a family from Boston, who did not sound like they were from Boston, so no one believed they were from Boston. They were doing The Alaska Tour. By this I mean they were attempting to do everything Alaska had to offer. They'd been to Denali and seen it from a plane. They were now in Homer going halibut fishing. They also had gone hiking at some point. Also, as we road an hour to the fishing spot, the mother realized they'd have a lot of halibut waiting for them when they were back in Boston. "What are we going to do with all that fish?" she asked. I wondered the same thing, as they had four people in their group. Halibut are kinda big. Even the small ones.
There was an older couple from Southern Illinois (not Chicago) who had been to Alaska before, but had failed to halibut fish on their previous trip. They were nice.
The last group contained a woman who had lost her fishing license, so she couldn't fish. She seemed rather cranky about this, as I would have been too. I kind of wished I was her by the end of the trip though....
 |
| The view from the boat |
It was an hour ride to the fishing spot, which I spent sitting in the cabin next to the old guy named Scott, the mother of the Boston clan while the other Bostons stood around us. They all talked. I listened. Pilot Boy tried on numerous occasions to get me to go out on the deck, but I refused. I liked where I was. I learned a lot about the Old Guy named Scott, marriage, and the Boston Clan. They liked outdoor things. One of the sons did that crazy thing where you dive into freezing cold water in the middle of winter. The other did scuba diving or something.
Anyways, we reached the spot. That was when...the...fun...began....I'm not sure if I'd label it as real fun...I mean, I enjoyed it, but not the actual fishing part. I could have done without the fishing part. Why?
 |
| I'm on a Boat |
"We're going to have to charge you for bait," he joked more than once as I spent hours upon hours wheeling my stupid line in to get new bait. The crew all seemed to easily be able to tell when I'd fed the halibut. I had no clue. I didn't even know when I had a bite. That is how brilliant Ireland 3.0 is at fishing.
I also had a great talent for getting my line tangled with others and not knowing it. A few times I thought I had a bite, but in reality i was just tangled up with someone down the line. I spent a great deal of time chasing after Josh around the boat as he untangled my line. He also kept moving me around in order to aid me in catching more fish. It did not seem to matter where I stood.
Eventually, though, Josh informed me I had a bite and I had to reel him in.
Reeling in an actual fish is harder than simply reeling up the stupid 3 lb weight. Plus, being a girl, I have little upper body strength because I do not lift weights on a regular basis. All the poles were the same size and weight and I found it very awkward. Also, there seemed to be this yellow gunk all over the reel pulley thing. So, I ended up covered in this unknown yellow substance. I ended up jamming the pole into my upper thigh in order to stabilize it to the point where I could turn the wheel thing a few times before loosing my grip on the pole and having to rest it on the railing and starting over. It took forever to reel the dumb fish in. Josh came over as I was nearing the surface (so I didn't have to scream COLOR out, which was what we were supposed to do once it got near the surface so Max or Josh could get it out and do step 3 in fishing.)
He cursed when he saw what I had dragged to the surface.
I looked down and it simply looked like I had a huge fish of some sort, but not the flat, ugly halibut I was supposed to be catching. I had dragged a huge, dumb cod to the surface. And I had managed to hook it through the upper and lower lip. Josh wrestled with the cod and the hook for awhile, blood flowing all over the deck. Oddly, I was fascinated by this. (Ireland 3.0 is strange, I know.) Josh assured me the cod would be all right (I think since I was a girl, he assumed I was squeamish about blood and hoped for a nice, full life for the dumb ass cod. I kind of wanted to bash it in the head, as it was HEAVY and I had DRAGGED IT UP only to have to TOSS IT BACK.) A minute later, Pilot Boy hooked a cod so well, it had to be moved to the table to have major hook removal. Josh threw it back and assured me once again, the cod would be all right. Only this time, instead of swimming off, the cod simply floated a moment before it sunk.
I'm pretty sure it was dead. Good and dead.
After loosing a few more pieces of bait and hooking another cod, Josh took the reel over and did something for a while before he announced, "Another bite. Begin to reel." He handed me back the pole and I almost dropped it as there was a big tug. I began to reel it in. I was going to beat the cod if it was indeed another dumb cod. By this point, almost everyone all ready had their two fish. Pilot Boy had one fish. I was literally the only person who had yet to catch anything worth while.
I hated reeling in. Even if nothing was on the line, it sucked. And it was hard. And I don't like hard things. I know for a fact I looked like a pathetic excuse for a fisherman while attempting to reel in the dumb fish. Josh helped me a few times and then cursed again when he saw what I had hooked (or he had hooked, but who really cares? I might have hooked it for all I know.) I sighed deeply and finished reeling in the dumb cod, though as it got closer to the surface, I didn't think it was the cod Josh originally thought it was.
Josh returned a few moments later while I stood dumbly looking at the fish a few inches below the surface of the water (I refused to bring it to the deck without someone who knew anything near by).
"Hey, Chicago! I think you got one!" Old Guy Scott announced. He was standing near me, trying to catch a bigger halibut for his second fish.
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| The Big Fish |
After loosing the bait and catching another cod, it was nearing the time we had to leave to go back to Homer. There were only three people still fishing at this point. Me, Boston Pop and the Old Guy I never got a name for. Oh, and I guess Pilot Boy, so there was four. Oops. So, we were still fishing. Josh came over to check on me (as I am lame still, and I think he figured out I'd never know if something bit me or not). He informed me I had a bite, and begin to reel it in. He showed me how to reel easily, and it wasn't any easier. I was pretty sure I had lost whatever was on my hook, so I wasn't really in a hurry to get it up. Nothing was tugging any more. So i was minding my own business, trying to reel up slowly, so by the time I had done it it'd be time to go home.
This did not work.
Josh came over again, informed me there was still something there, and went to get the banana.
I did not like the banana belt. He stuck it around my waist and told me to put the pull in it. This belt is supposed to make it easier to reel things in. It does not. It was actually highly annoying and I would have rather simply dug the pole further into my thigh. And killed my left arm further.
I was still pretty sure there wasn't anything on the end of the line, but oddly, when I saw the weight again, there was something that looked freakishly like a halibut on the other end of the hook.
"YOU DID IT!" Josh shouted at me, pulling the stupid fish up to the surface. I stared at it as it flopped on the deck.
"Good job, Chicago! I knew you had it in you!" Old Guy Scott told me.
I smiled (which was what I had been doing all afternoon instead of actually speaking) and removed the dumb belt, handed my pole to Max and quickly exited. I sat down next to Pilot Boy, who had caught his last fish a few moments before I had. Now Boston Pop was left, as well as the Old Guy Whose Name I Failed to Learn. He had two poles going, somehow.
After the last two guys had gotten their last fish, the engines began and the fun began.
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| Fish Guts on My Leg |
The fun began after the boat started. Josh and Max began their post fishing dance. They cleaned the deck, went through the crate of fish trying to find the biggest fish and then hung them up to photograph them.
This is when I got fish guts all over my jeans. I had managed to stay pretty clean throughout the whole fishing thing, save the unknown yellow junk. However, within minutes of the engine starting, I had red fish guts on me. And it was kind of gross and fascinating at the same time.
After I got fish on me, Josh and Max continued their dance, which concluded with the tossing of fish carcasses. Josh flayed the fish in a very fast and precise way and then tossed the remains off the boat for the gulls to feast upon. There was a lot of blood and fish bits on the deck, so at the end of the dance, they both washed the deck down in water. Least to say, I was glad I had my hiking boots on, as they are the only water proof shoes I had with me.
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| Fish Go Flying to the Gulls |
The next day...oi. I had no use of my left arm the next day. My left arm was the arm I used to pull the pole back and forth while my right hand operated the reel. My wrists hurt the night before, by the next day, my left arm failed to operate. I walked around with it bent (I could not straighten it out) and looked like I had a broken arm. As the day wore on, I noticed the spot where I had steadied the pole on my leg was turning a nice shade of green and purple. I seriously looked like I had taken a good pounding on my upper thigh. It felt like I had taken a beating as well, as every move I made, ached. I have no clue how the Old Guys managed to do this three days in a row. I'm 27 freaking years old, and I could hardly move the next day. And I hadn't been drinking beer for three hours either, like they had.
I went fishing a week ago. My leg still looks like a war zone. But, I can move my left arm again. It took two days, but I can move it again. And use it.
I bet the big question on your mind is....Would I do it again?
Yeah. I would. Even if I had a pain of a time fishing. I'd do it again. It was...fun.
Ireland 3.0 has fun.
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